Chapter 2 - The Money After Death

By eight the next morning, Julian had a lawyer.

By nine, that lawyer was telling reporters there had been a tragic medical misunderstanding.

By ten, someone leaked Chloe's name.

I watched the television in the family waiting room while Detective Ortiz stood beside me.

A reporter outside Julian's home said, "Sources close to the family claim the child suffered from a rare condition that may have mimicked death."

I turned toward Ortiz.

"Is that possible?"

"Not with the evidence we have."

"Then why are they saying it?"

"Because somebody wants the public hearing an explanation before we have a chance to give them the truth."

I stared at the screen.

Julian's attorney appeared next.

"My client is a devastated father."

I laughed once.

It sounded ugly.

Ortiz muted the television.

"Mrs. Hale."

"Margaret."

"Margaret, I need to ask you about money."

"Chloe mentioned it."

"Do you know of any trust in her name?"

I sat down slowly.

"My husband left one."

Ortiz waited.

"Richard died four years ago. He loved Chloe more than anything. He created trusts for all three grandchildren."

"How much?"

"I don't know the exact current value. Several million each."

"And if Chloe dies?"

"I don't know."

"Who administers the trust?"

"Julian did. With our family attorney, Martin Kessler."

Ortiz wrote the name down.

"Could Julian receive the money?"

"I assumed it stayed for future descendants."

"Assumptions are dangerous in estate documents."

I looked toward Chloe's room.

"Find out."

"We will."

Chloe slept most of that day.

When she woke, she asked for cereal.

It was the most beautiful request I had ever heard.

A nurse brought a tiny box.

Chloe ate three bites.

Then she looked at me.

"Is Daddy coming?"

"No."

"Mommy?"

"No."

She pushed the spoon through the milk.

"I don't want Mommy to come."

"She won't."

"She gets mad when I tell."

"Tell what?"

Chloe's eyes shifted toward the door.

I lowered my voice.

"You can tell me anything."

She whispered, "The papers."

"What papers?"

"In Daddy's office."

"What did you see?"

"I colored on one."

I almost smiled.

"You colored on a paper?"

"By accident."

"What happened?"

"Mommy yelled. Daddy yelled at Mommy."

"What was on the paper?"

"I don't know."

"Do you remember any words?"

Chloe thought hard.

"Grandpa Richard."

My heart tightened.

"What else?"

"Chloe Hale."

I sat very still.

"Was your name printed on it?"

She nodded.

"And Daddy wrote your name too."

"How?"

"Like this."

She made a scribbling motion.

"Did Daddy sign your name?"

"Mommy told him to."

I called Ortiz.

She arrived twenty minutes later with an investigator from the financial crimes unit.

His name was Samuel Reed.

He had kind eyes and a voice that made Chloe less nervous.

"Chloe," he said, "I heard you like drawing."

"I like horses."

"So do I."

"You don't look like you ride horses."

Reed smiled.

"That's fair."

He slid a blank piece of paper toward her.

"Can you show me where Daddy wrote your name?"

Chloe drew a rectangle.

"Paper was like this."

Then she drew a line near the bottom.

"Here."

"Did he write anything else?"

"Mommy said, 'Again. Make it match.'"

Reed and Ortiz exchanged a glance.

I felt sick.

Later, in the hallway, Reed told me what he thought.

"If your son was forging signatures related to the trust, Chloe may have seen something she wasn't supposed to see."

"She's six."

"Children become dangerous witnesses when adults underestimate them."

"Could he inherit if she died?"

"We pulled the original trust summary. Yes."

I gripped the wall.

"How much?"

"Approximately twelve point eight million dollars."

For a moment, I could not hear anything else.

"You're sure?"

"There's a clause. If a beneficiary dies before age eighteen without descendants, that beneficiary's share passes to the beneficiary's parent."

"Richard would never have wanted that."

"That may be exactly why someone was trying to accelerate the event."

I stared at him.

"You're saying Julian tried to murder his daughter for twelve million dollars."

"I'm saying we have a financial motive that requires investigation."

"Don't talk to me like I'm fragile."

Reed lowered his voice.

"I'm trying not to tell you more than the evidence supports."

"Then tell me what it supports."

He exhaled.

"We found a draft transfer packet on Julian's office computer. It was created six weeks ago."

