Miles told Mallory to lock the door.
She laughed nervously.
“He has a key.”
“Then go somewhere you can secure yourself and call 911 if you feel threatened.”
“He’s my husband.”
“That does not answer whether you feel safe.”
Silence.
I could hear another car door close through the phone.
Then footsteps on gravel.
Mallory whispered, “I don’t know.”
That answer frightened me more than yes would have.
Miles motioned to Deputy Reeves, who had just returned to the room.
“Her address?”
I gave it.
Reeves stepped into the hallway and called dispatch.
Mallory was still on speaker.
A key entered a lock.
She whispered, “Oh God.”
“Mallory,” Miles said, “do not argue with him.”
The front door opened on her end.
Travis’s voice came faintly through the phone.
“Mallory?”
She did not answer.
He called again.
Closer.
“What are you doing?”
Her breathing became quick.
“Who are you talking to?”
Then he must have seen the phone.
His voice sharpened.
“Give me that.”
Mallory said, “Don’t.”
The line crackled.
Miles stood.
“Travis.”
Silence.
Then his voice came directly into the phone.
“Carter.”
“Step away from your wife.”
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“Law enforcement is on the way.”
Travis swore.
Mallory cried out.
The phone hit something.
I moved instinctively toward the door.
Reeves held up one hand.
“No.”
“He’s hurting her.”
“We have units going.”
“I’m going.”
“No, ma’am.”
I hated him for being right.
Through the phone came Mallory’s voice.
“Stop!”
Then Travis.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t have it.”
“You found it.”
“I moved it.”
“Where?”
“Get away from me.”
A door slammed.
Then silence.
“Mallory?” I shouted.
No answer.
Miles called her name.
Nothing.
The call disconnected.
Lorraine stood frozen beside David’s childhood bed.
“My son would never—”
She stopped herself.
Maybe because she no longer knew what Travis would never do.
Reeves received an update over his radio.
Units were two minutes away.
Those two minutes lasted forever.
I paced the small bedroom.
Miles kept calling Mallory.
No answer.
Lorraine prayed under her breath.
Then Reeves’s radio burst with voices.
Officers arriving.
Male subject outside.
No weapon visible.
Female located inside.
I gripped the dresser edge.
Another update.
No injuries requiring emergency medical care.
I exhaled for what felt like the first time in minutes.
Lorraine sank onto the bed.
Reeves listened.
Then looked at us.
“Mr. Cole is being detained while officers sort out what happened.”
“Arrested?” Lorraine asked.
“Detained.”
“Mallory?”
“She’s speaking to officers.”
Miles picked up his coat.
“We’re going there.”
Reeves stopped him.
“Wait.”
A message came through his radio again.
Then he frowned.
“What?”
“Mrs. Cole says the drive is not in the house.”
I stared.
“Where is it?”
“She won’t say over radio.”
That sounded like Mallory.
Cautious.
Calculating.
Alive.
We waited until an officer confirmed she wanted to speak with Miles.
Then Reeves drove separately while I followed Miles to Travis and Mallory’s house.
The neighborhood was newer than Lorraine’s.
Wide driveways.
Identical mailboxes.
Young trees supported by wooden stakes.
Two patrol cars sat out front.
Travis stood near one cruiser with his arms crossed.
An officer watched him.
His expression when he saw me was not embarrassment.
It was fury.
“You.”
The officer stepped between us.
“Sir.”
I stopped several feet away.
“You should have stayed out of it,” Travis said.
I stared at him.
“David tried that.”
He looked as if he might answer, then turned away.
Inside, Mallory sat at the kitchen table wrapped in a gray cardigan.
Her eyes were red.
There was a small scrape on her wrist.
I noticed immediately.
“So he did touch you.”
She covered the mark.
“He grabbed my arm.”
“That’s enough.”
“Hannah.”
“It is.”
She looked toward the front window where Travis stood outside.
“I’ve spent twelve years telling myself he only got angry because he was embarrassed.”
No one responded.
“He hates feeling cornered.”
