I stared at the photograph until the words blurred.
Your husband knows where the missing money went.
My father had written that.
Not recently.
The date on the back was twelve years old.
Daniel and Karen had known each other long before I met either of them.
My attorney took the photograph.
“Where did you get this?”
My mother looked at me.
“Your father kept it.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“You must know something.”
“I knew your father didn't trust Daniel.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
“Dad knew him?”
“Not well.”
“Then why was Daniel in a photograph with him?”
“He worked for someone your father knew.”
I looked at the picture again.
Daniel was younger.
Twenty-something.
Smiling.
Karen stood beside him.
My father looked serious.
The three of them were outside an office building.
I recognized the building.
It was the same address where Daniel's LLC was now registered.
My attorney saw my expression.
“That can't be a coincidence.”
“No.”
We returned to my sister's house.
The old laptop was still open.
My attorney searched through the files again.
This time, he knew what to look for.
There were financial spreadsheets.
Old contracts.
Names.
Dates.
Transactions.
Most were meaningless without context.
Then we found a file dated twelve years earlier.
It contained a list of investors.
My father's name appeared near the top.
Daniel's name was there too.
So was Karen's.
I looked at my mother.
“Dad invested with them.”
She nodded slowly.
“He did.”
“How much?”
“I don't remember.”
“Mom.”
She rubbed her forehead.
“About two hundred thousand.”
My attorney stared at the screen.
“That's significant.”
“What happened to it?”
My mother looked away.
“Your father lost it.”
I felt my chest tighten.
“He never told me.”
“He didn't want you worried.”
“Did he get it back?”
“No.”
“Then what's the missing money?”
She looked at the photograph.
“I don't know.”
We kept searching.
At last, we found a spreadsheet with a familiar number.
$32,000.
The exact amount in the LLC account.
Next to it was a notation.
Transfer from Margaret Trust.
I stared at it.
My mother shook her head.
“I never transferred that money.”
“No,” my attorney said. “Someone moved it using your identity.”
We found another entry.
$87,000.
The total taken from my joint account.
Then another.
$125,000.
A transfer from an old investment account.
The money had been moved in pieces.
Not randomly.
It had been routed through several accounts before arriving in the LLC.
My attorney leaned back.
“This is structured.”
“Can we recover it?”
“Possibly.”
“Will Daniel go to prison?”
My attorney looked at me.
“We don't know.”
I nodded.
I wasn't thinking about prison.
I was thinking about the man who had slept beside me for eleven years.
How many times had he lied while looking directly into my eyes?
How many times had I believed him because believing him was easier?
My mother touched my shoulder.
“I'm sorry.”
I shook my head.
“You didn't do this.”
“I should have warned you about Daniel.”
“You didn't know.”
“I knew your father didn't trust him.”
I looked at her.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your father asked me not to.”
That stopped me.
“Why?”
“He said you loved him.”
I stared at her.
“He said if he told you what he suspected, you would defend Daniel.”
I sat down.
It was painfully true.
I would have.
Back then, I would have defended him.
My mother continued.
“Your father said people sometimes become what they believe they have to become.”
I swallowed.
“What did Dad suspect?”
“That Daniel was involved in something dishonest.”
“Did he have proof?”
“No.”
“Then why keep the photograph?”
“Because he didn't trust him.”
My attorney interrupted.
“There's another question.”
“What?”
“Why did Daniel wait eleven years?”
I looked at the documents.
Maybe he hadn't.
Maybe this had started long before the house.
The old spreadsheet showed that.
The photograph showed that.
And the LLC was simply the newest version of something older.
That evening, we received a call from the bank.
They had discovered an unusual withdrawal attempt from my mother's protected account.
Someone had tried to access it that morning.
The request had been rejected.
The name on the authorization form was Daniel's.
My mother covered her mouth.
“He knows about the trust.”
“Yes,” I said.
My attorney nodded.
“And now he knows we know.”
My phone buzzed.
A message from Daniel.
You should have left this alone.
Then another.
You don't understand what your father did.
I stared at the screen.
I called him.
He answered immediately.
“What did my father do?”
Silence.
“Tell me.”
“He ruined everything.”
“What did he ruin?”
“He promised me something.”
“What?”
“The money.”
I felt my pulse rise.
“What money?”
“Your father's investment.”
“So you were involved.”
“I was young.”
“You were an adult.”
“I didn't steal anything.”
“Then where did the money go?”
He breathed heavily.
“Ask your mother.”
“I did.”
“She lied.”
“No. You did.”
He laughed bitterly.
“You really believe her?”
“I believe the documents.”
“Then read the last one.”
“What last one?”
He hung up.
My attorney looked at me.
“Don't call again.”
I nodded.
But I already knew what I needed to find.
We returned to the safe deposit box.
There was one document we had overlooked.
It was folded beneath an old insurance policy.
My father's handwriting was on the outside.
For Laura. Only after Daniel is confronted.
I opened it.
Inside was a letter.
My father's first sentence made my hands shake.
If you are reading this, then Daniel has finally come for the money.
I looked at my mother.
She began to cry.
And suddenly I understood that my father had known this day might come.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: My Father’s Final Letter Explained What He Had Seen Years Ago, but Its Last Warning Forced Me to Question Everyone Beside Me
I Came Home Three Hours Early and Found My Mother on Her Knees, While Everyone Else Pretended Nothing Was Wrong
Part 7 of 12
