“How much?”
Melissa looked at Patricia before answering me.
“Twenty-three thousand four hundred dollars.”
For a second, the courthouse hallway went silent around that number.
Daniel was the first to move. He took the police report from my hand and folded it once, slowly, as if he needed a physical task while his mind caught up.
“Where is it?”
Melissa swallowed. “Not here.”
Patricia stepped out of the courtroom doorway. “She’s lying because she knows she’s in trouble.”
The bailiff immediately moved between them.
Melissa gave a tired laugh.
“You told me to keep something back in case things went wrong.”
Patricia’s face tightened.
“You’re confused.”
“No.”
For the first time since Ruth Wilkes had pointed at her, Melissa sounded completely certain.
“You said never trust anyone who can afford to lose you.”
Something flickered across Patricia’s face.
Recognition.
Brian saw it.
“So you did tell her that.”
His mother looked at him. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m starting to.”
The judge’s clerk appeared in the doorway and told us recess was ending.
Daniel leaned toward me.
“Don’t ask Melissa anything else in the hall.”
“She says she has proof.”
“I heard her.”
“What if it disappears?”
“It won’t.”
He looked toward the bailiff.
“Not now.”
Back inside, the hearing changed direction entirely.
The judge made clear that the divorce court was not going to conduct a criminal investigation from the bench. She ordered that copies of the testimony be preserved and directed court security to contact local law enforcement.
Patricia demanded an attorney.
That ended further questioning of her.
Melissa, however, kept talking after being advised that she should consider obtaining counsel.
“I’m already in this,” she said. “Stopping now doesn’t change that.”
Daniel asked where the remaining money was located.
Melissa described a storage facility seventeen miles outside town.
The unit, she said, was rented under a name Patricia had given her.
My name.
Angela Brooks.
I almost laughed when she said it.
Of course it was.
My name had become a tool for people who apparently believed identity was something you could borrow if you collected enough pieces of another person’s life.
The judge looked toward Daniel. “Is your client aware of this storage unit?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Did she authorize anyone to rent property under her name?”
“No.”
I spoke clearly.
“I did not.”
Melissa gave the facility’s name and approximate unit number.
Daniel wrote everything down.
“What’s inside?”
“The cash. Papers. A phone.”
“What kind of papers?”
“I didn’t read all of them.”
“You read some.”
“Yes.”
“What did you see?”
Melissa glanced toward Patricia’s table.
“Bank records.”
“Whose?”
“Patricia’s. Angela’s. Brian’s.”
Brian stiffened.
“And another man’s.”
Daniel stopped writing.
“What man?”
“I don’t know.”
“The man from the bank parking lot?”
“I think so.”
That answer altered Brian’s expression.
I could see him searching family history in real time, trying to fit an unidentified gray-haired man into the narrow space between his mother’s lies and his dead father.
Daniel asked whether Melissa could identify him from a photograph.
“Maybe.”
“Did Patricia ever give you a name?”
“No.”
“What did she call him?”
Melissa hesitated.
“Sometimes she called him D.”
Brian’s face changed instantly.
I turned toward him.
“What?”
He shook his head.
“Nothing.”
“Brian.”
His attorney whispered something, but Brian ignored him.
“My father’s name was Dennis.”
Patricia closed her eyes.
Daniel looked at her.
She said nothing.
Brian seemed almost embarrassed by his own hope.
“But that doesn’t mean anything. Dad’s dead.”
“When exactly did your father die?” Daniel asked.
“Three years ago. Heart attack.”
“Where?”
“Arizona.”
“Were you there?”
“No.”
“Did you see his body?”
Brian stared at him.
“What kind of question is that?”
“A necessary one.”
Brian’s answer came more slowly.
“No.”
“Funeral?”
“Closed casket.”
The courtroom felt suddenly colder.
I remembered Dennis Brooks as a quiet man who stood slightly apart from Patricia even when they entered rooms together.
He had not disliked me.
That distinction mattered in Patricia’s family.
Once, early in our marriage, he had helped me repair a loose cabinet hinge while Patricia criticized the contractor who installed it.