“That doesn’t give him permission to hurt you,” I said.
“I know.”
This time she sounded like she actually did.
Miles sat opposite her.
“Where is the drive?”
Mallory looked at him.
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“I want something first.”
Miles’s expression cooled.
“This is not a negotiation.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it is potentially evidence.”
“And it potentially proves I was involved in something I didn’t understand.”
That stopped him.
I sat beside her.
“What did you do?”
Mallory rubbed her wrist.
“Years ago, Travis asked me to help organize financial paperwork for a consulting company.”
“TCR Strategy.”
She looked at me sharply.
“You know the name.”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes.
“Then David found more than I thought.”
“What did you do for TCR?”
“Bookkeeping.”
“For how long?”
“Almost four years.”
“That’s not nothing.”
“I know.”
“Did you know Martin Vale paid Travis?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know why?”
“No.”
“You never asked?”
“Of course I asked.”
“What did Travis say?”
“Development consulting. Vendor analysis. Introductions.”
“And you believed him?”
“At first.”
“At first?”
She looked ashamed.
“The amounts got too large.”
“How large?”
“Some months, twenty or thirty thousand.”
My stomach tightened.
“Then what?”
“I told him we needed contracts and invoices.”
“Did he give you any?”
“Yes.”
“Real?”
“I don’t know anymore.”
Miles leaned forward.
“What role did Hannah’s financial information play?”
Mallory looked at me.
“That is the part I need you to understand before you hate me.”
“I already don’t trust you. Start there.”
She accepted that.
“Travis asked me to pull household tax information because he said David was applying for refinancing.”
“When?”
“About three years ago.”
“We weren’t refinancing.”
“I know that now.”
“What did you access?”
“Tax records David had sent us years earlier when he helped Travis apply for a business loan.”
I stared.
David had co-signed nothing.
But he had helped Travis prepare documents.
Apparently copies had remained.
“Did you log into our accounts?”
“No.”
“David traced a login to your office.”
Mallory looked confused.
“What?”
“An IP address tied to your workplace.”
She stared at me.
“I never logged into your accounts from work.”
Miles watched her carefully.
“Could Travis have used your office?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He used to come by at lunch.”
“Did he ever use your computer?”
Her face changed.
“Yes.”
There it was.
Another door opening backward through time.
“What about my name in the spreadsheet?”
Mallory looked down.
“That’s what scared me.”
“What does it say?”
“I only opened one tab.”
“Tell me.”
“There’s a list of entities and accounts.”
“My name is an entity?”
“No.”
She hesitated.
“You’re listed beside a life-insurance policy.”
The room went cold.
“What life-insurance policy?”
“I don’t know.”
“I have one through work.”
“It wasn’t yours.”
“What do you mean?”
“It listed David as insured.”
I stared.
David had life insurance.
I already knew about legitimate policies.
The beneficiary account was part of the money I inherited.
“Maybe it’s one I know.”
Mallory shook her head.
“The beneficiary wasn’t you.”
“Who?”
“TCR Strategy.”
For a moment I could not process the words.
“A company was beneficiary on David’s life insurance?”
“That’s what the spreadsheet said.”
Miles became very still.
“How much?”
Mallory swallowed.
“Five hundred thousand dollars.”
I felt the air leave my lungs.
“That’s impossible.”
“I don’t know if the policy was ever issued.”
“What company?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Did you see David’s signature?”
“No. Just spreadsheet references.”
“Why was my name there?”
“Next to a note.”
“What note?”
Mallory’s eyes filled with tears.
“Spousal consent required.”
Nobody moved.
I understood enough to be terrified.
If someone had tried to place a policy on David benefiting Travis’s company, perhaps my consent had been necessary.
“I never signed anything.”
“I know.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then why was I listed?”
“I don’t know.”
Miles asked, “Did the spreadsheet indicate consent was obtained?”
Mallory nodded.
My stomach twisted.
“By whom?”
“It said completed.”
“That’s not who.”
“There was an initials column.”
