Chapter 8 - SOMEONE WENT BACK FOR THE LETTER
I called 911 from the elevator.
Then I called the private nurse staying with Florence’s house until we decided what to do with it.
No answer.
By the time I reached the property, two patrol cars were already in the driveway.
The study had been torn apart.
Drawers dumped.
Books ripped from shelves.
My father’s desk split open with a pry bar.
The nurse, Carla, sat on the kitchen floor wrapped in a blanket, furious more than frightened.
“He shoved me into the pantry,” she said. “I’m going to kill him.”
One officer raised an eyebrow.
“Figure of speech,” Carla added.
She had seen only a masked man in a maintenance jacket.
He took nothing obvious.
No silver.
No electronics.
No cash.
He wanted paper.
I knew exactly which paper.
Detective Ruiz arrived ten minutes later.
“You told Kessler about the bank.”
It was not a question.
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes.
“I specifically told you not to confront him.”
“I know.”
“You may have just warned the person we are investigating.”
“I know.”
Saying it twice did not make it smaller.
Ruiz photographed the study while I stood there feeling like an idiot.
Then Carla called from the hallway.
“Edward? Was this here before?”
She pointed to a small white envelope wedged beneath the grandfather clock.
My name was written on it.
Not my father’s handwriting.
Victoria’s.
Inside was a flash drive and a note.
“If you are reading this, I finally did one decent thing before I ruined everything. Listen to the file called MARCH 3.”
Ruiz took the drive before I could touch it.
At the station, we played the recording.
Martin’s voice filled the interview room.
“You have one chance before Florence dies. Once the trust transfers to the shelters, your mother’s money is gone forever.”
Victoria answered, “You said it was hers.”
“It should have been.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No. It’s the only thing that matters.”
Then Martin said something that made Ruiz stop the audio.
“Get Florence’s signature. I’ll handle Edward.”
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