Chapter 6: The Secret Account
I couldn’t stop staring at the photograph.
Mark and Rachel.
Standing together.
Smiling.
Not the uncomfortable smile people make when they’re hiding something.
A real smile.
A partnership smile.
“How long?”” I whispered.
Malcolm looked confused.
“How long what?””
“How long have they been doing this?””
He leaned back.
“I don’t know everything.””
“But you know something.””
“Yes.””
“Then tell me.””
Malcolm rubbed his face.
“Mark started small.””
“With what?””
“Access.””
I frowned.
“He worked in medical distribution. He knew what products moved quietly. He knew what could disappear without immediate questions.””
My stomach turned.
“And Rachel?””
“She handled money.””
“No.””
Malcolm looked at me.
“You don’t want to believe it.””
“She’s my sister.””
“I know.””
“You don’t know anything about her.””
His expression softened.
“You’re right.””
He looked down.
“But I know what she did.””
I wanted to hate him.
I wanted him to be lying.
But every piece of information kept fitting together.
The debts.
The missing money.
The sedative.
The lies.
“Why would Rachel do this?””
Malcolm hesitated.
“Money.””
I shook my head.
“She doesn’t need money.””
Everyone thought that.
Rachel had a successful business.
A nice house.
A comfortable life.
But Malcolm said something that changed how I saw her.
“People with money can still be desperate.””
I looked at him.
“What happened between you and Mark?””
His face hardened.
“I owed him nothing.””
“What?””
“He owed me.””
“Then why did you buy from him?””
Malcolm looked away.
“Because I was angry.””
“Angry enough to kill?””
His silence was answer enough.
I stepped back.
“You’re a dangerous person.””
“Yes.””
The honesty shocked me.
“But I’m not the person who poisoned your daughter.””
I looked at him.
“Then who did?””
Malcolm stared at the floor.
“I don’t know.””
That was the one answer I believed.
Because he looked haunted.
Not proud.
Not satisfied.
Haunted.
When I returned home, the house felt different.
Every room carried a memory.
Emma’s toys on the floor.
Family photos on the walls.
The kitchen where Rachel had made lemonade.
I walked to the cabinet.
The unicorn cup was gone.
Police had taken it.
But the empty space remained.
A reminder.
A detective called that evening.
“Mrs. Carter, we found something else.””
I sat down.
“What?””
“An account.””
“Whose?””
“Your husband’s.””
I closed my eyes.
“Another bank account?””
“Yes.””
“How much?””
There was a pause.
“Over four hundred thousand dollars moved through it.””
I felt sick.
“Where did the money come from?””
“Several sources.””
“Like what?””
“Unknown buyers.””
I looked around the room.
“Detective, who had access?””
“Your husband.””
“And Rachel?””
Another pause.
“Yes.””
I felt my chest tighten.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
At 2:13 a.m., I heard my front door open.
I froze.
Someone was inside.
Slow footsteps moved across the floor.
I grabbed my phone.
I wanted to call the police.
But then I heard a familiar voice.
“Lily?””
Mark.
I stepped out of the bedroom.
“What are you doing here?””
He looked exhausted.
“I need to talk.””
“You broke into your own house?””
“I still live here.””
“No.””
My voice shook.
“You don’t.””
His face changed.
“Lily, please.””
“What do you want?””
He looked around.
Then whispered:
“I need you to understand something.””
“What?””
“Rachel is not your enemy.””
I stared at him.
“Then who is?””
Mark stepped closer.
“Someone is trying to destroy both of us.””
I laughed bitterly.
“Both of us?””
“Yes.””
“Your daughter almost died.””
His eyes filled.
“I know.””
“Then tell me the truth.””
He looked at me.
For the first time, he seemed truly afraid.
“I didn’t put the sedative in Emma’s drink.””
I waited.
“Then who did?””
His lips parted.
But before he could answer, a sound came from the hallway.
A phone ringing.
Not mine.
Not Mark’s.
We both turned.
The ringing was coming from inside the house.
From the kitchen.
Mark’s face went pale.
“Lily…”
“What?””
He whispered:
“That phone shouldn’t be here.””
I slowly walked toward the kitchen.
The ringing continued.
I opened the drawer beside the counter.
Inside was a small black phone.
A phone I had never seen before.
The screen lit up.
One new message.
I opened it.
May you like
And read:
*If you want to know who poisoned Emma, ask your husband what happened three years ago.*