Dennis had smiled after she left the room.
“Patty thinks a screw turns better if you insult it first.”
It was one of perhaps a dozen private jokes we ever shared.
Then he died.
Or I had been told he died.
Daniel turned back to Melissa.
“Did the man you saw resemble photographs of Dennis Brooks?”
“I don’t know what Dennis looked like.”
Brian pulled out his phone.
His lawyer hissed his name.
The judge watched but did not stop him.
Brian scrolled through pictures until he found one.
His parents stood beside a lake, taken maybe five years earlier. Dennis wore a faded baseball cap and sunglasses.
Brian handed the phone to the bailiff, who passed it to Melissa.
She studied the photograph.
Her face went still.
“That’s him.”
Brian stared.
Patricia whispered, “No.”
Nobody responded to her.
Melissa enlarged the image.
“Older. Thinner, maybe. But that’s the man.”
Brian looked at his mother.
“You told me Dad was dead.”
Patricia pressed her fingers to her forehead.
“He is.”
“Then why is she saying he took part in stealing money from Angela?”
“She is mistaken.”
Ruth Wilkes spoke before anyone else could.
“I’m not.”
Every head turned toward her.
Ruth pointed toward Brian’s phone.
“That’s the man I saw near the entrance.”
Brian seemed to lose the ability to speak.
The judge ended the hearing fifteen minutes later.
Law enforcement officers met Melissa outside the courtroom.
Daniel requested that he and I be permitted to provide information regarding the fraudulent use of my identity and the location of the storage unit.
The detectives did not promise anything.
They did, however, move quickly.
The storage facility had security cameras.
It also had rental records.
By late afternoon, Detective Laura Reyes called Daniel.
The unit existed.
It had been rented seven months earlier.
The renter presented a copy of my driver’s license.
The payment card did not belong to me.
It belonged to Patricia Brooks.
That fact alone should have satisfied some part of me.
It didn’t.
Vindication is not the same thing as relief.
By then I knew too much to think recovering money would restore what had been broken.
Brian followed me into the courthouse parking lot.
“Angela.”
I kept walking.
“Please.”
I turned.
He looked exhausted.
His tie had been pulled loose. His eyes were red. Six months earlier, seeing him that way would have drawn me toward him without thought.
Now I waited.
“I believe you.”
The words I had wanted more than anything sounded nearly useless.
“You believe me because a witness identified someone else.”
“I should have believed you before.”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the ground.
“I don’t know how to fix that.”
“You don’t.”
His eyes came back to mine.
“I never knew about Melissa.”
“I believe you.”
He looked surprised.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve learned what it looks like when somebody is telling the truth while the people around them have decided otherwise.”
That landed.
He nodded once.
“I’m sorry.”
I wanted to say something cruel.
Instead I said, “I know.”
Daniel called before either of us found anything else to say.
“Angela, detectives are executing a warrant on the storage unit tonight.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“Can we be there?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s potentially a crime scene.”
Brian stepped closer, trying to hear.
Daniel continued.
“There’s another issue.”
“What?”
“The storage facility sent over the account registration packet.”
“And?”
“It contains an emergency contact.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“Brian.”
I looked at him.
He saw the answer on my face before I said anything.
“What?”
Daniel repeated it.
I put the phone on speaker.
Brian listened.
“That’s impossible.”
Daniel said, “The contact number listed is yours.”
“I never rented a storage unit.”
“I believe you.”
“Why would Mom use my number?”
Daniel answered carefully.
“Possibly because she wanted a trail that pointed toward you if the unit was discovered.”
Brian sat down on the hood of his truck.
His face lost color.
I understood exactly what he was feeling.
He had spent months assuming evidence made me guilty.
Now the evidence was beginning to gather around him.
I did not enjoy watching it happen.
That surprised me.
Detective Reyes called shortly after ten that night.
Daniel and I were in his office.
I had refused to go home because home still felt like a place where somebody might have photographed my schedule or opened my drawers.
Brian waited in the lobby.
Reyes spoke through the conference phone.
“We recovered cash.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-three thousand four hundred dollars.”
Exactly what Melissa said.
