Chapter 7: The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
For several seconds, nobody in Margaret Ellis's office spoke.
Dad held the photograph with both hands, staring at the woman standing beside my mother. The picture had faded around the edges, but the woman's face remained clear enough to recognize her warm smile, dark eyes, and distinctive silver necklace.
Grandma Helen looked as though someone had pulled the ground from beneath her.
“Where did you get that?”” she whispered.
Dad turned toward her.
“It was in Eleanor's desk. I found it years ago, after she died. I thought it was a photograph from one of her business trips.””
“Did you ever ask her about the woman?””
“No. I assumed she was a colleague.””
Grandma reached for the photograph but stopped before touching it.
“That's Rebecca Shaw.””
Margaret frowned.
“Rebecca Shaw? The estate attorney who worked with Eleanor before I took over?””
Grandma nodded slowly.
“She wasn't just Eleanor's attorney. She was her closest friend for years.””
I looked between them.
“Then why did you say she was dead?””
Grandma's face crumpled.
“Because she was reported dead.””
“Reported?””
“Rebecca disappeared nearly ten years ago. Her family said she had died in a boating accident while traveling abroad. There was a memorial service, but no body was recovered.””
I stared at the photograph.
“And Mom took a picture with her three months after that?””
“That is what the date appears to say,” Margaret replied.
“But we cannot establish when the photograph was actually taken without more information.””
Dad lowered himself into his chair.
“Eleanor never mentioned seeing Rebecca again.””
“Perhaps she was protecting her,” Grandma said.
“From whom?””
Grandma didn't answer.
I took the photograph from Dad and examined it more closely. My mother stood outside our house, wearing the blue cardigan she had loved so much that she wore it even when the weather was warm.
Rebecca stood beside her, one hand resting on Mom's shoulder.
They weren't posing like business associates.
They looked like two people who had survived something together.
On the back, beneath the date, my mother had written another sentence.
She has proof, but Daniel must never know until I can protect Emily.
I read it aloud.
Dad went completely still.
“What does that mean?””
I looked at him.
“I don't know.””
But the question had already begun to form in my mind.
If Rebecca had possessed proof of something, and Mom had specifically written that Dad must not know, then perhaps my father hadn't been the person my mother trusted most.
Or perhaps she had been afraid someone could use him to reach her.
Grandma finally sat down.
“Eleanor told me once that Rebecca had discovered a financial arrangement that could hurt several people. She said it involved property, inheritance documents, and someone who had been hiding behind other people's signatures.””
“Did she name anyone?”” Margaret asked.
“No. She was frightened, but she didn't want to make accusations without evidence.””
I looked at the photograph again.
“Why would Vanessa know about Rebecca?””
Grandma shook her head.
“I don't know.””
Dad stood and began pacing.
“Then we find her. If she's alive, she can explain all of this.””
Margaret raised a hand.
“Slow down. We need to verify the circumstances surrounding Rebecca's disappearance. We also need to determine whether the photograph is authentic and locate the original records your mother referred to.””
Dad stopped.
“How long will that take?””
“As long as it takes to establish the facts.””
“I don't have time for this. My wife may have used my signature to move hundreds of thousands of dollars, and someone has put a dead woman's name on a company.””
“Which is precisely why we must proceed carefully,” Margaret replied.
I slipped the photograph into a protective sleeve she provided.
“Can we start with the old estate records?””
“Yes,” Margaret said.
“I'll contact the law firm that handled Rebecca's original work. Their archives may contain correspondence, incorporation documents, or records of the reported accident.””
She began making calls while Grandma searched through her handbag for the old letter.
Dad's phone rang.
Vanessa.
He stared at the screen before answering.
“Where are you?”” she demanded.
“At Margaret's office.””
A sharp silence followed.
Then Vanessa said, “Why are you there?””
“Because I have questions about the money.””
“You have questions because Emily has filled your head with nonsense.””
“Did you create Eleanor Legacy Properties?””
Another silence.
When Vanessa spoke again, her voice was lower.
“Daniel, come home. We need to discuss this privately.””
“Did you use Margaret's name on a company registration?””
