PAGE 5 — THE SECRET IN THE BANK ACCOUNT
The hospital allowed me to see Emily several hours later.
She looked smaller than she had before I left.
Tubes were attached to her arm.
An IV was running beside the bed.
I sat beside her.
She opened her eyes.
“Ethan.”
“I’m here.”
She began crying.
“I’m sorry.”
I took her hand.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I tried.”
“I know.”
“I called you.”
“I know.”
“They wouldn’t let me talk to you.”
My chest tightened.
“Who?”
She looked toward the door.
“Your mother.”
I closed my eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried.”
“You texted me.”
She nodded.
“She took my phone.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“She said you were busy. She said your job was more important than my feelings.”
I felt sick.
“Emily…”
She squeezed my hand.
“She told me you didn’t want to come home.”
“What?”
“She said you were tired of me.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“I never said that.”
“I know.”
She looked at me.
“I knew you wouldn’t.”
Then she whispered:
“Something else happened.”
“What?”
“Your mother kept asking me to sign papers.”
My entire body went cold.
“What papers?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did they say?”
“Something about the house.”
I shook my head.
“We rent.”
“That’s what I told her.”
She swallowed.
“She said she needed to make sure Noah would be protected.”
I stood up.
“What did you sign?”
“Nothing.”
Relief washed over me.
Then Emily whispered:
“But she took pictures of my driver’s license.”
I immediately thought about the paperwork at my job.
My mother’s strange questions.
The missing documents.
The money.
Everything suddenly felt connected.
That afternoon, Officer Ramirez returned.
She had obtained information from my mother’s bank account.
“Mr. Miller, we need to ask you about several transfers.”
She showed me a printed statement.
My mother had received the money I sent.
But the money had quickly been transferred elsewhere.
“What is this?”
“Payments to a company called Westbrook Financial.”
I stared at the page.
“I don’t know.”
The officer pointed to another transaction.
“She also made a payment to a private investigator.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Then she showed me something else.
A payment to an attorney.
My mother’s attorney.
I felt dizzy.
“Why would my mother hire a lawyer?”
Officer Ramirez looked at me.
“That’s what we’re trying to determine.”
Then her partner walked into the room.
He held a folder.
“We found something in your house.”
“What?”
“A file hidden inside your mother’s suitcase.”
He opened it.
Inside were copies of my employment records.
My bank statements.
Emily’s medical information.
And one document that made my blood run cold.
It was a draft power of attorney.
With my name.
My wife’s name.
And my mother’s name.
I stared at it.
“This isn’t mine.”
“We know.”
“Who prepared it?”
“We’re investigating.”
Then Officer Ramirez said:
“There is one more thing.”
She placed a photograph on the table.
It showed my mother standing outside a bank.
Beside her was a man I had never seen before.
“What is this?”
“We believe he’s connected to a debt your mother has been hiding.”
I stared at the photograph.
Then everything began to make sense.
My mother wasn’t simply careless.
She was desperate.
And somehow, my family had been placed in danger because of it.
