The envelope from the anonymous photograph was not inside Unit 606.
That was the first thing Detective Morales told us the following morning.
“Then whoever is texting me has it.”
“Possibly.”
“Who had access to Victor's unit?”
“We're working on that.”
I looked at Morales across the interview-room table.
“Do you know who has been paying for it?”
He glanced at Shah.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Victor's son.”
That answer surprised me.
“His son knows where Victor is?”
“According to him, no.”
“Then why keep paying?”
“Because Victor asked him to.”
Morales folded his hands.
“His son's name is Daniel Hale. He says Victor contacted him periodically for several years, always from different numbers.”
“When was the last time?”
“Eight months ago.”
“Did Daniel send me the messages?”
“We're investigating that.”
Which meant they suspected him.
“Can I talk to him?”
“Not yet.”
I leaned back.
The police station smelled faintly of burnt coffee.
Sanders sat beside me.
“Tell her about the recordings,” he said.
Morales nodded.
“We've reviewed enough to establish context.”
“Can I hear them?”
“Some.”
He placed a digital recorder on the table.
The first file began with Victor's voice.
I had never heard him before.
He sounded older than I expected. Rough. Impatient.
“September twenty-third. If I'm keeping this, I'm keeping it correctly. Arthur will deny everything if this blows up.”
Paper rustled.
“First Magnolia application was my idea.”
My chest tightened.
Victor continued.
“I told Arthur we could push the refinance through and clean the paperwork later. He knew. Don't let him say he didn't.”
I looked at Sanders.
Arthur had lied.
But not exactly in the way I expected.
Victor really had initiated the first forgery.
The recording continued.
“I had Eleanor's signature copied from prior documents. Arthur said she'd come around once the money was committed.”
Victor laughed bitterly.
“She didn't.”
A click.
Next recording.
“Eleanor caught it. Bank killed the application. Arthur panicked. Told me to take the blame if she went legal.”
Another click.
“Carol knows enough to be dangerous. She prepares half Arthur's paperwork and pretends not to understand the rest.”
Lily wasn't present.
I was glad.
The next recording was dated after my mother's death.
Victor sounded different.
Less arrogant.
“Arthur wants another route into Magnolia. Says Diane is eight and won't know anything until she's eighteen.”
My hands curled under the table.
“I told him no.”
Victor coughed.
“I already forged one dead-end application while Eleanor was alive. I'm not touching a child's trust.”
The recording stopped.
Morales looked at me.
“There's more.”
“Play it.”
The next file began with an argument.
Arthur's voice.
You owe me.
Victor answered.
I owe you nothing.
You cost me the Hale project.
Eleanor killed that deal, not me.
Because you couldn't control your wife.
I flinched.
Arthur's voice became quieter.
Don't talk about her.
Then Victor:
Why? She's dead. That's what you kept saying would solve everything.
A chair scraped.
Arthur said something too low to understand.
Victor responded.
No, Arthur. I will not manufacture a transfer. The kid gets the house at eighteen. That's the trust.
Arthur:
She'll sell it to me.
Victor laughed.
For what? Lunch money?
My face burned.
Even then.
Even when I was eight.
The plan had already existed.
The recording continued.
Arthur:
She'll do what I tell her.
Victor:
Maybe. But leave me out of it.
The file ended.
I stared at the recorder.
My father had spent ten years waiting for me to become legally capable of surrendering what my mother protected.
Every lecture about obedience suddenly carried a second meaning.
Maybe not consciously every time.
But the structure was there.
Keep Diane dependent.
Keep Diane doubtful.
Keep Diane accustomed to needing permission.
Then, at eighteen, ask for a signature.
Morales played another file.
Victor was alone again.
“Arthur offered me one seventy-five to disappear from the estate mess.”
The cashier's check.
“He says it's repayment for money I lost because Eleanor blocked the project. That's partly true.”
Pause.
“But he's also buying silence.”
Another pause.
“I took it.”
Victor sounded disgusted with himself.
“I told myself I deserved it. Maybe I did. Doesn't change what it was.”
The recording clicked off.
“So he left?” I asked.
“Eventually.”
“Why keep records?”
Morales answered.
“Insurance.”
“Against Dad?”
“That's our interpretation.”
“What happened with Ventura?”
Morales exchanged a glance with Shah.
“We have a recording about that too.”
This one was years later.
Victor's voice sounded tired.
“Daniel says Arthur transferred the Ventura parcel.”
My pulse jumped.
“I checked county records. Eleanor apparently signed from the grave.”
Victor laughed once.
“Carol. Has to be.”
He continued.
“I called Arthur. He told me to mind my business.”
Pause.
“I told him if he ever touched Magnolia, I would send everything to the girl.”
The girl.
Me.
“He said I'd never get close enough.”
Victor's next words were quieter.
“I told him I wouldn't need to.”
The recording ended.
I looked at Morales.
“So Victor was protecting me?”
“No.”
The answer was firm.
“He participated in serious misconduct involving your mother. Later choices don't erase earlier ones.”
I appreciated that.
“Then what was he doing?”
“Protecting himself, perhaps. Making amends, perhaps. We can't know his motives without asking him.”
“Assuming he's alive.”
“Yes.”
I looked at the recorder.
“Why didn't he send me everything when I turned eighteen?”
“We don't know.”
Again.
But this time the uncertainty suggested something more troubling.
Maybe Victor had intended to.
Maybe something prevented him.
“What was his last contact with Daniel?”