I closed my eyes.
“There are also documents.”
“What kind?”
“Financial statements. Copies of identification. Insurance policies. Some handwritten notes.”
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
I gripped the edge of the table.
Daniel asked, “Was there a phone?”
“There was.”
“Can you access it?”
“We’re working on that.”
I opened my eyes.
“What about the other man?”
Reyes paused.
“We found photographs.”
“Of Dennis?”
“We found photographs of several people.”
“What does that mean?”
She exhaled.
“Mrs. Brooks, I need you to prepare yourself. This appears to involve more than the withdrawals.”
I looked toward Daniel.
“What did you find?”
“A file with your name on it.”
I almost laughed from disbelief.
“Of course.”
“Inside are hospital schedules, property records, copies of your signatures and photographs taken over several months.”
Brian heard that from the lobby.
He appeared in the doorway.
Reyes continued.
“There’s also a document titled ‘Phase Two.’”
Nobody spoke.
Daniel finally asked, “What is Phase Two?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Then why mention it?”
“Because your client’s life insurance policy is attached to it.”
Brian stepped into the room.
I could see panic building in him.
“What does it say?”
Reyes heard him.
“Mr. Brooks?”
“Yes.”
“You should probably sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“No,” I said quietly. “You’re not.”
Neither was I.
Reyes continued.
“The document isn’t detailed. It appears to be a list.”
“What kind of list?”
“Dates. Locations. Vehicle information.”
My chest tightened.
“Vehicle information?”
“Yes.”
“Mine?”
“Your Honda.”
The same car Patricia had apparently used at the bank.
Daniel leaned forward.
“Detective, does anything in that file indicate physical harm was planned?”
Another pause.
That pause frightened me more than any answer.
“We are investigating that possibility.”
Brian pressed both palms onto the conference table.
“My mother was planning to hurt Angela?”
“We have not reached that conclusion.”
“What other conclusion is there?”
Reyes remained measured.
“One note refers to an accident.”
The room went perfectly still.
“What accident?” I asked.
“Route 17.”
I knew Route 17.
I drove it to work whenever construction backed up the interstate.
Patricia knew that too.
Everyone who had seen my schedule knew.
The detective’s voice softened.
“Mrs. Brooks, until we know more, do not stay alone.”
My mouth had gone dry.
Daniel asked whether police protection was warranted.
Reyes said patrols would be notified, but there was no confirmed immediate threat.
Brian looked at me.
“You’re coming home with me.”
“No.”
“Angela.”
“I’m not staying in the house where somebody photographed my life.”
“Then hotel.”
Daniel interrupted.
“She’ll stay somewhere secure.”
Brian’s jaw tightened.
He looked helpless.
That no longer moved me the way it once had.
Reyes said one more thing before ending the call.
“We also found a photograph that appears recent.”
“Of whom?”
“Dennis Brooks.”
Brian stopped breathing.
“When?”
“We’re checking metadata.”
“Where was it taken?”
“A gas station.”
“What gas station?”
“Outside Flagstaff.”
Brian stared at nothing.
The place mattered.
I knew because his father had supposedly died in Arizona.
Reyes continued.
“There’s writing on the back.”
“What writing?”
She hesitated.
“Three words.”
Brian whispered, “What?”
“Not yet, Patty.”
Patricia.
Patty.
The nickname Dennis used.
The joke about the cabinet hinge came back to me so clearly that I could almost hear his voice.
Patty thinks a screw turns better if you insult it first.
Brian sank into a chair.
“My father is alive.”
Nobody corrected him.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then a text appeared.
You should not have opened the unit.
Daniel saw my face.
“What?”
I showed him.
A second message arrived.
Brian came around the table.
The three of us read it together.
The first money was Patricia’s idea.
The rest was mine.
A third message followed before Daniel could call Reyes.
Tell Brian his father says hello.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: A Message From a Dead Man Forced Brian to Question His Childhood, While Police Uncovered Why Patricia Needed Me Guilty
The Morning Our Savings Vanished, My Husband Looked at the Bank Statement and Decided the Thief Was Me
Part 5 of 20
