Chapter 7 - Susan finally speaks
I called Susan.
Richard answered her phone.
I hung up.
Ten minutes later, Susan called from another number.
“Emily?”
“Where is my mother’s red ledger?”
Silence.
Then crying.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
“You remember that?”
“I remember you taking it.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From Richard?”
More silence.
That was answer enough.
Susan asked to meet somewhere public.
We chose a café near Millennium Park.
I arrived first.
She entered wearing sunglasses despite the gray winter sky.
She looked smaller without Richard beside her.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t start there.”
She sat.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t have it.”
“Who does?”
“Your grandfather.”
“He’s dead.”
“No.”
She leaned closer.
“Bob copied it. I gave him the original years ago.”
“But it wasn’t in the vault.”
Susan looked frightened.
“Then Richard found it.”
My jaw tightened.
She explained.
After Laura died, Susan discovered the ledger among my belongings.
She read enough to understand Richard was moving company money.
She gave it to Grandpa secretly.
Why didn’t she leave Richard?
Fear.
Financial dependence.
Shame.
And, eventually, complicity.
Richard gave her everything she wanted as long as she stayed quiet.
“So you watched him treat me like garbage.”
Her eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“You let him tell me my mother abandoned me.”
“Yes.”
“You let him steal Grandpa’s inheritance.”
“I didn’t know how much.”
I laughed once.
“You knew enough.”
She lowered her head.
Then she placed something on the table.
A small brass key.
“Bob gave me this before he died.”
“What is it?”
“He said if Richard ever discovered the trust before you did, I should give this to you.”
“What does it open?”
“I don’t know.”
Then she said:
“But Richard has been looking for it for five years.”
My phone buzzed.
Michael.
“Emily, we have a problem.”
“What?”
“The fraud team froze the linked accounts.”
“That sounds like progress.”
“It was.”
Was.
Then:
“Someone attempted to move a large block of trust assets six minutes ago.”
“Richard?”
“We don’t know.”
“Did it work?”
“No.”
I exhaled.
Michael continued:
“But whoever tried used a second beneficiary credential.”
My chest tightened.
“Second beneficiary?”
“There shouldn’t be one.”
Then he said the name.
May you like
“Laura Bennett.”
My dead mother’s identity had just attempted to access my trust.