“What initials?”
“M.V.”
Martin Vale.
I stood.
I needed distance from the table.
From Mallory.
From every financial document carrying my family’s name.
This had gone beyond property development.
Beyond forgery on a cabin sale.
Someone may have tried to insure my husband’s life for half a million dollars while naming a company connected to his brother as beneficiary.
“When?” I asked.
Mallory gave the approximate date.
I turned.
“That was before David’s diagnosis.”
“Yes.”
Months before.
Maybe nearly a year.
The anonymous text returned.
Ask what David discovered before he got sick.
My skin went cold.
“Did David know about the policy?”
Mallory shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Miles asked, “Why did you make a backup drive?”
“Because last year Travis told me to delete old TCR files.”
“Did you?”
“Some.”
“But you copied them first.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because by then I knew something was wrong.”
“What did you think was wrong?”
Mallory stared toward the window.
“I thought he was hiding money.”
“From taxes?”
“From me.”
That answer was heartbreakingly ordinary compared with everything else.
“So you copied the files because you thought your husband was financially cheating you.”
“Yes.”
“And you never looked closely?”
“I looked at balances. Payment summaries. I didn’t understand what most of the coded files were.”
“Until last night.”
“Yes.”
“What made you open the spreadsheet?”
“Travis was asleep. His phone kept getting messages.”
“From who?”
“Martin.”
Every person in the room became still.
“What did they say?”
“I only saw the preview.”
“What?”
Mallory closed her eyes.
“Carter found the transfer.”
Miles stared.
“That was before we confronted him.”
“Yes.”
So Martin knew about the cabin transfer.
Maybe before Travis knew the details.
“Anything else?”
“The second message said, ‘Box is gone.’”
My pulse hammered.
“When?”
“Yesterday evening.”
Before the anonymous photograph.
Before we discovered the lockbox missing.
“Did Travis reply?”
“I don’t know.”
“You checked his phone?”
“He woke up.”
“Did you ask him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I was afraid.”
That word settled heavily in the kitchen.
Mallory reached into her cardigan pocket.
For a second, the officer near the doorway tensed.
She removed a small brass key.
“What is that?” Miles asked.
“Safe-deposit box.”
“At a bank?”
“Yes.”
“You put the drive there?”
She nodded.
“Which bank?”
She named a local branch.
“Whose box?”
“Mine.”
Miles stood.
“We need to secure it today.”
“The bank is closed.”
He looked at the clock.
She was right.
Just past five.
“Tomorrow morning.”
Mallory shook her head.
“I want protection.”
Miles studied her.
“From Travis?”
“And Martin.”
“Why Martin?”
“Because I called him.”
I stared.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“What did you say?”
“I asked what the spreadsheet was.”
Miles looked furious.
“What did he say?”
“At first he pretended not to know.”
“And then?”
“He asked where I found it.”
“Did you tell him?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“He said I was misunderstanding old planning documents.”
“Did you mention the insurance policy?”
“Yes.”
Miles muttered something under his breath.
“What did Martin say?”
Mallory rubbed the edge of the key.
“He told me the policy never became active.”
Relief moved through me too quickly.
Then she continued.
“But I never told him the spreadsheet showed a policy.”
Miles went completely still.
I understood.
If Mallory had asked generally about the spreadsheet and Martin immediately referenced the insurance policy, then he already knew exactly what she had found.
“He knew,” I said.
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“He told me to delete the drive.”
A voice came from the doorway.
Travis.
“I told you the same thing.”
The officer turned sharply.
“Sir, you were told to remain outside.”
Travis lifted his hands.
“I’m not doing anything.”
Mallory stood.
“Get out.”
His face changed when he saw the key.
“What’s that?”
She closed her fist.
“Nothing.”
“Mallory.”
“Leave.”
He stepped forward.
The officer blocked him.
Travis looked over the man’s shoulder at his wife.
“You don’t understand what you’re handing them.”
Mallory’s voice shook.
“Then explain it.”
“I can’t here.”
