Chapter 10 - The Night They Came for Thomas's Office
Police reached my street before I did.
Harris ordered me to remain three blocks away.
I hated it.
That was my home.
Thomas's office.
Our memories.
But when I saw tactical officers move toward the house, I understood the danger had changed.
The garage door was open.
I had left it closed.
One upstairs light flickered.
Then a figure appeared in Thomas's office window.
Patricia.
Even from the street, I recognized her posture.
Perfectly straight.
Perfectly composed.
She had entered the home of the man she helped destroy.
And she was searching for something.
"Why would she come back?" Emily asked over the phone from the protected apartment.
I had begged her not to leave it.
"She thinks Thomas hid more evidence."
"Did he?"
"I don't know."
That answer frightened me.
Because Thomas usually thought three steps ahead.
Police surrounded the house.
Harris called Patricia.
She answered.
I watched him speak from beside a patrol car.
"Patricia, come outside."
Through the upstairs window, she moved.
Then Harris's expression changed.
"What do you mean?"
He looked toward me.
"Margaret, she wants to speak with you."
"No."
Daniel grabbed my arm.
"Don't."
I took the phone anyway.
"Patricia."
Her voice was calm.
"Margaret."
"Get out of my house."
"You always were territorial."
"You tried to kill my daughter."
"That's Brandon's mess."
"You killed Thomas."
Silence.
Then a soft laugh.
"You don't know what your husband did."
My heart hammered.
"He investigated you."
"He interfered in matters that did not concern him."
"He was protecting Emily."
"No."
Her voice sharpened.
"He was protecting money."
"You're wrong."
"Am I?"
She sounded almost amused.
"Ask yourself why Thomas never told you about the trust."
"Because he didn't trust Brandon."
"He didn't trust anyone."
I refused to let her rewrite my marriage.
"What are you looking for?"
Silence again.
Then Patricia said, "A ledger."
"What ledger?"
"Thomas took it."
"From you?"
"From Red Fern."
Daniel heard the conversation.
His face changed.
"What does it contain?"
"Names."
"Whose names?"
"People far more important than you."
Suddenly I understood why Officer Keene had been involved.
Red Fern did not survive for years merely by lending money to desperate gamblers.
Patricia had built connections.
Officials.
Business owners.
Perhaps police.
People who benefited from keeping her secrets.
"Where is Victor?"
I asked.
No answer.
"Nicole said he kidnapped her."
Patricia sighed.
"Victor has become emotional."
"That's what you call kidnapping?"
"He was supposed to solve a problem."
"Like Malcolm solved Thomas?"
Patricia stopped speaking.
There.
A crack.
I pushed.
"Thomas found proof, didn't he?"
"Thomas found pieces."
"Enough to scare you."
"He should have accepted my offer."
"What offer?"
"Five million dollars."
My mouth went dry.
"You offered my husband five million dollars?"
"To stop."
"And he refused."
"Immediately."
I smiled despite myself.
"Of course he did."
Her voice hardened.
"Don't romanticize him. His pride killed him."
"No."
I looked at the office window.
"You did."
The line went dead.
Seconds later, smoke appeared upstairs.
"Fire!" someone shouted.
Patricia had set Thomas's office on fire.
Police moved.
A side door opened.
Victor ran into the backyard.
Officers chased him.
Patricia never appeared.
Flames spread across the curtains.
I screamed at Harris.
"She's still inside!"
Firefighters arrived.
Windows shattered.
Smoke filled the second floor.
Ten minutes later, they brought someone out.
Victor.
Then one firefighter shook his head.
"No one else."
Patricia had vanished.
A hidden exit?
Impossible.
Then I remembered the old laundry chute.
Thomas had sealed it years ago—or I thought he had.
It connected the second floor to a utility room near the rear garage.
Police found the access panel open.
Patricia had escaped before the fire reached the hallway.
My house burned for nearly forty minutes.
Thomas's office was destroyed.
I watched from the curb as smoke rose into the night.
It felt like losing him again.
Victor was arrested.
He refused to answer questions.
Patricia remained missing.
At dawn, firefighters allowed me inside briefly.
Everything smelled of smoke and water.
The office ceiling had collapsed.
Thomas's desk was blackened.
The blue file was already with police, thank God.
But the ledger Patricia wanted was gone.
Or perhaps it had never been there.
I stood among the ruins.
Then I noticed something strange.
Thomas's old globe had fallen from its stand.
The decorative base had cracked.
Inside it was a metal tube.
"Daniel."
He came over.
We pulled it free.
Inside was a rolled sheet of paper and a key.
The sheet contained a list of numbered boxes.
Bank safe-deposit boxes.
One was circled.
Box 417.
A bank downtown.
The key matched.
Thomas had hidden the real evidence somewhere else.
Two hours later, Harris obtained authorization to open the box.
Inside were three ledgers.
A digital drive.
Copies of checks.
Photographs.
And a handwritten statement from Thomas.
If you are reading this, Patricia discovered I copied the Red Fern books.
The first ledger documented illegal lending.
The second documented bribes.
The third documented payments labeled RESPONSE.
Beside Thomas's name:
M.C. — $75,000.
Beside another name:
A.P. — $20,000.
Allison Pierce.
And beside Emily's:
B.C. — TRUST CONTROL.
But the most recent entry was dated only two months before Grace was born.
G.C. — SUCCESSOR.
Grace Cole.
My three-week-old granddaughter.
I stared at the name.
"What does successor mean?"
Daniel kept reading.
His face changed.
"It means Patricia wasn't only planning to control Emily's trust."
"What else?"
He pointed to another document.
A petition draft.
If Emily were declared incapacitated and Brandon obtained custody of Grace, Patricia intended to have assets placed into a family-controlled structure for Grace's benefit.
She didn't merely want Emily's inheritance.
She wanted to use my granddaughter as the legal bridge to it.
Emily had been disposable.
Grace had been valuable.
I felt physically ill.
Then Harris opened another envelope.
Inside was a photograph taken outside my house six months earlier.
Thomas's house.
My porch.
And me.
Written across the bottom:
May you like
M.B. — IF NECESSARY.
I had been part of the plan too.
