Chapter 8 - The Accident That Didn’t Happen
Three months earlier, my metalworking shop had suffered an equipment failure.
A heavy assembly dropped less than ten feet from where I was standing.
No one was killed.
Two men were injured.
The investigation initially called it mechanical failure.
Later, inspectors found evidence of unauthorized maintenance changes.
That incident led to the settlement discussions.
I had considered myself lucky.
Now Brianna was telling me Stephen knew about it before my family did.
“How?”
“I heard him telling Mom that Canada was taking longer than expected.”
Lucy gripped my hand.
My pulse slowed.
I had learned in the shop that panic killed judgment.
“What exactly did he say?”
Brianna tried to remember.
“If Nathan won’t sign from a distance, the workplace event should solve the problem.”
Sign what?
The trust transfer?
A power of attorney?
Maybe they originally planned to get my signature through forged documents and only escalated after I remained inaccessible.
But there was a problem with the theory.
Stephen was an accountant in Minnesota.
How would he manipulate machinery in Calgary?
He likely couldn’t.
Maybe he was simply exploiting a real accident after it occurred.
My Canadian attorney confirmed that possibility.
The maintenance sabotage was linked to a local contractor under investigation.
No evidence connected Stephen.
Important.
I would not turn suspicion into fact simply because my family already deserved suspicion.
Then my lawyer found what Stephen actually did.
Within forty-eight hours of my workplace accident, someone submitted an inquiry to a private records company requesting information on my death-benefit eligibility.
Requester:
North Ridge Recovery.
Stephen expected I might die.
He did not necessarily cause the accident.
But he was prepared to profit from it.
That was almost worse.
He had built a system waiting for tragedy.
If Lucy died first, insurance.
If I died first, trust control.
If neither died, forged paperwork and pressure.
Stephen did not need to create every disaster.
He only needed to position himself beneath each falling piece.
Brianna handed me another file.
“Dad’s key opens a deposit box.”
“How do you know?”
“I followed Mom once.”
Bank in St. Paul.
Box 417.
The hummingbird key.
Theresa still had it.
But my lawyer didn’t need the physical key if we could establish my beneficial interest through court proceedings.
Yet that took time.
Stephen now knew we were looking.
So we let him believe the key still mattered more than it did.
I sent Theresa one message:
I’ll give you $100,000 from the settlement if you bring the necklace tonight. No lawyers.
Lucy stared at me.
“She’ll come.”
“I know.”
“And Stephen?”
“He’ll tell her not to.”
“Then why—”
“Because she’ll choose the money.”
Lucy looked sad.
She knew my mother better than I wanted her to.
At 8:13 p.m., Theresa replied:
Where?
I smiled without joy.
My mother had just chosen $100,000 over the man she claimed to fear.
Then Brianna whispered:
“Nathan, there’s something else in that deposit box.”
“What?”
“Dad’s second will.”
I stared.
“What second will?”
“The one Mom thought Lucy found.”
And suddenly the cruelty toward my wife had another beginning.
May you like
Lucy had not been punished only because she got sick.
She had been punished because Theresa believed she knew what Joseph Carter had truly left behind.
