Chapter 5 - THEY HAD BURIED THE EVIDENCEGrandpa had not been buried.
That was the problem.
He had been cremated.
By the time I heard his warning, his body was ash sealed inside a bronze urn.
Richard had insisted cremation was what Walter wanted.
No service delay.
No autopsy.
No questions.
I sat in Grandpa’s dark study holding the recorder while fury slowly replaced shock.
“How fast can someone arrange cremation?” I asked.
Evelyn understood what I meant.
“Usually there are legal procedures.”
“Could Richard accelerate them?”
“With the right paperwork.”
“And a doctor willing to sign.”
Neither of us said Leonard Mills’s name.
We didn’t need to.
The next morning, Michael referred our evidence to a federal fraud unit and contacted the Cook County State’s Attorney’s Office.
That did not mean arrests.
It meant waiting.
And Richard used every hour of that waiting against me.
By lunchtime, Carter Development released a statement accusing me of exploiting an elderly relative.
By evening, a gossip site published photographs from my military discharge ceremony beside a headline:
ESTRANGED ADOPTED DAUGHTER FIGHTS FAMILY FOR $40 MILLION FORTUNE.
Forty million.
That was the first time I learned the approximate value of the trust.
The comments were brutal.
Ungrateful.
Gold digger.
Mentally unstable veteran.
Richard knew exactly where to strike.
Not legally.
Socially.
He wanted me embarrassed enough to retreat.
The next morning, Denise called.
I almost ignored her.
Then I answered.
Her voice trembled.
“Hannah?”
“What do you want?”
“I need to see you.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“Where’s Richard?”
“Not here.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
That surprised me.
Then she said:
“But there are things I should have told you years ago.”
We met at a crowded coffee shop in Lincoln Park.
Denise wore sunglasses despite the gray weather.
She looked smaller than usual.
Less polished.
“I didn’t know about your inheritance,” she began.
“I believe that.”
“But I knew about Rebecca.”
My fingers tightened around my coffee.
“How much?”
“Richard told me she was troubled.”
“Everybody keeps using that word.”
“He said she abandoned you.”
“She didn’t.”
“I know that now.”
“How?”
Denise pulled an envelope from her purse.
Inside was a photograph.
Rebecca held me as a toddler.
Richard stood beside us.
Smiling.
On the back:
Hannah’s second birthday.
My birthday.
Three months before Rebecca died.
“You had this?”
“Richard kept a box in our attic. I found it years ago.”
“Why didn’t you show me?”
“Because I was afraid of what it meant.”
“For you?”
She lowered her eyes.
“Yes.”
At least she admitted it.
“What else?”
“Richard became obsessed with Walter’s estate about six months ago. He said Walter was losing his mind and needed protection.”
“Was Grandpa losing his mind?”
“No.”
“Then why help Richard?”
“I didn’t understand what he was doing.”
“You witnessed the revocation.”
Her eyes snapped up.
“What?”
I showed her Ethan’s photograph.
Denise stared.
“That isn’t my signature.”
The room seemed to sharpen.
“You’re sure?”
“I know my own signature.”
“So Richard forged yours too.”
Her face collapsed.
“Oh God.”
“Did Dr. Mills visit Grandpa?”
“Several times.”
“With Richard?”
“Once that I saw.”
“When?”
“About two weeks before Walter died.”
“What happened?”
“They argued.”
“About?”
“I couldn’t hear everything.”
She hesitated.
“Richard said something about protecting the company.”
“What did Grandpa say?”
Denise looked at me.
“He said, ‘You already killed one person for that company. You’re not taking Hannah too.’”
My coffee cup stopped halfway to my mouth.
“Why didn’t you tell police?”
“Because I convinced myself I had misunderstood.”
“No. You convinced yourself silence was easier.”
She cried.
I felt no satisfaction.
Only exhaustion.
“What happened the day Grandpa died?”
“Richard left our house around six.”
“Where did he go?”
“He said the office.”
“Did he?”
“I don’t know.”
“What time did Grandpa die?”
“Dr. Mills estimated between seven and eight.”
“And Richard came home?”
“Nine-thirty.”
My pulse increased.
“Did he change clothes?”
Denise looked confused.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He said he spilled coffee.”
“What clothes?”
“A navy sweater and khakis.”
Exactly what Margaret remembered Richard wearing when she had seen him earlier that day.
“Do you still have them?”
“No.”
“Where are they?”
“He burned them.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“In the fireplace.”
“When?”
“That night.”
Now Denise was crying openly.
“I thought it was strange. He said there was paint on them.”
“Paint?”
She nodded.
Then something occurred to me.
Grandpa’s study.
The clock.
The recorder.
The room had recently been repainted.
Dark green.
I called Evelyn.
“Have investigators sealed Grandpa’s house yet?”
“They’re on their way.”
“Tell them to check the study.”
“For what?”
“Paint.”
Richard had burned his clothes because he had gotten something on them.
Possibly paint.
Possibly while searching Grandpa’s study.
Possibly while trying to find the recorder.
By that afternoon, forensic technicians were inside the house.
Richard’s attorneys objected.
They lost.
Investigators found a partial shoe impression in dried paint behind the grandfather clock.
Size eleven.
The tread pattern matched an expensive Italian loafer.
Michael called that evening.
“We need a warrant before anyone starts comparing shoes.”
“Do you think it matters?”
“It might.”
“What about Grandpa?”
“There’s another avenue.”
“What?”
“Medical records.”
Dr. Mills had prescribed Grandpa medication.
Investigators subpoenaed pharmacy data.
What they found was strange.
Grandpa’s heart medication dosage had doubled ten days before his death.
There was no corresponding cardiology appointment.
No test.
No documented reason.
Then a pharmacist found something worse.
The electronic prescription had not originated from Dr. Mills’s normal clinic terminal.
It came from his personal login at 11:43 p.m.
The same night Richard and Mills had met privately at Carter Development headquarters.
Still, increased medication alone proved nothing.
Until we found Grandpa’s housekeeper.
Mrs. Alvarez had worked for him twelve years.
She remembered Walter complaining that his new tablets looked different.
She also remembered Richard replacing the pill organizer.
“Did you see him do it?” an investigator asked.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Three days before Mr. Bennett died.”
My stomach twisted.
Then she added:
“Mr. Carter told me not to bother with the medicine anymore. He said he would handle it personally.”
That was enough for police to begin treating Grandpa’s death as suspicious.
But without a body, proving poisoning would be difficult.
Richard knew it.
So he made his boldest move.
The following morning, Evelyn received an emergency court filing.
Richard claimed I was not Rebecca Hart’s biological daughter.
He claimed Grandpa had created the trust under a mistaken belief.
And he demanded immediate genetic testing.
At first, I laughed.
Then Evelyn didn’t.
“What?”
“If he can create doubt about your identity, he can freeze access.”
“So we test.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why?”
She looked at me.
“Because Walter preserved Rebecca’s hair sample for precisely this reason.”
“Fine.”
“And Richard knows that.”
A chill moved through me.
“So?”
“So last night, someone broke into the secure evidence storage facility where Rebecca’s sample was held.”
My chair scraped backward.
“What was taken?”
Evelyn’s eyes hardened.
“One item.”
Rebecca’s DNA sample.
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Richard wasn’t trying to prove I wasn’t her daughter.
He was trying to make sure nobody could prove that I was.
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