Chapter 4 - THE RING SHE HAD NO RIGHT TO KEEP
“Rebecca took my mother's wedding ring?”
I could barely get the words out.
Andrew placed the accident inventory on the dining table.
“According to this receipt, yes.”
I stared at the signature.
Rebecca Sloan.
Five years earlier.
Three days after my parents died.
“She told me the ring was lost.”
Nolan looked at me.
“When?”
“At the funeral.”
I remembered it clearly.
Rebecca had been standing beside Mom's casket, holding my hand.
I'd asked whether the hospital had found her jewelry.
Rebecca said the impact had been terrible.
She told me some things simply couldn't be recovered.
Then she'd pulled me into her arms.
I'd cried against her shoulder.
And she'd let me.
I looked at the signature again.
“Why would she do that?”
Andrew folded his hands.
“There are several possible reasons. The ring may have had sentimental or evidentiary value. Or Rebecca may simply have taken something she wasn't entitled to keep.”
I shook my head.
“No. She was hiding something.”
Nolan reached for the silver watch.
“Maybe.”
I turned toward him.
“You think the ring has something to do with Dad's notebook?”
“I think Rebecca wanted access to your parents' belongings. The house, the piano, the ring. We need to understand what connects them.”
My eyes moved toward the living room.
The piano stood beneath my parents' wedding photograph.
For years, I'd walked past those things without noticing anything unusual.
Now they seemed like pieces of a life I barely understood.
Andrew closed the folder.
“We should secure the original notebook and watch. Tomorrow, we'll arrange independent forensic documentation. Tonight, please don't confront Rebecca or handle the items any more than necessary.”
I wanted to argue.
Instead, I looked at the clock.
It was nearly two in the morning.
Tomorrow was my thirtieth birthday.
My husband had already destroyed our anniversary.
Now I was going to spend my birthday fighting to save the house where I was born.
Somehow, that seemed appropriate.
After Andrew left, Nolan checked the doors and windows.
Not because he expected an attack.
Because he was my older brother, and he'd always checked the locks twice.
I made coffee.
Neither of us wanted to sleep.
We sat at the kitchen counter where Mom used to help us with homework.
“Tell me something,” I said.
Nolan looked up.
“Anything.”
“Did you ever stop loving me?”
His face changed.
“Audrey.”
“Just answer.”
“No.”
I swallowed.
“Even after what I said?”
“You were grieving. And I was trying to protect you without listening to you.”
“You were right about Blake.”
“That doesn't mean I handled it right.”
Tears burned behind my eyes.
“I thought you'd be ashamed of me.”
He shook his head.
“I was worried about you. There's a difference.”
For the first time in years, I believed him.
But I wasn't ready to forgive myself.
Not yet.
At seven the next morning, I called the real estate attorney I'd consulted months earlier.
Her name was Lauren Price.
She remembered me immediately.
“Audrey? I'm glad you called.”
I told her about Andrew, the recording, and the default notice.
She asked me to send everything through a secure link.
Then she said something that made my stomach tighten.
“There's a problem with the lender's timeline.”
“What problem?”
“From what you're describing, the loan may have reached a stage where the lender can schedule a foreclosure sale. We need to confirm whether notice requirements have been met.”
“How long do I have?”
“I won't guess until I've reviewed the records. But we should act today.”
After we hung up, I sat in silence.
Nolan was watching me.
“What did she say?”
“That we may be running out of time.”
He pulled up a chair.
“Then we start now.”
I almost smiled.
For once, I didn't have to do everything alone.
By ten, Lauren and Andrew had agreed to work together.
Lauren would handle the property dispute and emergency court filings.
Andrew would coordinate the evidence concerning Blake and the possible fraud connected to my parents' deaths.
The legal process wouldn't be simple.
Nobody promised me the house.
But for the first time, people were taking my story seriously.
At eleven, we drove to Rebecca Sloan's office.
Andrew had advised against an unplanned confrontation, so we didn't go inside.
Instead, we arranged to meet Patricia Wells at a diner across the street.
She was sixty-eight now, with short gray hair and the same kind eyes I remembered from childhood.
When she saw me, she stood immediately.
“Oh, Audrey.”
She hugged me.
And I nearly cried.
“You look so much like Celia.”
We sat in a booth near the window.
Patricia had brought a worn leather portfolio.
“I should have come forward sooner,” she said.
