Chapter 4 - REBECCA’S SECRET BUSINESSBy noon, the county prosecutor had copies of Grandma’s recordings.
By three, a financial-crimes detective named Alicia Moreno was sitting across from me in a conference room asking questions about my father and sister.
By five, I realized Grandma’s house was only the smallest piece of the problem.
Detective Moreno had the patience of someone who had learned that guilty people usually destroyed themselves if you gave them enough silence.
She was forty-two, wore no-nonsense glasses, and carried three different colored pens.
“Let’s start with Hart Family Property Holdings,” she said.
I nodded.
“Formed eleven months ago.”
“Registered owners?”
“Richard Hart, fifty-one percent. Rebecca Hart, forty-nine.”
Moreno slid a printout toward me.
“Not anymore.”
I read it.
Two months earlier, ownership had changed.
Richard Hart: twenty percent.
Rebecca Hart: thirty percent.
RHM Capital Partners: fifty percent.
“What is RHM?”
“That’s what we’re investigating.”
“Does Rebecca own it?”
“Not directly.”
“Dad?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Moreno folded her hands.
“A man named Michael Voss.”
I didn’t recognize the name.
“Real estate?”
“Private lending.”
That phrase could mean almost anything.
“What kind?”
“The kind that charges people twelve percent interest and takes property when they fail.”
She showed me another document.
Voss had liens on twelve houses across the county.
Seven belonged to elderly homeowners.
Three had recently died.
I stared at the addresses.
One was three blocks from Grandma’s.
“You think Dad and Rebecca were finding properties for him?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“But Grandma thought so.”
Moreno tapped her pen.
“Your grandmother was remarkably organized.”
“That was her polite way of terrifying people.”
Moreno smiled faintly.
“She made a list of eight names.”
She slid Grandma’s notebook back toward me.
I hadn’t noticed that the initials in one section corresponded to neighbors.
Helen Watkins.
George Meyers.
Patricia Cole.
Walter Dunne.
Every one elderly.
Every one living alone.
“What happened to them?”
“Two sold their homes within the last year.”
“Voluntarily?”
“That’s what we’re checking.”
The investigation accelerated quickly after that.
Rebecca’s brokerage cooperated.
Not because they wanted to.
Because investigators arrived with a warrant.
Her office computer was seized.
So was the printer Grandma mentioned.
So were three boxes of files found in a locked cabinet beneath Rebecca’s desk.
Rebecca called me that evening.
Different number.
I answered.
“What did you do?”
No hello.
No concern about my ribs.
“What did you do, Rebecca?”
“You sent cops to my work.”
“I didn’t send anyone.”
“You gave them Grandma’s stupid notebook.”
“Grandma’s stupid notebook?”
“She was confused!”
“She recorded you.”
Silence.
I heard her breathing.
Then:
“What recording?”
That told me Dad hadn’t told her.
Interesting.
“Ask your attorney.”
“Claire—”
“Do not contact me again.”
“Wait.”
Something in her voice changed.
Fear.
Not anger.
“Claire, please.”
I almost hung up.
Then she whispered:
“You don’t understand who Dad got involved with.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Michael Voss?”
Silence again.
Then a tiny inhale.
Rebecca said, “I have to go.”
The line died.
I called Moreno immediately.
She was already aware.
Rebecca’s phone was being monitored pursuant to the warrant.
“She knows Voss,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Is she in danger?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether she stole from him.”
That stopped me.
Moreno explained.
Investigators had found irregularities in Hart Family Property Holdings.
Money entered from Voss-controlled entities.
Some was used for questionable loans.
Some disappeared.
“How much?”
“Potentially two hundred thousand.”
“And you think Rebecca took it?”
“We think somebody did.”
Dad had been arrested for assault but released on bond.
Rebecca had not yet been charged.
The next morning, Dad violated his no-contact order.
He didn’t call.
He came to Grandma’s house.
I was upstairs packing Grandma’s clothes for donation when I heard Lena shout from downstairs.
I moved to the landing.
Dad stood in the foyer.
Lena blocked him.
“You need to leave.”
“This is my mother’s house.”
“It’s Claire’s responsibility now.”
“I’m not talking to you.”
His eyes found me.
“Claire.”
I stayed on the stairs.
“You’re violating the court order.”
“I need five minutes.”
“No.”
“Your sister is in trouble.”
“Then she needs a lawyer.”
“You think this is funny?”
“No.”
Dad stepped forward.
Lena didn’t move.
He stopped.
For all his rage, even he understood hitting one Army officer in a week was probably enough.
“Rebecca borrowed money,” he said.
“From Voss?”
His face confirmed it.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“Did you know what she was doing to Grandma?”
“She didn’t do anything to your grandmother.”
“Don’t lie.”
His face tightened.
“I was protecting what belonged to this family.”
“By forging signatures?”
“Nothing was supposed to happen.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“You beat me with a bat.”
“You wouldn’t listen!”
The sentence echoed.
Dad heard it too.
He looked away.
“Rebecca told me Voss needed collateral. Temporary collateral. We’d repay him when the property project closed.”
“What project?”
“A senior housing development.”
“And Grandma agreed?”
He didn’t answer.
“That means no.”
“She would have if she understood.”
“No. She wouldn’t.”
Dad climbed one stair.
Lena immediately said, “Stop.”
He did.
He looked older than he had three days earlier.
For the first time, the arrogance had cracks.
“Voss thinks Rebecca has something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because she’s disappeared.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She left her apartment last night.”
“Did you call police?”
“They’re the reason she ran!”
“No, Dad. Her actions are the reason she ran.”
“You always hated her.”
“That isn’t true.”
“You loved watching her fail.”
“Also not true.”
“Then help me find her.”
Before I could answer, my phone rang.
Detective Moreno.
I put it on speaker.
“Captain Hart?”
“Yes.”
“We located your sister’s car.”
Dad went completely still.
“Where?”
Moreno hesitated.
“Abandoned near Mill Creek.”
Dad’s face went white.
“Is she there?”
“No.”
“What was in the car?”
Another hesitation.
“Blood.”
Dad gripped the banister.
I felt the old instinct rising—the one that made me move toward emergencies before fear caught up.
“How much?”
“Small amount. Could be from an injury. We don’t know whose yet.”
“Any sign of forced entry?”
“The driver’s window is broken.”
Dad whispered, “Voss.”
Moreno heard him.
“Do not go looking for Michael Voss.”
Dad turned toward the door.
I knew exactly what he was about to do.
“Dad.”
He stopped.
“If you leave and chase him yourself, you’ll make this worse.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“So am I.”
That landed.
For one second, neither of us moved.
Then Dad looked at my bruised shoulder.
Something like shame crossed his face.
It vanished quickly.
But I saw it.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
An apology given because he needed something wasn’t an apology.
Moreno spoke through the phone.
“Captain, I need you downtown. We found something else in Rebecca’s car.”
“What?”
“A flash drive.”
My stomach tightened.
“What’s on it?”
“We don’t know. It’s encrypted.”
Dad turned.
I looked at him.
Then Moreno added:
“But there was a note taped to it.”
“What did it say?”
“Two words.”
May you like
She paused.
“ASK CLAIRE.”
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