Chapter 4 - Rebecca’s Name
Arthur did not sleep.
At six in the morning, he stood in the kitchen drinking coffee he could not taste while Clara photographed every document Maria had found.
The threat sat on his phone like a live wire.
“Do we tell police now?” Maria asked.
“Yes,” Arthur said.
Clara raised a hand. “We tell a detective we trust, not whoever happens to answer the desk. If this reaches Elena before we preserve the financial evidence, she starts deleting.”
Arthur looked toward the ceiling.
“Evan heard her threaten him.”
“And that matters. But the text mentions Rebecca. We need to know whether it’s intimidation or information.”
Maria lowered her voice. “Mr. Vance, there’s something else.”
Arthur turned.
“Last month, Mrs. Vance asked me where Mrs. Rebecca’s old things were stored.”
“What?”
“She said Evan wanted a photograph. I told her the boxes were in the carriage-house attic.”
Arthur was already moving.
The attic smelled like dust and cedar. Rebecca’s life had been packed into labeled containers because grief had made Arthur efficient in the cruelest way possible.
CLOTHES.
BOOKS.
EVAN’S BABY THINGS.
LEGAL.
The LEGAL box was open.
Arthur crouched.
Inside were old insurance statements, Rebecca’s will, tax returns, and her handwritten household notebook.
One folder was missing.
“Her medical file,” Arthur said.
Maria looked at him. “You’re sure?”
“I packed it myself.”
Clara came up behind them. “What was in it?”
“Records from after a minor crash six months before she died. She had headaches for weeks.”
“Anything else?”
Arthur tried to remember.
Then something surfaced.
“Rebecca told me she thought someone had been accessing her investment accounts.”
Clara stared at him.
“You never mentioned that.”
“I thought it was a password problem. She changed banks.”
“Who handled her personal investments?”
Arthur already knew the answer before he said it.
“Laurent Advisory.”
Maria’s face tightened.
“Elena’s family?”
Arthur nodded.
He had met Elena through charity work two years after Rebecca died. She had never said she knew Rebecca personally.
Clara picked up Rebecca’s old notebook and flipped through it.
Several pages had been torn out.
But near the back, one line remained.
E.L. CALLED AGAIN. SAYS I’M MAKING A MISTAKE. ASK GRAHAM ABOUT TRANSFERS.
Arthur’s mouth went dry.
E.L.
Elena Laurent.
Graham Pike.
The same man whose notary seal now sat beneath Arthur’s forged signature.
His phone rang.
Detective Marcus Reed was calling back.
Arthur answered.
Before he could speak, Reed said, “Arthur, I pulled Rebecca’s old crash report.”
“Why?”
“Because you asked me whether anything was unusual.”
Arthur gripped the phone.
“And?”
“The brake line wasn’t torn in the impact.”
May you like
Arthur stopped breathing.
“It was cut before the car left the road.”
