Chapter 5: The Man Who Investigated My Mother
Aunt Evelyn refused to let me return home.
We spent the next hour in the library, reviewing every document she had brought. She explained the trust, the attempted transfer, and the unanswered questions surrounding my mother's death.
But she wouldn't speculate about my father's involvement.
“Your mother taught me something,” she said, placing the papers back into their folder.
“When you're frightened, it's tempting to turn every suspicion into a fact. Don't do that. Facts are what will protect you.””
I looked at the photograph of Richard, Nicole, and Daniel Cross.
“Then let's find facts.””
Evelyn studied me.
“You sound exactly like your mother.””
“Is that good?””
A sad smile touched her lips.
“It was one of the things that frightened people who wanted to control her.””
She took out her phone and searched for a number.
“I know someone who worked with the original accident investigator. He retired years ago, but he may remember details that never made it into the final report.””
“Will he talk to us?””
“If he believes we're serious.””
She made the call.
A man answered after the third ring.
“Harold speaking.””
“Harold, it's Evelyn Bennett.””
A pause.
“Evelyn? I haven't heard from you in years.””
“I need to ask you about Isabelle's accident.””
The silence stretched so long that I thought the call had disconnected.
Then Harold spoke.
“You need to leave that alone.””
Evelyn closed her eyes.
“I'm sorry?””
“You heard me. That case was closed.””
“My sister died under suspicious circumstances.””
“And the investigation found insufficient evidence of foul play.””
“Then why was the file sealed?””
“Because people with money have lawyers.””
Evelyn's expression hardened.
“Did you know Daniel Cross was a private investigator?””
“Yes.””
“Did you know he had met Richard Bennett and Nicole before the crash?””
Another silence.
Then Harold lowered his voice.
“Where are you calling from?””
“The public library.””
“Are you alone?””
“No.””
“Who is with you?””
I leaned toward the phone.
“My name is Maya Bennett. Isabelle was my mother.””
Harold exhaled slowly.
“Oh, God.””
My stomach tightened.
“You knew my mother?””
“I met her twice.””
“Did she tell you she was afraid?””
He didn't answer.
“Mr. Harold, please. I was nine when she died.
I've spent eight years believing it was an accident. Now I've found a letter saying it wasn't supposed to happen to her.””
Evelyn turned toward me, startled.
I hadn't told Harold about the letter.
He went silent.
Then he said, “Who gave you that?””
“My mother.””
“Where is it?””
“With me.””
“Don't show it to anyone else. Not yet.””
Evelyn gripped the phone.
“Harold, what do you know?””
He sighed.
“Meet me at the old courthouse tomorrow morning. Nine o'clock. Bring the documents, but leave the originals somewhere safe.””
“Why tomorrow?”” I asked.
“Because I'm not discussing this over a phone that may be monitored.””
The call ended.
Evelyn stared at the screen.
“That was more than I expected.””
“Do you trust him?””
“I trust that he knows something.””
“That isn't the same thing.””
“No,” she admitted.
“It isn't.””
We left the library and walked to a small café across the street. Evelyn ordered tea and a sandwich for me, insisting that I hadn't eaten enough.
I took two bites before my phone buzzed.
A message from Dad.
*Please come home. I owe you an explanation.*
I stared at it.
Evelyn noticed.
“What does he say?””
“He wants me to come home.””
“Do you want to?””
I thought about Nicole's hand striking my cheek. I thought about the pregnancy test, the security footage, and my father's demand that I erase it.
Then I thought about his voice on the phone.
If I tell you what happened that night, you may never forgive me.
“I want answers,” I said.
“But I'm not going back until I know I'm safe.””
Evelyn nodded.
“Then we'll meet Harold tomorrow. Tonight, you'll stay with me.””
I glanced at the café window.
Across the street, a black sedan sat beside the curb.
Its engine was running.
A man in a gray coat sat behind the wheel.
I couldn't see his face clearly, but when I turned toward the car, he lifted his phone and took a photograph of us.
I jumped to my feet.
“Evelyn.””
She followed my gaze.
The sedan pulled away before she could get a better look.
“Did you recognize him?”” I asked.
“No.””
I grabbed my backpack.
“He was taking pictures.””
Evelyn paid the bill, and we left through the rear entrance.
She took me to her apartment, a modest two-bedroom place above a pharmacy. The living room was filled with books, framed photographs, and plants growing along the windowsill.
It felt more like a home than my father's mansion had felt in years.
Evelyn gave me a spare key and showed me the guest room.
“You can lock the door if you want.””
“I do.””
She nodded without judgment.
That evening, we sat at her kitchen table while she showed me old photographs of my mother.
In one, Isabelle was standing beside a birthday cake.
In another, she was holding me as a baby.
I touched the photograph.
“Did Mom ever talk about Dad and Nicole?””
“Not much at first. She met Nicole through a charity committee. Nicole was charming, ambitious, and very interested in the Bennett family finances.””
“Was Dad dating her before Mom died?””
Evelyn hesitated.
“No. But they knew each other professionally.””
“How?””
“Nicole's company had tried to purchase a property owned by your grandfather's trust. Your mother rejected the offer.””
I frowned.
“Why?””
“Because the price was far below market value. Nicole argued that the property was deteriorating and that selling it would be sensible.””
