Chapter 3

The safe was hidden behind a framed photograph of Eleanor and her husband.

I had dusted that photograph every Thursday for ten years.

I had never known what was behind it.

Margaret positioned her phone on Eleanor's desk and started recording. The camera captured the safe, the unopened envelope containing the combination, and all five of us standing in the room.

Michael watched from the doorway.

"This is unnecessary," he said.

"You requested an investigation into the will," Margaret replied. "A complete record protects everyone."

His eyes moved to me.

I looked away first.

Eleanor's study still smelled of lemon furniture polish and the lavender hand cream she used before bed. Her reading glasses rested beside a half-finished crossword puzzle.

For one irrational second, I wanted to pick them up and take them to her.

Then I remembered there was nowhere to take them.

Margaret opened the envelope and entered the combination. Each turn of the dial sounded too loud in the quiet room.

"Rebecca," she said, "I need you in view of the camera."

I stepped forward.

Michael followed, but Margaret raised one hand.

"You can observe from there."

His jaw tightened.

The lock clicked.

Inside the safe were no stacks of cash. No velvet boxes filled with jewelry.

Only documents.

Margaret put on a pair of gloves and removed them one at a time.

The first was a bank transfer.

One hundred eighty thousand dollars had been moved out of Eleanor's account six months earlier. The recipient was a company called Harbor Ridge.

At the bottom of the page were four words:

Authorized by Rebecca Hale.

Below them was my signature.

I leaned closer.

The curve of the R. The narrow space between my first and last name. Even the final stroke that always tilted down when I signed too quickly.

It looked exactly like mine.

But I had never seen the transfer.

"That's not possible," I said.

Michael stepped farther into the room.

"Is that your signature?"

"It looks like it."

"Either it is or it isn't."

My fingertips turned cold.

"I didn't authorize this."

Margaret placed the document in a clear sleeve before Michael could touch it.

The second item was an old legal agreement.

Most of the first page was covered in dense language, but one name appeared in bold near the top:

Laura Bennett.

The agreement required her never to discuss Michael, Eleanor, or Hale & Company.

I read the name again.

It meant nothing to me.

Yet the room had changed.

Michael had gone completely still. Behind him, Diane lowered her eyes.

"Who is Laura Bennett?" I asked.

Michael did not answer.

Margaret removed the third item: a small white card with two typed words.

HARBOR RIDGE.

No address. No explanation.

The fourth item was a flash drive marked VIDEO.

The final two envelopes had my name on them.

Margaret opened the first.

Inside was a single sheet in Eleanor's handwriting. The letters shook slightly, but they were still unmistakably hers.

Rebecca,

Compare the dates.

Find Laura Bennett.

Do not trust my version until you have heard hers.

My eyes moved to the second envelope.

Across the front, Eleanor had written:

Open only after you speak to Laura.

Even dead, she was still giving instructions.

A familiar pressure formed behind my ribs—the same pressure I had felt whenever Eleanor handed me another medication list or Michael asked me to rearrange my day.

But this time, I had no idea what she expected me to fix.

"What is this?" I asked Michael.

He stared at the transfer bearing my signature.

"My mother told me she kept cash in that safe."

Margaret looked toward the empty metal shelves.

"There was no cash."

"There should have been. And jewelry. Her company seal."

"Were those items listed anywhere?"

"I knew what my mother owned."

Michael took out his phone.

My heartbeat stumbled.

"You saw the safe opened," I said. "It was locked. Everything was recorded."

"That proves what was inside today." His gaze dropped to the transfer. "It doesn't prove what you removed before she died."

The cruelty of the accusation arrived slowly.

I had possessed Eleanor's house key. I had managed her medication. I had paid her caregivers and helped monitor the account used for her medical expenses.

Michael had been too busy to do any of it.

Now every responsibility he had given me could be turned into evidence against me.

"Michael," Emma said from behind him, "what are you doing?"

"What I should have done months ago."

He lifted the phone to his ear.

Margaret stepped between us.

"Think carefully before you make a false report."

Michael never looked away from me.

When someone answered, his expression changed. The anger disappeared.

In its place came the calm, wounded face of a grieving son.

"I need to report a theft," he said. "And possible financial abuse of an elderly woman."

He paused.

"Yes. My mother is dead."

His eyes settled on mine.

"The person responsible is standing right in front of me."