“You never can.”
“Because this is bigger than us.”
I stepped closer.
“How much bigger?”
Travis looked at me.
For the first time since all of this began, he did not appear arrogant.
He looked exhausted.
Almost terrified.
“You think I wanted any of this?”
“You took money.”
“Yes.”
“You witnessed a forged sale.”
“Yes.”
The admission shocked everyone.
Even Mallory.
Travis looked at the floor.
“I signed as witness.”
“Who forged David’s name?”
He did not answer.
“Who?”
His jaw tightened.
“Martin brought me the document already signed.”
“Did you believe David signed it?”
“At first.”
“And later?”
“No.”
“Yet you kept taking money.”
His face twisted.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because by then I was in too deep.”
I almost laughed.
“That’s your excuse?”
“No.”
He looked at Mallory.
“It’s the truth.”
Miles spoke.
“What about the life-insurance policy?”
Travis closed his eyes.
And that reaction was worse than surprise.
“You knew.”
He did not answer.
“Travis.”
His voice came out low.
“Martin said it was key-man coverage connected to development financing.”
“David wasn’t part of the company.”
“I know.”
“Then why insure him?”
“He said lenders wanted protection if the land deal collapsed because of David.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
“When did you know?”
“Later.”
“How much later?”
Travis looked at me.
“After David got sick.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
“What happened then?”
Travis’s face went gray.
“I told Martin the policy had to disappear.”
“Was it active?”
“I don’t know.”
“That is not an answer.”
“I never saw the final policy.”
“Did Martin have my forged consent?”
Travis’s eyes moved away.
My knees weakened.
“Did he?”
“I saw a form.”
“With my signature?”
“Yes.”
The room seemed to close in.
“Who signed it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I didn’t sign your name.”
“Mallory?”
“No.”
“Martin?”
“I don’t know.”
I moved toward him before I realized it.
The officer stepped between us.
Good.
Because I wanted to hit him.
Not because I thought he had forged my name.
Because he had seen it.
Seen my signature falsely placed on a document involving my husband’s life.
And stayed silent.
“You knew someone forged my consent on a life-insurance policy involving David.”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I was scared.”
“So was he.”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
Travis swallowed.
For once, he did not argue.
Miles asked the question that mattered.
“Why did Martin text you that the box was gone?”
Travis looked toward the window.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you take it?”
“No.”
“Did he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who else knew where it was?”
“David.”
“He’s dead.”
Travis flinched.
I almost regretted saying it that way.
Almost.
“Who else?”
He whispered, “My mother.”
Lorraine made a sound behind us.
“No.”
Everyone turned.
She had followed Reeves inside and now stood in the hallway.
“I didn’t know where the box was.”
Travis stared at her.
“You told me David moved records to the cabin.”
“That was years ago.”
“You said he had a lockbox.”
“I never said where.”
“You did.”
“No.”
“Mom.”
Lorraine shook her head violently.
“I didn’t take it.”
Then Mallory said something so quietly I nearly missed it.
“Maybe none of you did.”
We looked at her.
She stared at the brass key in her hand.
“Martin knew about the box.”
“How?” Miles asked.
“Because last night, before Travis came home, Martin said something.”
“What?”
Mallory’s face had gone pale.
“He said, ‘You people should have burned that thing when you had the chance.’”
Silence.
I looked at Miles.
Then at Travis.
“Martin knew exactly what the box contained.”
Travis’s expression confirmed it.
Maybe not every document.
But enough.
My phone vibrated again.
Another anonymous message.
Miles took it.
This one contained no photograph.
No address.
Just a warning.
Martin Vale is leaving town tonight.
Below it was a flight number.
And a departure time less than three hours away.
Click here to continue reading: PART 9: Martin’s Planned Departure Forced Everyone to Choose Between Protecting Themselves and Telling the Truth About David’s Final Investigation
Two Weeks After David’s Funeral, His Family Arrived With a Realtor and Expected Grief to Make Me Surrender My Home
Part 8 of 18