“Was she right?””
“No. An independent valuation showed the property was worth nearly four times what Nicole had offered.””
My stomach tightened.
“And Dad knew?””
“Yes.””
“Did he help Nicole?””
“I don't know.””
She closed the photograph album.
“That's why we need Harold.””
Later, while Evelyn prepared the guest room, I searched my mother's name online.
Most of the results were old obituary notices and memorial pages. But one article caught my attention.
It was dated three months before her death.
*LOCAL BUSINESSWOMAN QUESTIONS DISAPPEARING TRUST FUNDS*
The article was short, buried on an archived local-news website.
It described Isabelle Bennett's concerns about irregular financial transactions connected to a property development company.
The company name was familiar.
Bennett Urban Holdings.
My father's business.
I read the article twice.
According to the report, my mother had raised concerns about a proposed transfer of trust-owned property to a subsidiary. The company denied wrongdoing, and the transaction was temporarily suspended pending review.
Two weeks later, my mother died.
I printed the article and showed it to Evelyn.
She read it in silence.
“I remember this,” she said.
“Isabelle told me the deal had been stopped.””
“Was Nicole involved?””
“Her company was one of the proposed buyers.””
“And Dad?””
“He signed the development proposal.””
I stared at the signature.
My father had been part of a transaction my mother had publicly challenged.
The next morning, we arrived at the courthouse ten minutes early.
Harold was waiting on the steps. He was a thin man in his late sixties, with silver hair and a cane. His eyes moved from Evelyn to me.
“You've grown,” he said.
I frowned.
“You've met me before?””
“Briefly. At your mother's funeral.””
He gestured toward the building.
“Let's go somewhere private.””
We found a quiet room in the courthouse library. Harold placed his cane beside the table and removed a thick envelope from his coat.
“I kept copies of certain records because I didn't trust the way the investigation was handled,” he explained.
Evelyn leaned forward.
“What records?””
“Telephone logs. Photographs. A preliminary report that never appeared in the official file.””
He spread the papers across the table.
One page listed calls made from Daniel Cross's phone on the day of the accident.
Several calls had been placed to Nicole's business number.
One had been placed to my father's office.
Another had been made to a phone registered to a property management company.
I looked at the dates.
“Was Daniel following my mother?””
“Yes,” Harold said.
“Why?””
“He was hired to investigate her financial activities.””
“By whom?””
Harold hesitated.
“Your father.””
The words landed like a physical blow.
Evelyn shook her head.
“Richard hired him?””
“He claimed he was investigating suspected financial misconduct involving the trust. But the arrangement was unusual. Daniel had no experience in forensic accounting. He was a private investigator who specialized in surveillance.””
“Did my mother know?”” I asked.
“Yes. She discovered Daniel photographing her and confronted him. According to his statement, he told her he was working for Richard.””
I stared at the papers.
“So Dad was spying on Mom?””
“That's what the evidence suggests.””
“Did he know she was in danger?””
Harold's expression darkened.
“That's the question I never managed to answer.””
He removed another document.
It was a handwritten note addressed to Daniel Cross.
The signature at the bottom was Richard Bennett's.
*Make sure the matter is resolved before Friday. I don't want Isabelle interfering with the transfer again.*
My hands went numb.
“Is that real?””
“It's a copy of a note found in Daniel's vehicle after the accident. The original disappeared from the evidence file.””
Evelyn covered her mouth.
I could barely breathe.
“Does that mean Dad ordered someone to hurt Mom?””
“No,” Harold said firmly.
“It means he wanted her interference stopped. That is suspicious, but it doesn't establish that he ordered a collision. We need more evidence before drawing that conclusion.””
I looked at the note again.
My father had hired the investigator who followed my mother.
He had written words that could be interpreted in more than one way.
And after my mother died, he married the woman whose company stood to benefit from the financial transaction she had opposed.
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I asked the only question that mattered.
“What happened to Daniel Cross?””
Harold reached into the envelope and removed a newspaper clipping.
“Three days after your mother's funeral, he left the state. His vehicle was found abandoned outside a motel. He was never located.””
“Never?””
“Not officially.””
He turned the clipping toward us.
A recent handwritten note had been added in the margin.
*Cross is alive. Contacted me last month.*
My pulse raced.
“Where is he?””
Harold looked at me.
“He agreed to meet me today.””
“Where?””
“Here.””
A knock sounded at the door.
All three of us turned.
Harold rose slowly and opened it.
A man stood in the hallway wearing a gray coat.
His face was older than the photograph, but I recognized him immediately.
Daniel Cross.
He looked past Harold and saw me.
Then his expression collapsed.
“Oh, God,” he whispered.
“You're Isabelle's daughter.””
I stood.
“Tell me what happened to my mother.””
He glanced toward the hallway, then stepped into the room and closed the door.
“I didn't mean for her to die.””
Evelyn gripped the table.
“What does that mean?””
Daniel looked at me with red-rimmed eyes.
“Your mother wasn't the person I was supposed to stop.””
My heart hammered.
“Who was?””
He reached into his coat and pulled out a photograph.
It showed Nicole standing beside a black sedan on the night my mother died.
A second figure stood behind her.
A woman with dark hair.
May you like
A woman whose face I recognized from my own childhood photographs.
My aunt Evelyn.
