Part 4
At 7:46 p.m., the emergency-room doctor came out of the treatment area.
I stood immediately.
“How is she?”
He looked at his chart.
“Your wife has a concussion and a deep laceration near her eyebrow. She’ll need observation overnight.”
“Is she okay?”
“She should recover, but we want to monitor her closely.”
I exhaled.
For the first time since entering the house, my knees felt weak.
I sat down.
“Can I see her?”
“In a few minutes.”
I nodded.
The doctor hesitated.
“There is something else.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“She mentioned being under considerable stress before the injury.”
I almost laughed bitterly.
“That’s putting it mildly.”
The doctor gave me a sympathetic look.
“She also told us she was afraid someone was trying to force her to sign something.”
My jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“Is she safe at home?”
I looked toward the hospital corridor.
“Yes.”
Then I corrected myself.
“She will be.”
The doctor nodded.
A nurse came over.
“Mr. Carter?”
I turned.
“Yes?”
“Your wife’s purse was brought in with her belongings.”
She handed it to me.
I thanked her.
I sat down again and opened it to make sure nothing was missing.
Her wallet was there.
Keys.
Phone.
Glasses.
Then I found an envelope.
My name was written on it.
In Sarah’s handwriting.
I stared at it for several seconds.
She had never mentioned it.
I opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
Daniel,
If you’re reading this, something has gone wrong.
My hands started shaking.
I continued.
I didn’t want to frighten you while you were away. Michael has been asking about the beach house for months. But three weeks ago, he stopped asking. He started telling me.
I swallowed.
He said the house would be transferred one way or another.
My stomach dropped.
I kept reading.
I thought he was bluffing. Then I found copies of documents in his office. There were signatures that looked like mine. They were not mine.
I stopped breathing for a second.
Forged signatures.
I read the next line.
I think someone has been trying to make it appear that I agreed to sell the property.
I looked at the envelope again.
There was more.
I hired an attorney. I didn’t tell you because I wanted proof before I involved you.
My heart pounded.
If something happens to me, ask for the blue folder in the attic. Do not tell Michael about it.
I looked toward the hospital room.
Sarah had been carrying this alone.
For weeks.
Maybe months.
I folded the letter carefully.
Then I noticed something.
The paper was dated.
Three days before my trip.
I stared at the date.
That meant Sarah had written this before I left.
And she had known she was in danger.
A nurse came over.
“You can see her now.”
I slipped the letter into my jacket.
When I entered the room, Sarah was awake.
She looked exhausted.
I sat beside her.
“Sarah.”
She looked at me.
“You found the letter.”
I nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She looked toward the window.
“I was afraid you’d confront Michael.”
“I would have.”
“That’s why.”
I reached for her hand.
“You should have trusted me.”
“I did.”
“Then why?”
She squeezed my fingers.
“Because he’s our son.”
Those four words hurt more than anything.
Because I understood.
Parents can forgive things they should never tolerate.
Sarah had spent her whole life protecting Michael from consequences.
Even tonight.
Especially tonight.
I pulled the letter from my jacket.
“Tell me about the blue folder.”
She closed her eyes.
“It has copies of everything.”
“Everything?”
“Bank records. Emails. Documents. Messages. The first deed draft. And something else.”
“What?”
She looked at me.
“An audio recording.”
I froze.
“Of what?”
“Michael.”
My pulse jumped.
“What does it record?”
“I don’t know everything. I only heard part of it.”
“What did you hear?”
Sarah’s voice trembled.
“He was talking to David.”
I leaned closer.
“And?”
“They were discussing how long it would take you to notice if the beach house disappeared.”
I stared at her.
“They knew I would object.”
“Yes.”
“And Olivia?”
Sarah looked away.
“She was there.”
My stomach turned.
“All three of them?”
She nodded.
Then she whispered:
“But that’s not the worst part.”
“What is?”
Sarah looked directly into my eyes.
“They weren’t only talking about the beach house.”
I waited.
“They were talking about this house.”
My entire body went cold.
“What?”
Sarah swallowed.
“They want our main house too.”
I stood.
“Why?”
“Because of the land.”
I stared at her.
“What land?”
She looked confused.
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
Sarah shook her head.
“Daniel, your father left you something in his will.”
I frowned.
“My father died twenty years ago.”
“I know.”
“He left me the house.”
“No.”
She paused.
“He left you the land beneath it.”
I didn’t understand.
She continued.
“The house is on a parcel that was recently rezoned.”
My heart stopped.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the property is worth far more than we thought.”
I sat back down.
“How much?”
Sarah’s eyes filled with tears.
“About four million dollars.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Four million.
The beach house was worth nearly a million.
Our main property was worth four.
Suddenly everything made sense.
Michael hadn’t simply become greedy.
Someone had shown him what our land was worth.
Someone had convinced him that his parents were obstacles standing between him and millions of dollars.
I looked at Sarah.
“Who?”
She whispered the name.
“David.”
I felt the room tilt.
David hadn’t just been helping his daughter and son-in-law.
He had been targeting us.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message.
From Michael.
Dad, please come home. We need to talk.
I stared at it.
Then another message arrived.
You don’t understand what’s happening.
Then a third.
If you go looking through Mom’s things, you’re going to regret it.
I showed Sarah.
Her face went pale.
“He knows about the folder.”
I stood.
“Then we need to get there before he does.”
Sarah grabbed my hand.
“Daniel.”
I looked back.
“Be careful.”
I nodded.
But when I returned home at 11:32 that night, the front door was unlocked.
The house was dark.
And the attic ladder was already pulled down.
Someone had gotten there before me.
