Chapter 7: The Secret My Sister Was Paid to Keep
Detective Cole Voss arrived at Bridget's townhouse twenty-three minutes after Emma's voicemail came through.
He brought Officer Maya Chen and a second detective, both carrying evidence kits. Bridget had already preserved the email, the photograph of the ledger, and the voicemail without altering the original messages.
I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the four words written beside my sister's name.
*She knows where it is.*
My father's handwriting was unmistakable.
I'd seen it on birthday cards, school permission slips, and the notes he'd left on my desk whenever he wanted me to fix another problem with his accounts.
He always wrote the letter R with an unusually long final stroke.
The same stroke appeared beneath Emma's name.
"Have you spoken to your sister?"" Voss asked.
"No.""
"Has she asked to meet you?""
"She sent those messages. That's all.""
Voss placed his notebook on the table.
"Until we establish what she's referring to, don't contact her directly. We'll preserve the messages and arrange any necessary interview through the proper channels.""
I nodded.
"She said she saw blood on Dad's shirt.""
"I heard the voicemail.""
"Do you believe her?""
Voss took a moment before answering.
"I believe she made the statement. Whether it's accurate is something we have to establish.""
I hated how reasonable that answer was.
Part of me wanted him to say my father was finished. That the evidence was enough. That Emma's confession would finally make the world understand what my family had done.
But evidence wasn't a magic word.
It was a trail.
And every step along that trail seemed to lead toward something worse.
Officer Chen examined the ledger photograph.
"The image appears to show a handwritten record of payments," she said.
"We'll need the original if it exists. We also need to determine when and where this page was created.""
I leaned toward the screen.
The ledger contained several dates, amounts, and initials. Most of the entries were difficult to read, but three stood out.
A payment to Northbridge Advisory.
A payment to a company connected to my mother's trust.
And a payment marked with the initials E.M.
Beside the final entry, Dad had written a date.
September 14, three years earlier.
The date Daniel Price died.
"Emma received money that night," I whispered.
"That's one possible interpretation," Chen replied.
"The entry alone doesn't establish what the payment was for or whether it was made.""
I pressed my lips together.
My sister had always been the one who needed money.
When her boutique failed, I paid the outstanding rent. When she accumulated credit-card debt, I negotiated a repayment plan with her bank. When she wanted to leave college for a semester, I convinced our parents to let her return without punishment.
Dad had called her irresponsible.
Mom had called her sensitive.
I'd called her my little sister.
And now I was looking at a record that might connect her to the night a man died.
Voss closed his notebook.
"We're going to locate Emma and arrange an interview. In the meantime, I want to ask you something about the ledger.""
"Anything.""
"Have you ever seen your father keep a handwritten account of payments like this?""
I thought carefully.
"Yes. He used to maintain a private notebook in his office. He said it was for personal expenses.""
"Did you ever see its contents?""
"No. But I remember a black leather cover with a silver clasp.""
Voss exchanged a glance with Chen.
"Do you recognize anything else about the page?""
I looked at the photograph again.
At the upper-right corner was a small triangular tear.
I remembered seeing that shape before.
Not in my father's office.
In the Christmas photograph.
Behind Emma, beside the open safe, sat a black notebook with a torn corner.
The same notebook.
"That's his private ledger," I said.
"I'm almost certain.""
Voss asked me to explain.
I described the notebook, the safe, and the photographs we'd found in my archive.
Chen wrote everything down.
"If the original ledger still exists," Voss said, "it may help establish the meaning of these entries. But we need to locate it and verify its authenticity.""
I stared at Emma's name.
"She knows where it is.""
"That appears to be what your father wrote," he said.
"We don't know whether she still knows its location, or whether the note refers to something else.""
After the detectives left, Bridget made me eat lunch.
I barely tasted it.
At three o'clock, Voss called with an update.
Emma had contacted her attorney and agreed to meet investigators that evening. She had also agreed to provide the original ledger photograph's source, although she hadn't yet disclosed where the notebook was located.
"She's willing to cooperate," Voss said.
"But we need to understand the scope of what she knows.""
"Can I speak to her afterward?""
"Not yet.""
I stared at the wall.
"She's my sister.""
"I understand.""
"She watched my mother hurt me. She recorded it. She left me in the cold.""
"I understand that, too, Tessa.""
His voice softened slightly.
"But if Emma has information about Daniel Price's death, we need to preserve her account before she has a chance to coordinate it with anyone else.""
I ended the call and walked into Bridget's study.
On her bookshelf stood a photograph of her and her younger brother, taken years earlier at a beach. They were both laughing, their faces turned toward the sun.
I picked it up.
"Do you talk to him often?"" I asked when Bridget entered.
"Most weeks.""
"What if he did something terrible?""
She considered the question.