Nolan leaned in.
“Tell Audrey what you told me.”
Patricia opened the portfolio.
“Your father found discrepancies in maintenance certifications for trucks operated by Redstone Transport.”
I recognized the name.
It was the company whose truck had struck my parents' car.
“Redstone was bidding on a major distribution contract,” Patricia continued. “Westbridge was responsible for certain safety assessments.”
“Rebecca worked on those assessments?” I asked.
“She managed the compliance department.”
“And Dad?”
“He supervised the engineering review.”
Patricia removed a photocopy of a maintenance inspection.
“Thomas discovered several trucks had been certified as roadworthy despite unresolved braking problems.”
I looked at the document.
One vehicle number had been circled in red.
The same number from Dad's notebook.
“The truck that killed them.”
Patricia nodded.
“Yes.”
My hands went cold.
“Did Rebecca know?”
“She was included in the written warnings. Your father wanted the certifications withdrawn immediately.”
“What happened?”
Patricia looked toward the window.
“The company delayed action. Rebecca argued that the findings needed additional verification before Redstone's contract was jeopardized.”
“Why?”
“Westbridge was in financial trouble. Losing Redstone would have cost the firm badly.”
Nolan frowned.
“You told me there was pressure from the owners.”
“There was. But Rebecca made the recommendation to postpone the withdrawal.”
I stared at Patricia.
“She chose money over safety?”
“She may have convinced herself the vehicles weren't dangerous. I can't tell you what was in her mind.”
I thought of my father.
The man who wouldn't let Nolan ride a bicycle without checking the brakes.
The man who once returned a brand-new ladder because one rung felt loose.
He would never have ignored something like that.
Patricia turned another page.
“Your father requested an emergency meeting with Rebecca on the Friday before the accident.”
“At four thirty?” I asked.
She looked surprised.
“Yes.”
“On the service road?”
Patricia's face drained.
“How do you know that?”
I explained the engraving on Dad's watch.
Patricia pressed a hand against her mouth.
“Thomas told me he was meeting someone who could confirm the certification records had been changed.”
“Rebecca?”
“I assumed so.”
“Was she there?”
Patricia hesitated.
“There's something I never told Nolan.”
I felt my heartbeat quicken.
“Tell me.”
“Your father came back from that meeting upset. Very upset.”
“Did he say why?”
“He said Rebecca had brought someone with her.”
“Who?”
Patricia shook her head.
“He wouldn't tell me. But he said the person shouldn't have had access to the inspection files.”
I leaned forward.
“Did he describe them?”
Patricia stared at the table.
“He said it was someone Rebecca owed money to.”
Before I could ask another question, Patricia pulled a small white envelope from her portfolio.
“Thomas gave me this the following Monday. He said to keep it until he could decide what to do.”
Inside was a photograph.
A young Blake stood beside a Redstone delivery truck.
He looked different.
Thinner.
Younger.
But it was unmistakably him.
I covered my mouth.
“That's my husband.”
Patricia nodded sadly.
“He was working for Redstone.”
I stared at the photograph.
Blake had told me he'd never worked in transportation.
He'd claimed he was in commercial sales when we met.
Another lie.
But the photograph contained something worse.
Blake was holding a clipboard.
Beside him stood Rebecca Sloan.
And behind them was the same truck that had killed my parents.
A handwritten date appeared in the corner.
Five days before the accident.
Patricia pointed to the clipboard.
“That's a maintenance release form.”
I couldn't breathe.
Nolan looked closer.
“Was Blake authorized to sign those?”
“He was a contract coordinator. He wasn't a certified inspector.”
“Then why was he holding it?”
Patricia's eyes filled with tears.
“Because someone at Redstone was allowing administrative staff to move vehicles through the release process.”
I looked down at Blake's face.
He hadn't merely known Rebecca before our marriage.
He'd worked with her before my parents died.
I whispered, “How long has he been part of this?”
Patricia slowly opened the final flap of her portfolio.
“There is one other photograph.”
She placed it in front of me.
It showed my father's car parked outside the Westbridge storage facility.
Standing beside the driver's door was Rebecca.
And inside the car—
My mother.
The photograph was dated the Friday before the accident.
May you like
Patricia looked at me with tears in her eyes.
“Audrey, your mother wasn't supposed to be at that meeting. And when she came back, she told me she'd heard someone threaten your father.”
