“Do not let her leave with any documents.”
My stepmother’s face changed.
My father saw it.
“What documents?”
My grandmother continued.
“I need you to listen carefully. About five months ago, someone contacted the investigator I hired twelve years ago.”
My stepmother backed toward the hallway.
My father blocked her.
My grandmother continued.
“They asked whether he still had copies of the crash photographs.”
I stared at my stepmother.
“Who?”
“He wouldn’t tell me. But three weeks later, someone broke into his old office storage unit.”
My father turned slowly toward his wife.
“What did you do?”
She lifted both hands.
“This is ridiculous.”
My grandmother heard her.
“You recognize her voice?”
I said yes.
“Then don’t let her touch anything else.”
My stepmother laughed.
“You people are insane.”
The brother looked toward her.
“No.”
His voice was quiet.
“She contacted me first.”
My father stared at him.
“What?”
The brother nodded toward my stepmother.
“She found me six months ago.”
The room went completely silent.
And suddenly the planted necklace seemed like the smallest lie in the house.
4
My father’s brother reached into his jacket.
My father immediately moved in front of me.
“Easy.”
The brother stopped.
“I’m getting my phone.”
“Slowly.”
He removed it and placed it on the coffee table.
Then he opened a message thread.
Hundreds of messages.
My stepmother’s face tightened.
“You said those were deleted.”
The brother gave her a tired look.
“You trusted me?”
My father picked up the phone.
The earliest message was six months old.
I’m married to your brother. We need to talk about the accident.
My father looked up.
His wife said nothing.
He scrolled.
The messages grew longer.
She had found the old photograph.
Then a report.
Then his brother’s last known address.
She had tracked him through an old business registration several states away.
At first she claimed she wanted “closure” for the family.
Then the tone changed.
She asked what my father had paid him.
She asked whether he had evidence.
She asked what would happen if the truth became public.
Then she mentioned money.
My father read one message aloud.
“‘He has more than enough. If he paid you once, he can pay again.’”
His brother shrugged weakly.
“She thought I wanted money.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
My father laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
My father stared at him.
“You came back for two hundred thousand dollars?”