Chapter 5: The Woman Who Knew Too Much
I read Emily's messages three times before I replied.
How did you get my number?
Her response came almost immediately.
Harold gave it to me. He said you were at Denise's house when the letter was opened.
I leaned against my car, the December air biting through my coat.
What do you know about Marcus?
The typing indicator appeared, disappeared, then returned.
I know he wasn't the person who first contacted my mother about the trust.
I stared at the screen.
Then who was?
This time, the answer took nearly a minute.
I don't know. But I have a letter with your husband's signature on it, and I need someone to help me understand why it was sent.
My stomach tightened.
Can we meet tomorrow?
Tonight, Emily replied. Please. I'm afraid someone knows I've started asking questions.
She sent an address for a twenty-four-hour diner near downtown Savannah.
I considered calling Marcus. I considered driving to my sister's house and pretending the entire evening had been a nightmare I could sleep away.
Instead, I started the car.
At the diner, a waitress was wiping down the counter when I entered. The place smelled of burnt coffee, fried onions, and the lemon cleaner used on the tables. Christmas lights blinked around the windows, and a small radio played a slow country song near the kitchen.
A young woman sat in the back booth, wearing a faded denim jacket over a gray sweater. Her dark hair was tied in a loose bun, and she held a manila envelope against her chest.
She looked up when I approached.
"Tasha?""
"Emily?""
She nodded.
For a moment, we simply looked at each other.
She had James Walker's eyes.
Not exactly the same color as Marcus's, but the same shape, the same slight downward tilt at the corners. Seeing them made my chest ache unexpectedly.
Emily noticed my expression.
"You've seen the picture.""
"Yes.""
She slid out of the booth.
"Thank you for coming.""
I sat across from her.
"Harold said your mother died four years ago.""
Emily lowered her gaze.
"Pancreatic cancer. She was sick for almost a year.""
"I'm sorry.""
"She didn't tell me who my father was until she knew she was dying.""
Emily opened the envelope and removed several folded pages.
"She said she didn't want me growing up believing a man who never acknowledged me was the center of my life. She wanted me to have something that belonged to me, even if I never met him.""
She placed a photograph on the table.
James Walker sat on a wooden porch beside a younger Rebecca. His arm rested across her shoulders. He was smiling in a way I had never seen in the formal portraits at Denise's house.
"He visited us when I was little," Emily said.
"Not often. My mother said he sent birthday cards and paid some of her medical bills. Then, when I was about seventeen, the visits stopped.""
"Did your mother know why?""
"She thought Denise had threatened to expose her. She believed my father was afraid of losing his family.""
Emily looked toward the window.
"When Mom got sick, she contacted the attorney named in one of Dad's old letters. He told her there was a trust. He said she could request an accounting, but she needed proof of identity and a copy of Dad's death certificate.""
"Did she get them?""
"She got the death certificate. The trust records were another matter.""
Emily took out a photocopy of a letter.
The paper had been folded into quarters, and a faint water stain crossed one corner.
"This arrived at our house six years ago, shortly after my father died. My mother never showed it to me until she was sick.""
I unfolded it.
The letter was addressed to Rebecca Bennett. It stated that James's estate had been settled and that no additional funds were available to her or her daughter. At the bottom was Marcus's full name, followed by a signature that looked remarkably like the one I had seen on his business contracts.
"Did you ask Marcus about this?"" I said.
"I tried.""
"What happened?""
Emily gave a small, humorless laugh.
"I called the number listed for Walker Holdings. I was transferred to his office. His assistant told me Mr.
Walker didn't accept unsolicited personal calls. I sent a registered letter explaining who I was.""
"And?""
"Three days later, I received a letter from an attorney telling me to stop making false claims against the Walker family.""
My fingers tightened around the paper.
"Marcus knew about you?""
"I don't know. That's why I'm here.""
She reached into her bag and removed another document.
"This is the part that doesn't make sense.""
It was a copy of a bank transfer authorization. The document bore the name of a company I recognized from Marcus's business cards.
Walker Holdings.
The authorization had been issued four months after James died. It directed payments from the family trust into a separate account.
The signature at the bottom was Marcus's.
But there was something strange about it.
The letters were too evenly spaced. The pressure marks looked identical across every stroke. It was the kind of signature that could have been copied from a scanned document.
"Have you shown this to Harold?"" I asked.
"Yes. He says it needs to be authenticated.""
"Then why are you worried someone knows you've started asking questions?""
Emily took a slow breath.
"Because two nights ago, someone broke into my apartment.""
I sat straighter.
"Did they steal anything?""
