Chapter 4 - Dad’s Last Recording
Mom spent the night at Harborview.
The doctors found sedatives in her system.
More than one.
None matched the prescriptions in her medical chart.
That was the first crack in Valerie’s story.
The second came at 3:12 a.m.
I was sitting beside Mom’s hospital bed when Keisha texted me.
I FOUND SOMETHING YOU NEED TO SEE.
She brought her laptop to the hospital cafeteria.
“I copied the memory card,” she said. “In case somebody tries to take it.”
Smart.
I liked her more every minute.
We opened the first file.
Dad appeared on screen.
My father had been dead three years, and for several seconds I forgot how to breathe.
He was sitting in his workshop.
Gray hair.
Plaid shirt.
Reading glasses pushed onto his forehead.
The date stamp showed the video had been recorded two months before his death.
“If Nora is watching this,” he said, “something went wrong.”
I covered my mouth.
Keisha looked away to give me privacy.
Dad continued.
“I’ve been noticing money missing from Linda’s account. Small amounts first. Then larger withdrawals.”
He held up papers.
“Valerie says she’s helping her mother. Maybe she is. But I don’t believe she’s acting alone.”
The video cut.
We opened another.
Dad was filming through a partially open office door.
Diane stood inside.
So did Gavin.
I recognized him instantly.
Their voices were muffled.
Then Gavin spoke clearly.
“If the old man changes the trust, we lose the property.”
Diane answered, “He hasn’t changed it yet.”
My skin went cold.
Dad’s camera shifted.
Valerie entered the room.
My own sister.
She said, “Then we make sure he doesn’t.”
The video ended.
Keisha whispered, “Jesus.”
I couldn’t speak.
There were seventeen files.
Most showed documents.
Bank statements.
Property records.
Notes Dad had made.
One video was different.
Dad sat directly in front of the camera.
“I confronted Valerie today.”
He looked tired.
Older than I remembered.
“She denied everything. Diane says I’m imagining patterns because I’m grieving financial losses from retirement investments.”
He shook his head.
“I’m not imagining anything.”
Then he leaned close.
“If I die before I can fix this, Nora needs to know about Vantage Home Development.”
V.H.D.
I looked at Keisha.
She had already opened a search engine.
“Vantage Home Development,” she read. “Local property investment company.”
The company president?
Gavin Mercer.
Dad continued.
“They target older homeowners. People with paid-off or high-equity houses. They obtain control through forged documents, caregiver agreements, questionable medical evaluations, whatever they need.”
I felt sick.
Mom wasn’t random.
She was a business model.
Dad held up another sheet.
“And Diane Holloway has represented at least four families connected to them.”
The recording ended.
I sat motionless.
Then Keisha said, “There’s one more file.”
No video.
Only audio.
We pressed play.
Dad’s voice.
Then Valerie’s.
“You think Nora is coming home to save you?” Valerie asked.
Dad replied, “Leave your mother alone.”
“You always chose Nora.”
“That is not true.”
“She got college. She got Singapore. She got everything.”
“You had every opportunity she had.”
“No. I had you comparing me to her.”
A crash followed.
Dad shouted.
Then Gavin’s voice appeared.
“Valerie, stop.”
My heart began pounding.
Another crash.
Dad gasped.
Then silence.
The recording lasted eight more seconds.
Before it ended, Gavin said something very quietly.
“Call Diane. We need to make this look natural.”
I stared at the laptop.
Dad’s death certificate said cardiac arrest after a fall in his workshop.
My hands started shaking.
Keisha closed the laptop.
“Nora…”
“My father didn’t fall.”
And behind us, a voice said:
“No. He didn’t.”
I turned.
May you like
Diane Holloway was standing ten feet away.
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