Chapter 6: The Woman Who Knew My Mother’s Secrets
By eight the following morning, my father was sitting beside my hospital bed with a laptop open across his knees.
He hadn't slept.
Neither had I.
The doctor had scheduled additional tests for later that morning, and the nurse had asked my father to step outside while they prepared the equipment. He refused to go farther than the corridor.
“I'll be right outside,” he promised.
“You don't have to stand guard over me.””
He gave me a tired smile.
“I know. I want to.””
After the tests, the specialist told us that the results would require careful review. There was no reason to jump to conclusions, but my symptoms were serious enough that follow-up care could not be delayed.
My father immediately confirmed the next appointment.
Then he returned to the chair beside my bed and opened the email Michael had sent.
The attachment contained a preliminary review of the document that supposedly transferred authority over my mother's estate to Denise.
The signature on the document was suspicious.
The filing date was also suspicious.
And the original paperwork appeared to be missing from the county records.
My father rubbed his forehead.
“Michael says we need the original before anyone can reach a conclusion.””
“Could Mom have signed something before she died and it was filed later?””
“It's possible. But the document claims it was witnessed by someone who wasn't even present at the time.””
“Who?””
He looked at the page.
“Denise's brother.””
I remembered him vaguely.
His name was Robert. He had attended my father's wedding and once given me a ten-dollar bill for helping him carry groceries.
I had not seen him in years.
“Was he close to Mom?””
“No. They barely knew each other.””
My father closed the laptop.
“I don't want you worrying about the legal details. Michael will handle it.””
“Dad, I spent six years worrying about things nobody would explain to me.””
He looked at me.
I continued before I could lose my nerve.
“Every time Denise told me we couldn't afford something, I believed her. Every time she said you were too busy, I believed her. I thought I was being mature by not asking questions.””
I looked down at my hands.
“I don't want to be that girl anymore.””
My father was quiet for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
“All right. You'll know everything we learn, and we'll make decisions together.””
For the first time since the argument at the dining room table, I felt that I was being treated as a person rather than a problem someone needed to manage.
My father called Michael again.
The attorney had already requested records from the bank and contacted a specialist who could examine the signatures. He also wanted to interview Tasha about the emails she had found.
Before my father could answer, a nurse appeared at the doorway.
“Mr. Carter? There's a woman asking to see Maya.””
My father's expression hardened.
“Who?””
“Denise Carter.””
I felt my stomach twist.
My father stood.
“She isn't seeing my daughter without Maya's permission.””
The nurse nodded.
“Would you like me to tell her to leave?””
I looked at my father.
Part of me wanted to say yes.
I wanted Denise gone from my life, out of the hospital, away from every place where I might have to see her face again.
But another part of me needed answers.
“Let her come in,” I said.
My father turned toward me.
“Are you sure?””
I nodded.
“I don't want to keep being afraid of her.””
He studied my face, then pulled his chair closer to the bed.
“I'm staying right here.””
A few minutes later, Denise entered the room.
She wore a pale blue dress and carried a paper bag from a bakery. Her hair was perfectly arranged, and her makeup concealed the dark circles beneath her eyes.
She looked like a woman arriving to visit a distant relative.
Not someone who had watched a frightened teenager leave the hospital without arranging the medical care she needed.
“Good morning, Maya,” she said softly.
I didn't answer.
Denise placed the bag on the bedside table.
“I brought you something to eat.””
“I don't want anything from you.””
Her mouth tightened, but she quickly forced a smile.
“Sweetheart, I know you're upset. Things have gotten out of hand, and I think we should talk privately.””
“No,” my father said.
Denise ignored him.
“I made mistakes. I can admit that. But you have to understand the pressure I've been under.””
I stared at her.
“What pressure?””
She blinked.
“Managing the household. Looking after four children while your father was constantly away. Making sure everyone had what they needed.””
“What about what I needed?””
“I never intended for you to be hurt.””
“But I was.””
My voice sounded stronger than I expected.
“I was scared in the hospital. I thought I might die, and I didn't know whether my father even knew where I was.””
