Chapter 3 - THE MESSAGE EMILY LEFT BEHINDDetective Brooks didn't open Diane's handbag immediately.
That would have been too easy.
Instead, he instructed one officer to secure it while another began taking names.
Diane demanded an attorney.
Scott demanded one louder.
The funeral-home employees looked like they wanted the floor to swallow them.
And Lily buried her face against my side.
Brooks pulled me aside.
“There's something else you need to understand.”
“What?”
“The woman in that coffin appears to be your wife.”
“Appears?”
“The medical examiner needs to confirm identity.”
I stared at him.
“I touched her.”
“I know.”
“What exactly are you telling me?”
“That the circumstances surrounding the movement of her remains are irregular.”
“That's a nice word for illegal.”
“Yes.”
“Why would somebody move her?”
“That's what we're going to find out.”
Police sealed the living room.
Emily's body was transferred back to the county medical examiner under official supervision.
Watching strangers carry my wife out of our house for the second time was something I knew I'd remember forever.
This time, however, she wasn't being carried toward a rushed burial.
She was being carried toward answers.
Diane and Scott left separately with attorneys on the way.
Neither was arrested.
Not yet.
Before Diane walked out, she looked at me.
“You have no idea what you're doing.”
“No,” I said. “But I know what you did.”
“You know nothing.”
Lily appeared behind me.
Diane's gaze shifted toward her.
I stepped between them.
“Don't.”
A faint smile touched Diane's lips.
“You always were dramatic, Nathan.”
“Stay away from my daughter.”
Her smile disappeared.
After they left, Detective Brooks sat with me at the kitchen table.
Lily had fallen asleep upstairs.
He opened a notebook.
“Tell me about your marriage.”
That question hurt more than I expected.
“Emily and I were good.”
“Good?”
“We argued about dishes. Bills sometimes. Whether Lily should get a puppy. Normal things.”
“Any separation?”
“No.”
“Affairs?”
“No.”
“Financial trouble?”
“No.”
He watched me.
“What did Emily do?”
“Freelance illustration. Children's books, advertising, design.”
“Did she manage family finances?”
“Most household expenses, yes.”
“Any inheritance?”
I stopped.
Emily had inherited money three years earlier after her father died.
Not a fortune.
Around $420,000.
She had invested most of it.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
I told him.
“Who knew?”
“Her family.”
Brooks wrote something.
“What does Diane do?”
“She owns Mercer Property Group.”
“Successful?”
“I thought so.”
“You're not sure?”
“No.”
He closed the notebook.
“Your wife called our non-emergency number six weeks ago.”
My pulse changed.
“Why?”
“She asked questions about financial fraud.”
“What kind?”
“She didn't provide specifics.”
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
“She didn't file a report.”
“Did she mention her mother?”
“No.”
I thought about Lily saying Emily had accused Diane of doing something repeatedly.
You can't keep doing this.
“What about Scott?”
“Why?”
“He works for Diane.”
Brooks nodded.
“That's useful.”
“What was on Emily's phone?”
“We need legal authorization before searching it.”
“You have it.”
“I have consent from the surviving spouse, yes, but since the device was taken from another person's possession, procedure matters.”
“How long?”
“Hopefully not long.”
I rubbed my face.
Then remembered the key.
“Emily hid something.”
I went upstairs and returned with the small brass key.
Her desk stood in the sunroom.
The lowest drawer had always been locked.
I had teased her about it.
“Secret novel?” I'd once asked.
“Maybe,” she'd replied.
I had never pushed.
Now the key slid perfectly into the lock.
Inside was a folder.
No dramatic stack of evidence.
Just six sheets of paper and a flash drive.
On top was an envelope.
Written across it in Emily's handwriting:
NATHAN — IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME
I couldn't touch it.
Brooks waited.
Finally I opened it.
The first line destroyed whatever remained of my old life.
Nathan, if you're reading this because I didn't get the chance to explain, I'm sorry.
I sat down.
Emily's handwriting continued.
My mother has been using my identity.
I looked at Brooks.
Then kept reading.
According to the letter, Diane had opened accounts using Emily's personal information years earlier.
At first, Emily believed it was an administrative mistake involving a family trust.
Then she discovered loans.