"I'd want to know the truth. But loving someone wouldn't require me to lie for them.""
I returned the photograph to its place.
"That's what I keep getting wrong.""
"No," she said.
"You were taught that love meant absorbing the consequences of other people's choices. That's not the same thing.""
I sat down.
"What if Emma really was paid to keep quiet?""
"Then she has to explain what happened to the money.""
"And if she knows who killed Daniel?""
"Then she has to tell the investigators what she knows.""
I looked at the clock.
For the first time, I understood that I wasn't waiting for my family to confess.
I was waiting to find out whether the truth was larger than anything I had imagined.
At 7:18 p.m., Detective Voss called again.
Emma had arrived at the station with her attorney.
She'd brought the original notebook.
My hands went cold.
"Where was it?"" I asked.
"In a storage unit rented under her name.""
"How long has she had it?""
"She says she took it from your father's office three years ago.""
"Why?""
"She hasn't provided a complete explanation yet.""
I closed my eyes.
Three years.
Three years of birthdays, family dinners, and carefully staged photographs.
Three years of Emma pretending she'd never heard of Daniel Price's financial records.
Three years of my father believing the notebook was gone.
"Did she tell you what the payments meant?""
"She's still being interviewed.""
"Did she tell you what happened to Daniel?""
A pause.
"She has provided information about the hours surrounding his death. We're working to corroborate it.""
I pressed my hand against my mouth.
"Was there blood on Dad's shirt?""
"Tessa, I can't discuss every detail of an ongoing interview. I can tell you that her statement is being taken seriously and that the physical evidence will be examined independently.""
I thanked him and ended the call.
Bridget stood in the doorway.
"What happened?""
"They found the notebook.""
She closed her eyes briefly.
"Then we may finally understand what your father was hiding.""
An hour later, Voss sent us a brief update through Bridget.
Emma had confirmed that the initials beside the payment referred to her.
The entry recorded a transfer of $150,000.
She claimed the money had been given to her by Richard Morgan in exchange for keeping quiet about a document she had seen in his office.
She also admitted that she had entered the executive floor at 2:13 a.m. on the night Daniel Price died.
But her account of what happened next was far more disturbing.
According to Emma, she had entered the records room because her father told her to retrieve the black notebook.
She found Daniel Price arguing with Richard Morgan.
Martin Hale was there, too.
Emma claimed Daniel was alive when she entered.
She said she heard Daniel accuse my father of stealing money and forging his signature.
Then she said she heard a crash.
When she looked back into the room, Daniel was on the floor.
My father was standing over him.
Martin was holding a folded cloth.
Emma claimed she had frozen.
She'd never seen anyone die before.
She'd never seen her father look at another person with such coldness.
According to her statement, Richard turned toward her and said, "You didn't see anything.""
Then he pointed at the notebook.
"Take it. And remember who pays your bills.""
Emma took the notebook.
She left the building.
She told no one.
Not the police.
Not her friends.
Not me.
She kept the ledger hidden for three years while accepting money from our father.
And when I began examining the financial records, she panicked.
She told Mom.
Mom told Dad.
And they decided I had to be stopped.
I read the summary twice.
Then a third time.
Bridget sat beside me, saying nothing.
Finally, I looked up.
"She knew.""
"Yes," Bridget said quietly.
"According to her statement, she knew something serious had happened and concealed it.""
"She knew what they were capable of.""
Bridget didn't answer.
I stood and walked to the window.
My reflection stared back at me, pale and thin, with bruises fading into yellow along my cheekbone.
I remembered Emma kneeling beside me in the SUV.
Good luck.
I'd thought she was simply cruel.
Now I wondered whether she'd been afraid I'd survive long enough to discover what she'd hidden.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it, but a text appeared before the second ring.
Emma is lying. She wasn't there to retrieve the notebook.
Another message followed.
She was there because Daniel had something that belonged to your mother.
I stared at the screen.
Bridget came to my side.
"Another anonymous message?""
I nodded.
She photographed it.
"Did the sender explain what belonged to your mother?""
"No.""
A final message appeared.
Ask her about the blue envelope. Ask what was inside before your father took it.
I looked at Bridget.
The blue envelope.
I had seen it before.
Not in the office.
Not in the ledger.
In a photograph of my mother's dressing table, taken years earlier.
It had been tucked beneath a jewelry box.
And on its front, in my mother's handwriting, were two words.
*Birth records.*
I stepped away from the window.
"Bridget, I think the financial records are only part of this.""
She looked at the message again.
"Then we need to find out what else your family has been hiding.""
For three years, Emma had protected a secret that might destroy our father.
But someone else was still sending messages.
Someone who knew what happened in that office.
May you like
Someone who knew about the blue envelope.
And someone who seemed determined to make sure the truth came out one piece at a time.