Denise looked down.
“I thought you were going to recover quickly.””
“The doctor told me I needed more tests.””
“You seemed better when you came home.””
“I came home because you said there wasn't enough money to keep me there.””
My father's hands clenched around the arms of his chair.
Denise looked at him.
“Arthur, please. I am trying to apologize.””
“Then tell the truth.””
She turned back toward me.
“I made decisions I thought were best for the family.””
“Did you take money from my inheritance?””
Her face went still.
“Who told you that?””
“The bank statements.””
“I didn't take your inheritance. I managed funds that were legally placed under my care.””
“By my mother?””
Denise didn't answer.
“Did my mother give you permission to control her estate?””
Her eyes flickered toward the door.
That was all the answer I needed.
My father stood.
“Denise, Michael will be contacting you about the documents. Until then, you are not to access any of Maya's accounts or records.””
She stared at him.
“You can't speak to me as though I'm a criminal.””
“Then stop behaving as though the truth is something you have to hide.””
Her face flushed.
She picked up the bakery bag and placed it back on the chair.
“Fine. If that's how you want to treat me, I won't bother coming again.””
She headed toward the door.
Then she stopped and turned back.
“There is one thing you should know, Maya.””
My heart began pounding.
“What?””
Denise looked directly at me.
“Your mother wasn't the person you think she was.””
My father stepped forward.
“Get out.””
But Denise continued.
“She left things out of her will. Things she never told you. If you knew what she was really doing before she died, you wouldn't be looking at me this way.””
“Denise!”” my father shouted.
She flinched, then hurried into the corridor.
My father followed her to the doorway but didn't leave the room.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I whispered, “Do you think she was telling the truth?””
He returned to my bedside.
“I think she knows something about your mother's estate, and she's trying to frighten us into stopping the investigation.””
“But what if Mom really did hide something?””
He took my hand.
“Then we'll find it. Whatever your mother did or didn't tell us, you deserve the truth.””
His phone rang.
Michael had received a call from the financial institution holding the trust.
They had located an additional account connected to my mother's estate. It had been opened shortly before her death and had received a substantial deposit afterward.
The account had never appeared on the statements my father received.
He asked Michael to send the records immediately.
When the email arrived, he opened the attachment and stared at the screen.
“What is it?”” I asked.
He turned the laptop toward me.
The account balance was more than $300,000.
Below the balance were several transfers made over the past six years.
Every transfer had been authorized by the same person.
Denise Carter.
But it was the final entry that made my father go completely silent.
A withdrawal of $50,000 had been made just three days before my hospital admission.
The recipient's name was not Denise's.
It was *Robert Carter*.
My father's eyes narrowed.
“Her brother.””
I stared at the screen.
“Why would she send him fifty thousand dollars?””
“I don't know.””
He picked up his phone and called Michael.
“Find out where that money went. And ask the bank to preserve every record associated with the account.””
He ended the call.
Then another email arrived.
This one contained a scanned copy of a letter attached to the original account application.
The letter was dated two days before my mother's death.
My father opened it.
I watched his face lose every trace of color.
“Dad?””
He read the first paragraph again.
Then he whispered my mother's name.
“Evelyn…”
“What does it say?””
He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of grief and disbelief.
“Your mother left instructions about what should happen to the money if she died.””
“And?””
He turned the screen toward me.
At the bottom of the letter was a handwritten sentence in my mother's unmistakable script.
If Denise Carter ever gains control of this account, contact my daughter immediately. There is something she must know about the night I died.
My breath caught.
The room seemed to tilt around me.
I had spent six years believing my mother had died because a sudden illness had taken her from us.
My father had told me there was nothing anyone could have done.
Now, on the screen in front of us, my mother's own handwriting suggested that she had feared something might happen to her.
And she had specifically named Denise.
My father reached for my hand.
Neither of us spoke for several seconds.
May you like
Then I looked at him and asked the question that had haunted me since childhood.
“Dad, what really happened the night Mom died?””