My skin prickled.

"What transfer?"

"A request to liquidate Chloe's trust upon death."

"Six weeks ago?"

"Yes."

"Before she supposedly got sick."

"Yes."

I closed my eyes.

When I opened them, Ortiz was watching me.

"What?"

"There's more."

"Of course there is."

"The physician who signed the death certificate is Dr. Malcolm Latham."

"I don't know him."

"He has no hospital privileges in Illinois."

"Then how did he pronounce her dead?"

"That's what we'd like to ask him."

"Where is he?"

"Missing."

I laughed again.

This time there was no humor at all.

"And the funeral home?"

"Private transport was arranged through Bell & Crane."

"I've never heard of it."

"Small operation. Mostly direct cremations and closed-family services."

"Cremations?"

Ortiz nodded.

"The original instructions were for Chloe to be cremated at seven thirty tomorrow morning."

My knees weakened.

I sat down.

If I had gone home, there would have been no rescue.

No second chance.

No body left to examine.

Nothing but ashes and a death certificate.

"Margaret."

I looked up.

"Victoria knew I would stay," I said.

Ortiz frowned.

"What?"

"She knows me. She knew I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye."

"Then why risk putting Chloe in the house overnight?"

"Maybe she didn't expect me to open the casket."

"Or maybe someone expected you to."

I stared at her.

"The key."

Ortiz nodded.

"We found it where you said you found it. It doesn't belong to the casket manufacturer."

"Then someone placed it there."

"Possibly."

"Who?"

"We're checking the funeral staff."

That afternoon, Julian called me from county detention.

I almost refused.

Then I accepted.

"Mom."

His voice broke on the first word.

I said nothing.

"How is she?"

"Alive."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Please."

"Don't say that word to me."

He breathed unevenly.

"Victoria did this."

I closed my eyes.

There it was.

The first betrayal inside the larger betrayal.

"Did she hold Chloe's arms?"

Silence.

"Chloe said you did."

"I was trying to keep her still."

"For what?"

"She was fighting the injection."

My fingers went numb.

"You knew."

"Not everything."

"You knew she was alive."

"Yes."

"You put her in the casket."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because Victoria said if I didn't cooperate, Chloe would disappear somewhere I could never find her."

I stood.

"That is your defense?"

"No."

"Good."

"I thought I could get her out."

"When?"

"Before morning."

"How?"

"I hid the key."

The room seemed to tilt.

"You hid it?"

"I put it under the lining."

"Why didn't you unlock her yourself?"

"Victoria took my phone and stayed upstairs. She said if I moved before she was asleep, she'd call Latham."

"What was Latham going to do?"

"Finish it."

I gripped the receiver.

"You expect me to believe you were protecting Chloe?"

"No."

His voice became very quiet.

"I expect you to believe I was a coward."

That, at least, sounded true.

"Why twelve million dollars?"

He stopped breathing.

"Mom—"

"Why did you prepare the trust transfer six weeks ago?"

"I didn't."

"Your computer did."

"Victoria had access."

"And the forged signatures?"

"I signed some things she gave me."

"Chloe saw you."

"I know."

"She saw you copy her name."

"I know."

I wanted to throw the phone.

Instead, I asked, "Who is Dr. Latham?"

Julian whispered, "The man Victoria uses when she needs paperwork to become reality."

"Where is she?"

"I don't know."

"Think."

"I am thinking."

"Think harder."

He began crying.

I had heard my son cry at funerals, in hospitals, after his father died.

This sounded different.

This was the crying of a man who had finally discovered that regret does not erase participation.

"She has a storage unit," he said.

"Where?"

"Lake Forest. Under another name."

"What name?"

"Vanessa Cole."

I wrote it down.

"Anything else?"

"Mom."

"What?"

"If you find her, don't trust what she says about Richard."

My heart stopped.

"What does your father have to do with this?"

Julian said nothing.

"Julian."

The line crackled.

Then he whispered, "The trust wasn't the first thing she forged."

The call ended.

I stood alone in the hospital consultation room holding the receiver.

Behind the glass, Chloe was drawing a horse with purple wings.

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And for the first time since I had lifted her from the casket, I wondered whether her attempted murder had begun six weeks ago.

Or four years earlier, when my husband died.