Credit lines.
Property guarantees.
Electronic signatures she had never provided.
Emily estimated that more than $1.8 million in debt had been tied, directly or indirectly, to her identity.
She confronted Diane privately.
Diane promised to fix it.
Instead, the debts increased.
Emily had spent the last four months collecting evidence.
Then came the line that made my hands shake.
Scott knows.
And another.
I think Mom has been using Dad's old business accounts too.
Her father had died three years earlier.
Heart attack.
At least that's what we had been told.
Brooks took the flash drive.
“We'll preserve this properly.”
I continued reading.
Emily had contacted a forensic accountant named Marissa Shaw.
There was an address and phone number.
And one final paragraph.
Nathan, don't confront Mom until you have copies of everything. She becomes frightening when she's cornered. I know that sounds ridiculous because she's my mother, but I need you to believe me.
I couldn't finish aloud.
Brooks read over my shoulder.
“Did she ever tell you any of this?”
“No.”
“Why hide it?”
I already knew.
Because Emily believed she could protect me.
She always did that.
Handled problems quietly.
Fixed things before anyone else had to worry.
I looked at the date.
The letter had been written nine days earlier.
“Why would she confront Diane Wednesday?”
“Maybe something changed.”
I called Marissa Shaw.
No answer.
Brooks tried.
Voicemail.
He sent another officer to the address listed.
Twenty minutes later, that officer called.
Marissa's office had been cleaned out.
Not closed normally.
Cleaned out.
Computers gone.
Files gone.
The building manager said two men arrived Thursday morning with a moving truck.
Thursday.
After Emily died.
Brooks stood.
“We need warrants.”
“For Diane?”
“For several things.”
Before he could leave, his phone rang.
He listened.
His expression became grim.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“The medical examiner performed preliminary imaging.”
My body went cold.
“And?”
“Your wife has injuries inconsistent with a simple staircase fall.”
I gripped the table.
“What kind?”
“He'll tell us after the examination.”
“Was she murdered?”
“I didn't say that.”
“You didn't have to.”
He didn't deny it.
That evening, I put Lily to bed in my room.
She asked whether Mommy was coming back.
I told her no.
There are moments when being a parent means breaking your own heart so your child can trust you.
I didn't tell her Mommy was sleeping.
I didn't say she went away.
I told her Mommy had died and none of us wanted that to happen.
Lily cried quietly.
Then she asked, “Was Mommy mad at me?”
“No.”
“Grandma said Mommy was upset because I came downstairs.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“Grandma told you that?”
She nodded.
“Sweetheart, none of this happened because of you.”
She looked relieved in a way no six-year-old should ever have to look.
Then she whispered, “I didn't give Grandma the other one.”
“The other what?”
Lily sat up.
“The little phone.”
I stared at her.
“What little phone?”
“The one Mommy gave me.”
“When?”
“The day before you went away.”
My heart began pounding.
“Where is it?”
Lily climbed from bed.
She picked up her red-haired doll.
The same doll she'd carried since I came home.
Then she lifted its purple dress.
There was a small zipper along the back seam.
Lily opened it.
And pulled out a black device barely larger than a credit card.
A mini digital recorder.
“Mommy said if Grandma came over and they started yelling, push the red button.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Did you?”
Lily nodded.
“Wednesday night.”
The recorder had one audio file.
One hour, fourteen minutes, and twenty-eight seconds long.
I called Detective Brooks immediately.
He arrived with an evidence technician.
Nobody played the entire recording that night.
We didn't need to.
Because twenty-three minutes into the file, Emily's voice was perfectly clear.
“If Nathan sees these documents, you're finished.”
Then Diane:
“Nathan isn't going to see anything.”
Scott's voice followed.
“Mom, calm down.”
A crash.
Emily gasped.
Then another voice.
A man's voice I didn't recognize.
“Mrs. Mercer, you said nobody else would be here.”
Brooks stopped the recording.
I stared at him.
“Who is that?”
“We'll find out.”
Then from the recorder came Lily's tiny frightened whisper, recorded from somewhere upstairs.
“Mommy?”
And downstairs, the unknown man said five words.
May you like
Five words that turned the investigation upside down.
“She wasn't supposed to wake up.”
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