Chương 7
“No.”
“Does Mom know?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She saw the transfers.”
“And that’s when she took control?”
“Not immediately.”
“What happened?”
Gwen’s breathing changed.
She picked at a loose thread on the blanket.
“Your mother got angry.”
“I can imagine.”
“She said I had betrayed you.”
“That sounds less like imagination.”
“She said she was going to tell you.”
“But she didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I begged her not to.”
That landed harder than I expected.
“You begged her?”
“I was ashamed.”
“Gwen.”
“I knew what you would say.”
“You didn’t.”
“I knew enough.”
She looked at me then.
“You were always careful with money.”
“I was careful because we didn’t have much.”
“And I sent twelve thousand to someone you didn’t trust.”
“Without telling me.”
“Yes.”
There was no defense in her voice.
Only exhaustion.
“I was wrong.”
I rubbed both hands over my face.
That was the part I had not prepared for.
I had wanted clean lines.
Margaret and Paige on one side.
Gwen on the other.
Victim and offenders.
Money stolen and money withheld.
But families did not arrange themselves that neatly.
“What did Mom demand?”
Gwen answered without looking at me.
“Access.”
“To what?”
“Everything.”
“Bank accounts?”
“Yes.”
“Email?”
“Eventually.”
“Phone?”
“Later.”
“And you agreed because she promised not to tell me about your mother.”
“Yes.”
I stood and walked to the doorway.
Gwen said my name.
I kept my back to her.
I was angry at Margaret for using Gwen’s mistake as leverage.
I was angry at Gwen for giving her that leverage.
I was angry at myself because somewhere beneath all of it was an ugly question I did not want to ask.
“If you had access then,” I said, “why didn’t you pay for your own doctor?”
Gwen did not answer.
I turned.
Her eyes had filled again.
“Because by then I didn’t have access anymore.”
“That still doesn’t explain it.”
“Yes, it does.”
“No.”
I stepped back into the room.
“You had friends.”
She shook her head.
“You worked.”
“I lost the job.”
“When?”
“Eight months ago.”
“Why?”
“My attendance.”
“What happened?”
“I kept missing shifts.”
“Before the cancer?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
She stared at me.
Then she touched the side of her rib cage.
“There were symptoms before the lump.”
“What symptoms?”
“Pain.”
“What else?”
“Fatigue.”
She swallowed.
“And bleeding.”
My stomach turned.
“What kind of bleeding?”
“Daniel.”
“What kind?”
“Not from the tumor.”
She looked miserable.
“There were other problems.”
“Did the doctors check them?”
“Some.”
“Do you have another diagnosis?”
“I don’t know yet.”
I sat down hard.
The story had widened again.
“Why did Mom say you were dieting?”
“Because I started losing weight.”
“She knew it wasn’t a diet.”
“Yes.”
“Paige?”
“Yes.”
I stared at the plate of eggs cooling beside her.
“Why would they say that?”
Gwen’s answer came slowly.
“Because if you thought I was sick, you would ask why nobody had taken me to a doctor.”
That was the first explanation that made the lies fit together.
Not completely.
Enough.
I took out my phone.
Gwen looked nervous.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling somebody who isn’t in this house.”
“Who?”
“Marcus.”
Lieutenant Marcus Reed had handled enough administrative disasters for our company to know where paperwork went when nobody else did.
More importantly, he had known me long enough to recognize when I was asking the wrong question.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“You are on leave.”
“I know.”
“So why are you calling me at seven in the morning?”
“I need a favor.”
“That phrase from you has never improved my day.”
“I need copies of every direct-deposit authorization, allotment change, beneficiary update, and financial form submitted under my name during deployment.”
There was a pause.
“You lose a wallet?”
“No.”
“Identity theft?”
“Maybe.”
His voice changed.
Not dramatic.
Professional.
“You safe?”
“Yes.”
“Your spouse?”
I looked at Gwen.
“Not exactly.”
Another pause.
“What do you need from me first?”
“Dates.”
“I can pull what I’m authorized to see and tell you where the rest lives.”
“Don’t send anything to my home email.”
“Understood.”
“And Marcus?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t call anybody in my family.”
“Wasn’t planning to.”
I ended the call.
Gwen watched me.
“You trust him?”
“Yes.”
“More than me?”
The question hurt because she asked it quietly.
I put the phone down.
“Right now, I trust records more than everybody.”
She nodded once.
I regretted the sentence immediately.
Before I could repair it, Margaret called from upstairs.
“Daniel, I found the files.”
Gwen looked at me.
I stood.
For the first time since I came home, she reached for my hand before I reached for hers.
“Whatever she gives you,” Gwen said, “check the dates.”
“Why?”
“Because she replaced documents.”
“What documents?”
“I don’t know which ones.”
“How do you know she replaced them?”
Gwen tightened her fingers around mine.
“Because I saw her burning the old ones in the grill last winter.”
I looked at her hand around mine.
“What kind of documents?”
“She wouldn’t let me close enough to see.”
“When?”
“December.”
“What time?”
“Late.”
“Why were you outside?”
“I heard the back door.”
“What did she burn them in?”
“The old charcoal grill.”
I pictured it behind the shed, lid rusted at one hinge.
“Did Paige see?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Mom know you saw?”
Gwen shook her head.
“She thought I was asleep.”
I nodded and pulled my hand free gently.
“Stay here.”
“Daniel.”
“I’m not confronting her.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Margaret had arranged three folders across the dining table by the time I came upstairs.
Blue, gray, and red.
She had also changed out of her robe.
That detail bothered me more than it should have.
A pressed blouse.
Lipstick.
Hair brushed.
She looked ready for a meeting.
“Here,” she said.
I sat across from her.
Paige was nowhere in sight.
“What am I looking at?”
“House expenses, vehicle paperwork, and the account summaries.”
“Summaries?”
Margaret pushed the gray folder toward me.
May you like
“You said statements.”
“I said originals.”
