Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO CALLED THE POLICECeleste arrived at the bank before the detectives finished questioning me.
She walked into Martin’s office wearing black designer clothes, oversized sunglasses, and the expression of a grieving widow.
Tyler followed with his phone.
Of course he did.
“Nora,” Celeste whispered.
The performance was immediate.
“You frightened me.”
I almost laughed.
“You reported me for stealing?”
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
She touched her chest.
“Daniel kept important business materials in the house. When I discovered something was missing—”
“You mean the key.”
Her eyes flickered toward my pocket.
Martin stepped between us.
“Mrs. Bennett, this is a private banking area.”
“My husband had accounts here.”
“Which does not give you access to Miss Bennett’s private matters.”
Celeste removed her sunglasses.
Something cruel appeared beneath the grief.
“She is not mentally stable.”
Tyler lifted his phone.
“Mom, maybe don’t—”
“Turn that off,” Martin said.
Tyler grinned.
“Public building.”
“Private office.”
Tyler lowered the phone reluctantly.
The detective who had questioned me, Detective Ramirez, watched everything.
He had gray at his temples and the patient expression of a man who had spent decades watching people lie.
“What exactly was stolen?” he asked Celeste.
“A key.”
“To what?”
Celeste hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know it belonged to your husband?”
“I saw it before.”
“Where?”
Another hesitation.
“His desk.”
I pulled Dad’s note from my coat.
“Interesting.”
Celeste’s eyes locked onto the paper.
“What is that?”
“Something Dad hid for me.”
Her face drained.
Detective Ramirez held out his hand.
“May I?”
I looked at Martin.
He nodded slightly.
Ramirez read the note.
His expression changed at the sentence about Celeste.
He handed it back.
“Mrs. Bennett, unless you can demonstrate ownership of the key, I don’t see grounds for a theft complaint.”
“I am Daniel’s widow!”
“And Miss Bennett is his daughter.”
Celeste’s voice sharpened.
“Daniel was under enormous stress before he died. He had become suspicious. Paranoid.”
Martin spoke quietly.
“That isn’t what his physician said.”
Celeste turned.
“What?”
“I was one of Daniel’s designated emergency contacts. There is no documented cognitive impairment.”
That was the first moment I saw panic in her eyes.
Small.
Brief.
But real.
Celeste recovered quickly.
“Nora, come home.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“This has gone far enough.”
“Yesterday you threw me out.”
“You were emotional.”
“You poured my mother into the gutter.”
Detective Ramirez looked at her.
Tyler suddenly found the floor fascinating.
Celeste’s face tightened.
“That was an accident.”
“Your son filmed it.”
“He misunderstood what was happening.”
“Really?”
I took out my phone.
“I’d love to see the unedited video.”
Tyler’s head snapped up.
“What?”
“The original.”
He laughed nervously.
“I deleted it.”
Detective Ramirez turned toward him.
“You deleted potential evidence after your mother filed a police complaint connected to the same incident?”
Tyler’s grin vanished.
“I mean—I might still have it.”
Ramirez held out a card.
“Do not delete anything else.”
Celeste grabbed Tyler’s arm.
“We’re leaving.”
Before she reached the door, Martin said, “Mrs. Bennett.”
She turned.
“You should expect formal notice this afternoon.”
“Notice of what?”
“The Bennett Family Trust is exercising its ownership rights.”
Silence.
I looked at Martin.
Celeste stopped breathing.
“What rights?”
“The residence at 1847 Hawthorne Lane is owned by the trust.”
Her voice dropped.
“No.”
“The corporate headquarters at 612 Monroe Avenue is also trust property.”
“That’s Daniel’s company property.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
Understanding spread across her face.
I could practically see her remembering every renovation she had ordered, every party she had hosted, every time she had called the house hers.
“You can’t do this,” she whispered.
I stood.
“You told me yesterday that I had ten minutes to get off your property.”
“Nora—”
“It turns out you were confused about whose property it was.”
Tyler stepped forward.
“You can’t kick us out.”
I looked at him.
“No one said anything about kicking you out.”
Relief crossed his face.
“Yet.”
Celeste’s composure finally cracked.
“You ungrateful little bitch.”
Detective Ramirez raised an eyebrow.
So much for grieving widow.
She pointed at me.
“Your father gave you everything because your mother poisoned him against me.”
“My mother barely spoke about you.”
“That woman manipulated him until the day she died!”
Something about the way Celeste said it stopped me.
Not sadness.
Not resentment.
Hatred.
Fresh hatred.
As if Mom had been a current threat, not Dad’s ex-wife of eleven years.
“What did my mother know about you?” I asked.
Celeste went still.
Martin looked at me.
I repeated it.
“What did she know?”
Celeste grabbed Tyler.
“We’re done.”
They left.
Detective Ramirez watched them disappear down the hall.
Then he turned to me.
“Your parents were together when they were killed.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know why?”
“No.”
“We found papers in your mother’s car.”
My pulse quickened.
“What papers?”
“We haven’t released that publicly.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because one of them contained a list of financial transactions.”
Martin and I exchanged a look.
Ramirez noticed.
“You know something.”
I swallowed.
“My father had concerns about money missing from his company.”
“How much?”
“At least six hundred thousand.”
“Who was associated with the transactions?”
I hesitated.
“Celeste.”
Ramirez’s expression became unreadable.
“Did your father document that?”
“Yes.”
“Then I need copies.”
Martin shook his head.
“Through counsel.”
“That’s fine.”
Ramirez pocketed his card.
“But do it quickly.”
“Why?”
He looked directly at me.
“Because I don’t believe your parents were killed during a robbery.”
My hands went cold.
“What do you believe?”
“I believe somebody wanted something they were carrying.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“What?”
“We don’t know.”
After Ramirez left, Martin immediately called Elias Mercer.
The attorney arrived forty minutes later.
He was younger than I expected, maybe forty, with a plain charcoal suit and no-nonsense demeanor.
He read Dad’s notebook.
Then the deeds.
Then the police card.
Finally, he looked at me.
“How much do you want to know today?”
“All of it.”
“It may change the way you remember your father.”
“I can live with that.”
“It may change the way you remember your mother too.”
I hesitated.
Then nodded.
Elias opened the first flash drive.
Password protected.
Martin tried Dad’s birthday.
Wrong.
My birthday.
Wrong.
Mom’s birthday.
Wrong.
I stared at the screen.
Then remembered the note.
“The rain always reveals what was buried.”
I typed:
RAINREVEALS
Access granted.
Hundreds of folders appeared.
Elias clicked the newest.
A video file sat inside.
Date recorded: three days before the murders.
My father appeared onscreen.
He looked exhausted.
“Nora,” he said.
“If you’re watching this, then I failed to get ahead of them.”
I gripped the edge of the desk.
Dad continued.
“First, your mother and I need you to understand something. We were not meeting because we planned to reconcile. We were working together because we discovered money was being stolen from the company.”
He looked down at notes.
“Celeste is involved.”
My breath stopped.
“But she is not working alone.”
A pause.
“The person helping her is someone I trusted for twenty years.”
He leaned closer to the camera.
“And if that person discovers you have the brass key, you may be in danger.”
The video ended.
I stared at the black screen.
Elias spoke first.
“Who did your father trust for twenty years?”
Martin’s face had gone pale.
I turned toward him.
“What?”
Martin whispered one name.
“Victor Lang.”
I knew that name.
Everyone in my father’s life did.
Victor was his business partner.
May you like
His best friend.
And the executor of his will.
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