Chapter 12 - The Call from Eleanor
|
The following morning, I woke up early to the soft sound of birds outside the window.
For the first time in two years, the constant, suffocating weight of anxiety in my chest had eased. My face was still tender and discolored, but my mind was remarkably clear.
Sitting at my father’s kitchen table with a mug of black coffee, I spent two hours taking decisive, methodical action.
First, I called a top-tier family law attorney recommended by my father’s legal contacts and scheduled an emergency consultation for the next morning. Second, I spoke directly with the senior fraud investigator at the credit bureau, filing a formal dispute regarding the fraudulent thirty-eight thousand dollar credit line Julian had opened. Third, I contacted my employer’s corporate security division to report the potential compromise of my personal identity documents.
Every phone call was calm, precise, and documented. As a forensic accountant, I knew that emotional turmoil meant nothing in a court of law—only hard evidence mattered.
At 10:15 a.m., my second phone vibrated on the place mat.
A text message from Eleanor appeared on the screen:
Audrey, I am in Richard’s old study at my house. I found three boxes of financial ledgers from 1996 that I thought were destroyed years ago. One of them has your mother’s name written on the cover. Please come. Bring your father.
I showed the message to Dad, who was pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee.
His hands froze over the pot. He read the text twice, his jaw tightening into a hard line.
“My mother’s name?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “Why would Mom’s name be on a folder in Richard’s study?”
May you like
Dad set the coffee pot down slowly, staring out at the mist rising off the lake.
“Because,” Dad said quietly, “your mother had a secret, Audrey. One she kept from me until the day she died.”
