Chapter 10 - Rebecca’s Version of Love
Rebecca had disappeared from the hospital twenty minutes earlier.
Security footage showed her leaving calmly.
No rush.
No disguise.
She expected us to discover her.
Detectives searched the messages she had voluntarily shown me.
Several were real.
Others had been edited.
Rebecca had directed my attention toward Eleanor from the beginning.
Not because Eleanor was innocent.
She wasn't.
But because Rebecca needed her to become the obvious villain.
Thomas Vance controlled the family trust.
Rebecca wanted control instead.
Maya was the legal obstacle.
Liam was the trigger.
And I was the unpredictable outsider.
Two branches of the Vance family had been quietly fighting over $31 million while my mother saw an opportunity to attach herself to whichever side won.
Then Chloe found another recording on Ethan’s laptop.
Rebecca:
“Keep Maya frightened.”
Eleanor:
“I won't hurt the baby.”
Rebecca:
“You already dislike the mother.”
Eleanor:
“That doesn't mean I'm a monster.”
I almost laughed at the distinction.
My mother had withheld food.
Manipulated communication.
Attempted to declare Maya incompetent.
Stolen from us.
But apparently even Eleanor had lines.
Rebecca didn't.
She had suggested increasing Maya's medication enough to make her confused during a psychiatric evaluation.
Eleanor refused.
That explained the pharmacy bag.
Mom had taken it.
I had assumed cruelty.
For once, taking something away may have protected Maya.
Nothing was clean anymore.
Villains could refuse worse villains.
Victims could lie.
People who helped could also cause harm.
Then police located Rebecca.
She had gone to the Vance family office in Manhattan.
With Liam’s trust documents.
“How?”
Maya whispered:
“The ink.”
The fingerprint taken while Maya slept.
Rebecca had arranged it.
Not Eleanor.
Thomas and Rebecca had been working against each other while separately manipulating my family.
Then a detective received an alert.
Someone had attempted to access the descendant trust.
The authorization required Maya’s biometric confirmation.
The forged thumbprint failed.
Again.
Again.
Then succeeded.
Impossible.
Maya was sitting beside me.
Unless—
My attorney stared at the transaction.
“This wasn't a fingerprint.”
“What was it?”
“Facial verification.”
I turned.
Maya’s hospital tablet was missing.
On it were dozens of videos of Maya staring directly into the camera while calling me from the maternity ward.
Enough footage to build a convincing synthetic identity.
The transfer request began processing.
$31 million.
Destination hidden.
Time remaining:
Forty-three minutes.
Then my phone rang.
Mom.
Not from Miami.
From downstairs.
“David,” Eleanor whispered.
May you like
“Don't let Rebecca leave the building.”
A gunshot sounded through the phone.