"Nothing valuable. They didn't touch my laptop or my television. They went through my mother's old boxes. They opened every envelope, scattered photographs across the floor, and took one document.""
"Which one?""
Emily reached into the envelope and pulled out a photograph of a handwritten page.
"This is the only copy I had made.""
I examined it.
The page appeared to be a list of dates and amounts, with several names written in the margins. At the bottom was a sentence in James's handwriting.
If Marcus signs anything without reading it, Denise will use him to finish what she started.
My heart began to pound.
"What does that mean?""
Emily shook her head.
"I don't know. But look at the dates.""
I traced the entries with my finger.
The first payment had been made six months before James died. The second came three months later. The third was dated two weeks before his death.
The final entry was dated six years ago, on the day of James's funeral.
Beside it was a set of initials.
M.W.
"Marcus Walker," I whispered.
"Or someone who wanted us to think it was him.""
I leaned back.
"Have you considered that he might actually be involved?""
Emily's face tightened.
"Every day.""
"Then why are you telling me?""
"Because Harold said your husband looked genuinely shocked when he saw the letter. He thinks Marcus might have been manipulated.""
She paused.
"And because I found something else in my mother's belongings.""
Emily pulled a small photograph from her wallet.
It showed a young Marcus standing beside James in front of the Walker family home. Marcus looked perhaps sixteen. James had one hand on his son's shoulder, while a woman stood partially hidden behind them near the edge of the frame.
The woman's face had been scratched out.
I frowned.
"Who is that?""
"My mother believed it was Denise's younger sister, Patricia. She said Patricia handled some of the family's paperwork after James became ill.""
"Does Patricia still live in Georgia?""
Emily nodded.
"She does. But when I called her last week, she hung up as soon as I mentioned my mother's name.""
I stared at the scratched-out face.
The family had another person connected to the trust, someone who had disappeared from the story entirely.
Before I could ask another question, my phone began vibrating.
Marcus.
I let it ring.
Emily glanced at the screen.
"You should answer.""
"Why?""
"Because if your husband is involved, he'll want to know where you are.""
I answered and put the phone to my ear.
"Hello?""
"Tasha, where are you?""
"Out.""
"With whom?""
I looked at Emily.
"Why?""
"Because Mom's house is a disaster, Harold has accused me of financial crimes, and now you've disappeared.""
"Your mother is an adult. She'll survive one ruined Christmas.""
His voice dropped.
"Are you with Emily?""
I froze.
Across the table, Emily stopped breathing.
"How do you know her name?""
Silence.
Then Marcus said, "Tasha, listen to me. You need to leave wherever you are and come home.""
"Why?""
"Because you don't understand what she's doing.""
Emily leaned toward the phone.
"Marcus, it's Emily.""
His breathing changed.
"Emily, you need to stay away from this.""
"Why? Because I might discover what happened to my mother's money?""
"That's not what this is about.""
"Then tell me what it's about.""
He said nothing.
Emily's eyes filled with tears, but her voice remained steady.
"My mother died believing your family stole from her. I lost her house. I spent years paying bills she couldn't afford because the money your father left us never arrived. If you know anything, you owe me the truth.""
Marcus finally spoke.
"I never knew you existed until tonight.""
"Then explain the letter bearing your signature.""
"I can't do that over the phone.""
"Can you do it in person?""
A long silence followed.
"Tomorrow morning," he said.
"Ten o'clock. The old Walker office on River Street.""
He hung up.
Emily looked at me.
"Do you believe him?""
I thought about the signature, the missing documents, and the expression on Marcus's face when Harold revealed his father's warning.
"I believe he was shocked tonight.""
"That's not the same thing.""
"No," I admitted.
"It isn't.""
Emily gathered the papers.
"There is one more thing I haven't told Harold.""
"What?""
She hesitated, then took out a small envelope sealed with yellowed tape.
"My mother left this for me. She told me not to open it unless I ever found proof that the trust money had been deliberately diverted.""
My pulse quickened.
"And you found that proof?""
Emily nodded.
"Last week.""
She carefully opened the envelope and removed a folded sheet of paper.
The first line contained a date.
The second contained a name.
I read it twice before the meaning sank in.
It wasn't Marcus's name.
It was Denise's.
And beneath it, in handwriting that looked exactly like James Walker's, were six words that made my blood run cold.
The child is not Rebecca's alone.
Emily stared at me.
"My mother told me she had a secret about my birth. I thought she meant my father.""
She turned the page over.
May you like
On the back was a hospital name, a date, and a handwritten instruction.
Ask Patricia what happened that night.