Shah opened her notes.
“A text eight months ago.”
“What did it say?”
She read it.
If Arthur asks, you don't know where anything is.
“Anything after?”
“No.”
“Did Arthur ask?”
Morales's expression changed.
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“Dad contacted Daniel?”
“Twice.”
“What did he want?”
“Victor's location.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Arthur told Daniel there were unresolved business matters.”
“And Daniel?”
“Said he didn't know.”
The timeline formed in my head.
Eight months ago, Victor warned his son.
Six months ago, Arthur went looking.
Then, as my eighteenth birthday approached, Arthur prepared the Magnolia transfer.
“Dad knew Victor had evidence.”
“Likely.”
“He wanted it before I turned eighteen.”
“That is one possibility.”
I stood and paced toward the wall.
“Where did Victor live eight months ago?”
“We're working on it.”
“You must have something.”
Morales hesitated.
“Daniel says Victor was somewhere in Nevada.”
“Where?”
“He doesn't know.”
“Did Victor have money?”
“Some.”
“Enough to disappear?”
“Maybe.”
I returned to the table.
“What about the envelope?”
Morales shook his head.
“No envelope was found.”
“Then Daniel has it.”
“Don't assume that.”
“Who else?”
“We don't know.”
My phone vibrated on the table.
All four of us looked at it.
Unknown number.
Morales nodded.
I opened the message.
A location pin.
No words.
Shah immediately copied the information.
“Where is it?” I asked.
She checked.
“North Hollywood.”
“What?”
“Residential address.”
Morales was already standing.
“Stay here.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Diane.”
“The messages are being sent to me.”
“That does not make the location safe.”
Sanders touched my arm.
“Let them check.”
I hated it.
But I stayed.
For nearly two hours.
At 1:17, Morales called Sanders.
We could hear only his side.
“Yes.”
Pause.
“Alive?”
My entire body tightened.
Another pause.
“Understood.”
Sanders ended the call.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“The address belongs to Daniel Hale.”
I stared.
“So Daniel is texting me.”
“Apparently.”
“And Victor?”
Sanders hesitated.
“Daniel says he knows where his father is.”
Relief hit first.
Then suspicion.
“Why didn't he tell police before?”
“Victor made him promise not to.”
“Why change now?”
“Because Arthur tried to contact him again last night.”
My skin prickled.
“After the storage unit was opened.”
“Yes.”
Arthur knew his protection was collapsing.
By three, Morales allowed Daniel to speak with us at the station.
He was thirty-two, thin, tired-looking and visibly uncomfortable.
“You're Diane.”
“Yes.”
He looked at me for several seconds.
“You look like your mother.”
I didn't know what to say.
“You knew her?”
“Barely. I was a kid.”
He rubbed his hands together.
“My dad talked about her later.”
“What did he say?”
“That she was the only person in that whole mess who knew exactly what Arthur was.”
My throat tightened.
“Why didn't Victor contact me?”
Daniel looked down.
“He was ashamed.”
“That didn't stop him from keeping evidence.”
“No.”
“So what stopped him?”
“Fear.”
“Of Dad?”
“Of prison. Of Arthur. Of you.”
“Me?”
“He knew what he'd done to your mother.”
I sat back.
Daniel continued.
“He said he didn't get to show up when you turned eighteen and pretend he was some hero.”
That, at least, sounded honest.
“Where is he?”
Daniel looked at Morales.
The detective nodded.
“Outside Reno.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“He said he would talk to police.”
“To me?”
Daniel hesitated.
“He doesn't know.”
“Tell him I do.”
Daniel studied me.
“Why?”
“Because he has spent ten years deciding what I should know.”
I heard my mother's letter in my own voice.
The right to decide for yourself.
“I'd like one person involved in this to stop doing that.”
Daniel nodded slowly.
“I'll tell him.”
Before he left, he handed Morales an envelope.
The envelope from the photograph.
My name was written across the front.
DIANE REYNOLDS — ONLY IF ARTHUR COMES LOOKING.
Morales photographed it, documented it and finally allowed Sanders to open it in my presence.
Inside were three pages.
The first was a letter from Victor.
Diane,
If you're reading this, Arthur has probably tried to get Magnolia from you.
I was involved in the first attempt to use that house against your mother's wishes. That was my idea, and Arthur agreed to it. Eleanor caught us.
I kept evidence because Arthur later asked me to help him defeat the trust after she died. I refused.
The second page listed accounts, companies and dates.
Ventura.
Palm Springs.
Reynolds Management Services.
At the bottom was a company I hadn't seen before.
ER Education Fund.
I looked at Sanders.
“What is that?”
His expression changed.
“I don't know.”
Victor's letter explained.
Your mother funded this separately for your education. Arthur was never supposed to control it.
My heart stopped.
The amount written beside it was $450,000.
Initial funding.
I looked at Sanders.
“Where is it?”
He was already reaching for his phone.
The third page contained one sentence.
If Arthur tells Diane she has no money for university, ask him what happened to Eleanor's education fund.
I thought of Thursday afternoon.
My father telling me I had three days to leave.
Find work.
Support yourself.
He had believed I failed.
He had believed I had no future.
And somewhere, apparently, my mother had left nearly half a million dollars specifically to ensure that I did.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: The Education Fund My Father Said Never Existed Had Paid for Someone’s Future, but the Student Wasn’t Me
I Hid My Real Exam Score for One Night and Finally Heard What My Father Thought I Was Worth
Part 10 of 24
