Chapter 12 - Mason Came Back
Mason contacted me through Rachel.
He wanted to talk.
At first I refused.
Then Hill suggested we listen.
Mason was twenty-six and had always been Teresa’s favorite nephew.
He had carried the folder at the birthday party.
He had known enough to run.
But apparently, he also knew things police had not discovered.
We met at Rachel’s office.
Mason looked terrible.
“You hate me.”
He said.
“I don’t have enough energy to hate you.”
I replied.
“Just tell the truth.”
He nodded.
“Aunt Teresa told me you were stealing money from the family.”
I almost laughed.
“She said Grandpa Henry’s trust belonged to all of us.”
“It doesn’t.”
“I know that now.”
Mason looked down.
“She said you manipulated Grandpa before he died.”
“I was sixteen.”
“I know.”
He rubbed his hands together.
“Gerald told us if Teresa gained temporary control, she could redistribute everything fairly.”
“Fairly.”
I repeated.
“By forging my signature?”
Mason looked ashamed.
Then he told us about a meeting at Betsy’s house.
Teresa.
Gerald.
Betsy.
Mason.
And another person.
Dr. Patrick Nolan.
The physician who falsely claimed to evaluate me.
“He never met you.”
Mason said.
“So why sign the statement?”
“Gerald paid him.”
“How much?”
“Twenty thousand.”
Rachel immediately contacted Hill.
But Mason had more.
Gerald planned to file the conservatorship petition two days before my birthday.
They intended to claim I had suffered a severe mental episode.
“What episode?”
I asked.
Mason became pale.
“That’s the part I didn’t know at first.”
My chair suddenly felt too small.
“What were they planning?”
“A car accident.”
Nobody spoke.
Mason continued quickly.
“They weren’t talking about killing you.”
“They wanted you injured.”
“Confused.”
“Maybe hospitalized.”
My mouth went dry.
“Who was supposed to cause it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Gerald said it would look ordinary.”
Amy was not in the room.
Thank God.
I thought about every drive to work.
Every unfamiliar vehicle behind me.
Every time Teresa had casually asked my schedule.
Rachel ended the meeting immediately and called Detective Hill.
Mason agreed to enter protective custody and cooperate fully.
As officers escorted him away, he turned back.
“Connor.”
“What?”
“There’s one thing I never understood.”
“Your mother kept saying the accident wasn’t Plan A.”
I stared at him.
“What was Plan A?”
Mason shook his head.
“I never found out.”
That evening, Hill called.
They had.
May you like
Plan A had already happened.
It was Frederick’s birthday party.