“I don't know what you're talking about.””
“Then why does the registry list her as an authorized representative?””
Vanessa inhaled sharply.
“I said I don't know.””
“Did you forge my signature?””
“Don't you dare accuse me of something like that!””
Dad looked at me.
I watched the anger in his face fight with something much worse: fear.
“I'm asking you a question,” he said.
“Did you use my name without my permission?””
Vanessa's voice broke into a furious laugh.
“You want to know what your daughter has done to us? She's turned a private family matter into a legal circus. If you keep listening to her, you will lose everything.””
Dad closed his eyes.
“Maybe I've already lost enough.””
He ended the call.
For the first time, he didn't look at me for reassurance.
He looked at Margaret.
“Tell me what I need to do.””
Margaret gave him a list of immediate steps: preserve communications, secure his personal accounts, obtain copies of documents bearing his signature, and avoid confronting Vanessa about the suspected transfers until the records were secured.
Dad agreed to everything.
Then he turned toward me.
“Emily, I need to apologize.””
I waited.
“I should have listened to you before. I should never have allowed Vanessa to make you feel unwelcome in your own home. And I should have investigated the financial arrangements instead of assuming everything was fine.””
My eyes burned.
“Why didn't you?””
“Because I wanted to believe I had chosen the right person. Because I was afraid of starting over again. Because every time I questioned Vanessa, she told me I was letting Eleanor's memory control my life.””
He swallowed.
“And I let her convince me that protecting my marriage meant avoiding the truth.””
I looked down at my hands.
Part of me wanted to throw my arms around him.
Another part remembered standing beside the dining table, waiting for him to defend me while my stepmother smiled.
“I can't fix what happened by saying I'm sorry,” he continued.
“But I'll do whatever it takes to make this right.””
I finally met his eyes.
“Then don't ask me to forgive you before you've proved I can trust you.””
He nodded.
“I won't.””
That evening, Grandma and I returned to her house. Margaret promised to contact us as soon as she had news about Rebecca.
I tried to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw the photograph.
At 10:43 p.m., my phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
Your mother kept a blue notebook in the false bottom of her old sewing box.
I sat upright.
Another message appeared.
If you want to understand Rebecca, find the notebook before Vanessa does.
I read the messages twice.
Then I called Grandma.
She answered immediately.
“Emily?””
“Did Mom have a blue notebook?””
There was a long pause.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“She used to keep notes about her investments.””
“Where is it?””
“I thought it was lost after she died.””
“Do you remember the sewing box?””
Grandma went quiet again.
Then she said, “It's in the attic.””
I was already getting out of bed.
“I'm coming upstairs.””
“No,” Grandma said quickly.
“Wait for me.””
But I had reached the hallway before she finished speaking.
The attic smelled of cedar, dust, and old cardboard. Grandma followed me up the narrow stairs carrying a flashlight.
At the far end, beneath a stack of folded blankets, stood my mother's wooden sewing box.
I lifted the lid.
Inside were spools of thread, old buttons, and a small velvet pouch. The box had a false wooden panel at the bottom, just as the message described.
Grandma helped me remove it.
Beneath the panel lay a blue notebook.
And tucked inside its cover was a photograph of Rebecca Shaw holding a newspaper dated four years after her supposed death.
Someone had circled a small article in red ink.
The headline read:
*FORMER ESTATE ATTORNEY SOUGHT FOR QUESTIONING IN FRAUD INVESTIGATION.*
My hands began to shake.
Below the headline, someone had written a name.
Not Rebecca's.
A different name.
One I had heard Vanessa use only once, during a phone call she thought I couldn't hear.
*Victoria Hale.*
Grandma stared at the page.
Then she whispered, “Oh, Eleanor. What did you find?””
Before I could answer, headlights swept across the attic window.
A car had pulled into Grandma's driveway.
Someone knocked on the front door.
Three slow, deliberate knocks.
Then a woman's voice called from downstairs.
“Helen? I know you have the notebook.””
May you like
Grandma's face went white.
Because the woman outside sounded exactly like someone who had been dead for nearly ten years.
