Chapter 3 - THE UNKNOWN SENDER
“Dad, please,” Christopher choked out, tears finally filling his eyes. “You don't understand how far she’ll go! She threatened to take Lily to New York! She said I’d never see my daughter again!”
“I said, get out of my house,” I repeated, my tone as cold as glacier ice. “Leave Lily here for the night with Patricia. You and Jessica are leaving right now.”
“You can’t keep my daughter!” Jessica shrieked, taking a step toward the living room where Lily was hiding behind the sofa.
Robert Morrison stepped into her path, his broad shoulders blocking the archway. “I wouldn't push your luck tonight, young lady. My cousin is the deputy chief of police in this county. If you step near that child after what you just did to May, I’ll have a cruiser in this driveway in three minutes.”
Jessica glared at Robert, then at me, her face twisted in pure venom. “You think you’ve won, Lawrence? You’re just an old man sitting on a house you can’t afford to maintain without Christopher’s financial support! We’ll see who begs first when the bank notices your trust transfers!”
She grabbed her designer purse from the island, spun on her heel, and stormed down the hallway. The front door slammed so hard the glass panes rattled in the frame.
Christopher stood frozen in the middle of the ruined kitchen. He looked at May, who was quietly crying into her paper napkin, then at me.
“Mom... Dad...” he whimpered.
“Go with your wife, Christopher,” I said, turning my back on him. “You made your choice the second you put her greed above your mother’s safety.”
He stood there for five agonizing seconds, waiting for May to offer her usual grace, her usual soft blanket of forgiveness. But May kept her head bowed, her hand clutching her bruised arm.
When his footsteps finally faded down the driveway and his car engine roared to life, the ten remaining guests slowly began to move.
Helen Morrison immediately knelt by May, helping her pick up the broken pieces of blue porcelain. Patricia went into the living room, gently lifting Lily into her arms and carrying the sleepy seven-year-old upstairs to the guest bedroom.
I walked back to the kitchen counter and picked up my phone.
The mysterious text message was still sitting on the screen.
Who sent this? I thought, my mind racing. Who had been standing outside my home in the dark, taking high-resolution photos of our kitchen at the exact moment of the assault?
I dialed the unknown number.
It rang three times before a deep, calm female voice answered.
“I was hoping you’d call, Lawrence.”
May you like
My breath caught in my throat. “Who is this? How do you know my name?”
“My name is Evelyn Vance,” the woman replied smoothly. “I am a forensic accountant and senior partner at Vance Private Investigations. And for the past six months, I have been investigating your daughter-in-law for systemic wire fraud, identity theft, and corporate embezzlement.”
