Chapter 12 - THE ESCAPE
Police found Margaret at the house.
Paige was gone.
Her truck was gone too.
So were two suitcases, the file binder, three phones, and a small lockbox from the hidden room.
The detective called me at 11:40 p.m.
“Mr. Miller, do you know where your sister might go?”
“No.”
“Friends?”
“Hundreds.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Changes monthly.”
He didn’t laugh.
Neither did I.
Marcus sat beside me in the hospital waiting room.
“You need sleep.”
“I slept enough overseas.”
“That isn’t how sleep works.”
I ignored him.
At 1:07 a.m., my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Paige.
“You ruined everything.”
“Where are you?”
“You think Mom did this?”
I stood.
“What are you talking about?”
“She didn’t even understand half of it.”
“Where are you, Paige?”
“You always loved her more.”
“Loved who?”
“Gwen.”
I stared through the hospital window.
“She’s my wife.”
“I’m your sister.”
“And that gave you the right to steal from me?”
“You left us!”
“I went to work.”
“For four years!”
“I sent money every month.”
“Exactly!”
She was crying now.
“You had all that money and we had nothing.”
“You had a home.”
“You had a life.”
“So you took mine?”
Silence.
Then Paige said, “You don’t know what it’s like watching everybody else get everything.”
I felt something colder than anger.
For years, I had thought Paige was irresponsible.
Immature.
Jealous.
I never understood how dangerous entitlement could become.
“Turn yourself in.”
She laughed.
“No.”
“Police are looking for you.”
“Let them.”
“Paige.”
“What?”
“Gwen could have died.”
Silence.
“You stopped her treatment.”
“I didn’t stop anything.”
“You took the money.”
“She wasn’t dying.”
“You didn’t know that.”
“She always exaggerates.”
I shut my eyes.
There it was.
No remorse.
Not even now.
“Where are you?”
She whispered, “Goodbye, David.”
Then the call ended.
I immediately called the detective.
They traced what they could.
The phone was prepaid.
But Paige made one mistake.
She had called while her truck’s connected navigation system was still active.
Police located the vehicle outside a twenty-four-hour storage facility near the airport.
By the time they arrived, the truck was empty.
But the storage unit wasn’t.
Inside were Gwen’s jewelry.
My military keepsakes.
Cash.
Documents.
And the missing lockbox.
The detective opened it under warrant the next morning.
Inside were passports.
Mine.
Gwen’s.
Margaret’s.
Paige’s.
And a fifth passport.
It belonged to a man named Richard Kane.
Marcus stared at the photograph.
“I know this guy.”
“Who is he?”
He looked at me.
May you like
“The loan officer who approved the forged mortgage documents.”
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