Chapter 6 - The Turncoats
“The police?” I repeated, keeping my voice utterly devoid of emotion. “Why are the police at Mom’s house, Dan?”
“Clara called them!” Dan blurted out, his words tumbling over one another in a desperate rush. “Well, not Clara directly, but Clara told your cousin Brian, and Brian called the Hamilton County Sheriff! When we left your father’s house after the reading, Clara realized that if Margaret freezes the trust accounts, the fifty thousand dollars your mother promised to invest in Brian’s medical supply company is gone! Then your mother started screaming that Harper had stolen her jewelry box!”
A bitter, humorless laugh almost escaped my throat. “Harper stole Mom’s jewelry?”
“They’re tearing each other apart out on the front lawn, Rebecca!” Dan shouted. The background of the call was filled with the faint sound of wailing sirens and high-pitched female screaming. “The neighbors are filming it from their driveways! Your mother is accusing Harper of forging Arthur’s checks without her permission, and Harper is screaming that Evelyn was the one who handed her Arthur’s passport to trace his signature!”
I exchanged a glance with Caleb.
The alliance between the two hyenas hadn't even lasted three hours after the prey was taken away. The moment the money evaporated, they turned on each other with bared fangs.
“And why are you calling me, Uncle Dan?” I asked coldly. “Two hours ago, you were standing in the foyer nodding along while Mom said I was a scheming spinster who didn't belong in the family.”
Dan choked on his own breath. “Now, Becca... sweetheart... you know I didn't mean that. I was just trying to keep your mother calm! You know how volatile Evelyn gets! I’ve always said you were the brains behind Arthur’s operation. Always! Clara and I were just talking about how terribly you’ve been treated!”
“Uncle Dan,” I said, cutting him off mid-sentence.
“Yes, Becca?” he answered eagerly.
“Whitaker Fine Woodworking’s accounting ledger shows an outstanding invoice of forty-one thousand, six hundred dollars for the custom walnut millwork installed in your home library in September of last year.”
There was dead silence on the other end of the line.
“If that balance is not settled via wire transfer into the trust’s operating account by noon on Monday,” I continued in a calm, flat tone, “I will instruct Margaret Lawson to file a mechanic’s lien against your estate in Indian Hill and initiate foreclosure proceedings.”
“What?!” Dan gasped, his voice squeaking in sheer horror. “Becca, you can’t do that! We’re family! I’m your father’s only brother!”
“You are Arthur Whitaker’s brother,” I agreed. “And when Arthur was lying in a hospital bed with fluid in his lungs, you didn't visit him once. But you made sure his shop delivered your walnut bookcases for free. Noon on Monday, Dan. Not a minute later.”
I ended the call.
Caleb let out a slow whistle. “Damn, Becca. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“They thought Dad was weak because he was kind,” I said, standing up from behind the desk. “They confused his patience for permission. They think because I’m his daughter, I’ll let them step on me forever.”
I grabbed my canvas tote bag, checking to ensure Dad’s thumb drive and journal were securely zipped inside.
“Where are we going?” Caleb asked.
May you like
“To Indian Hill,” I said. “If the Sheriff is already there, it’s time to hand over File A.”
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