Chapter 7 - BEFORE MONDAY
Detective Monroe arrived at the hotel twenty-three minutes later.
Two patrol officers came with her.
She took Jason’s laptop.
She took screenshots of the call history.
She asked Megan every question twice.
Then she looked directly at me.
“You are not going home.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“You are not going to work.”
“Fine.”
“You do not contact Leonard Shaw.”
“Fine.”
“You do not confront Teresa.”
“That one is harder.”
“Do it anyway.”
Amy sat beside Frederick.
“What happens Monday?”
Monroe looked at us.
“We’re still determining that.”
I almost laughed.
“That phrase is becoming difficult to hear.”
“I understand.”
“No.”
“You don’t.”
“Somebody wrote ‘accident window’ next to my name.”
“A man just told my sister I’m supposed to be dead by Monday.”
“So what is Monday?”
Monroe folded her arms.
“The county planning commission is scheduled to review a rezoning application involving land adjacent to the Bradley trust property.”
My pulse increased.
“What happens if it’s rezoned?”
“The value rises significantly.”
“How significantly?”
“Potentially into eight figures.”
Amy whispered.
“Twelve million?”
Monroe looked at her.
“Possibly more.”
I understood the timeline.
If Leonard could secure ownership before rezoning became public, he could make millions.
If I discovered the trust first, everything stopped.
If I died while the fake trust controlled my insurance and Teresa had forged authority over my property, chaos would follow.
And chaos favored whoever already held the documents.
“What happens if I’m alive Monday?”
I asked.
Monroe answered carefully.
“You can challenge ownership.”
“If investigators establish fraud, the transfers can be contested.”
“So Leonard needs me out of the way.”
“Do not assume a threat is the same as a confirmed murder plan.”
I stared at her.
“What would you call it?”
“A serious threat.”
“That is being investigated.”
I shook my head.
Amy touched my arm.
“Connor.”
She was right.
Arguing with the detective changed nothing.
We moved to another location that night.
Not another public hotel.
A secured apartment arranged through Megan’s attorney.
Megan brought her children.
For the first time, our families were together without Teresa controlling the room.
Megan’s nine-year-old daughter asked where her father was.
Nobody had an answer.
That destroyed my sister.
Around midnight, Frederick finally slept.
I sat at the kitchen table staring at a photograph of my father’s land.
The parcel was beautiful.
Rolling fields.
Wooded edges.
A creek along the southern boundary.
I had driven past it hundreds of times without knowing it belonged to my family.
Amy sat across from me.
“You’re angry at me.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I’m angry at everyone.”
“That includes me.”
I looked at her.
“I wish you had told me about the account.”
“I wish you had told me about the letter before hiding it.”
“But neither of those things makes you responsible for what Teresa did.”
Amy nodded.
Then she whispered.
“I almost left you.”
That hurt.
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Why?”
“Because of the messages.”
“The fake ones?”
“I thought they were real.”
She looked at her hands.
“I packed a bag.”
“Frederick’s clothes too.”
“What stopped you?”
“Your father’s letter.”
I frowned.
“You said you barely read it.”
“I read one more paragraph.”
“What did it say?”
Amy looked at me.
“Your father wrote that Teresa’s greatest weapon was making people doubt each other.”
I sat perfectly still.
“Exact words?”
“Almost.”
“He said, ‘If she turns you against someone you love, ask yourself who benefits from the fight.’”
I looked away.
That sounded like my father.
Calm.
Simple.
Painfully accurate.
Amy continued.
“So before I left, I checked the messages again.”
“I noticed one screenshot showed your battery at twelve percent.”
“That evening you were in Cincinnati.”
“You had sent me a picture from your hotel.”
“Your battery showed eighty-nine percent.”
“That’s when I realized something was wrong.”
“You never said anything.”
“I started collecting evidence.”
The words surprised me.
“What evidence?”
“Photos.”
“Receipts.”
“Recordings.”
My heart jumped.
“Recordings of Teresa?”
Amy nodded.
“How many?”
“Maybe twelve.”
“Where?”
“My cloud account.”
I stood.
“Why didn’t you tell the police?”
“I didn’t think of them because everything happened so fast.”
We called Monroe immediately.
Amy logged into the account.
The first recordings were mostly Teresa criticizing her.
Then we reached one from eleven days earlier.
Amy had left her phone recording inside the kitchen after Teresa arrived.
Teresa’s voice was clear.
“You need to understand something.”
“Connor’s money does not make you important.”
Amy’s recorded voice answered.
“I never said it did.”
Teresa laughed.
“You think that house is yours?”
“You think because your name is on a mortgage you own something?”
“I have been protecting that boy’s future since before you met him.”
Amy responded.
“What does that mean?”
Teresa lowered her voice.
“It means when the time comes, Connor will understand who actually built his life.”
Then another voice entered the recording.
Male.
I recognized it.
Jason.
He said:
“Teresa, Leonard said not to discuss this around her.”
My heart raced.
Then Teresa replied:
“She won’t be here long enough to matter.”
Amy’s recorded voice asked:
“Who is Leonard?”
A chair scraped.
Jason said nothing.
Teresa answered:
“Nobody you need to worry about.”
Then the recording ended.
Monroe listened twice.
“This is useful.”
“Keep going.”
The next files were shorter.
Then we opened one dated four days before the birthday.
Teresa was speaking to someone on the phone.
Only her side was audible.
“The party is perfect.”
“We’ll have Betsy.”
“Mason.”
“Elaine if she doesn’t lose her nerve.”
“Everyone will see Amy serving.”
“Connor won’t be home until after six.”
A pause.
Then:
“No.”
“He still thinks I’m paying for everything.”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
“The boy will be there.”
Then:
“If Frederick is sick, even better.”
Amy looked at me.
Monroe stopped the audio.
“What did she mean?”
Amy was pale.
“I don’t know.”
I thought about Frederick’s fever.
“He wasn’t sick Thursday morning.”
Amy turned toward me.
“What?”
“He was fine before I went to work.”
She nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
“He developed the fever that afternoon.”
Monroe looked at both of us.
“What did he eat?”
Amy stared at the laptop.
“Your mother fed him.”
The room became silent.
“What?”
I asked.
Amy swallowed.
“She insisted.”
“She said I was too busy preparing the party.”
“What did she give him?”
“I thought it was his normal food.”
“Did you see?”
“No.”
My chair scraped backward.
Monroe immediately raised a hand.
“Do not jump to conclusions.”
“My mother literally said it would be better if my son was sick.”
“We need medical evidence.”
Frederick had already been treated and discharged.
The hospital had diagnosed a likely viral illness.
But suddenly that diagnosis didn’t feel sufficient.
Then Amy opened the final recording.
Teresa’s voice came through clearly.
She was talking to Aunt Betsy.
Betsy said:
“Are you sure about the medicine?”
Teresa answered.
“It only needs to make him look ill for a few hours.”
Amy stopped the recording.
Nobody moved.
My son’s fever had not been an inconvenience to Teresa’s plan.
May you like
It may have been part of it.
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