I put the phone on speaker.

Detective Harris immediately returned to the bedside.

“Rebecca?”

The woman on the line became silent.

“Who is that?”

“Police.”

Rebecca inhaled sharply.

“Then Evelyn finally did something bad enough that people stopped protecting her.”

I stared at my phone.

“What are you talking about?”

Rebecca began crying again.

“I don’t know how to tell you this.”

“Start with who you are.”

There was a pause.

Then she said the words that changed the shape of my entire childhood.

“I’m your sister.”

I laughed.

Not because anything was funny.

Because my brain rejected the sentence.

“I don’t have a sister.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Caleb—”

“I’m an only child.”

“That’s what Evelyn wanted you to believe.”

Maya squeezed my hand.

Detective Harris wrote quickly.

I stared at the phone.

“My parents had one child.”

Rebecca’s voice cracked.

“They had two.”

I could barely breathe.

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-seven.”

I was thirty-four.

“Where have you been?”

“Trying not to destroy your life.”

That answer made me angry.

“You called me after twenty-nine years and started with ‘I’m your sister.’ My life is already destroyed.”

“I know.”

“Then explain.”

Rebecca took several seconds.

“Our father had me before he married Evelyn.”

I closed my eyes.

That was possible.

Dad married Mom when he was thirty-one.

But why had nobody ever mentioned Rebecca?

“My mother died when I was seven.”

Rebecca continued.

“Dad had already married Evelyn by then.”

“What happened to you?”

“He wanted me to live with him.”

My stomach tightened.

“And?”

“Evelyn refused.”

I stared at Maya.

“She refused?”

“She told Dad she would leave if he brought me into their home.”

That sounded exactly like my mother.

“What did my father do?”

Rebecca’s voice became bitter.

“He tried to fight her.”

“Did he?”

“For a while.”

Then Dad’s business began struggling.

Evelyn’s family provided money.

Her father loaned George enough to save Carter Development.

But the money came with pressure.

“Evelyn told Dad he had to choose.”

I felt sick.

“And he chose her.”

“No.”

Rebecca surprised me.

“He found another way.”

Dad arranged for Rebecca to live with his older sister in Oregon.

He visited her.

Paid for school.

Called every week.

Until suddenly he stopped.

“When?”

“When I was twelve.”

“What happened?”

“Evelyn found out.”

I could hear the pain in Rebecca’s voice.

“She told me Dad wanted no further contact.”

My eyes burned.

“Did he?”

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“Because after he died, I received letters.”

My heart pounded.

“What letters?”

“Hundreds.”

Apparently Dad had written to Rebecca for years.

Birthdays.

Christmas.

Graduations.

He mailed them to his sister’s house.

But many never arrived.

When Dad’s sister died, Rebecca found a locked box containing returned letters.

Some had notes attached.

DO NOT CONTACT THIS FAMILY AGAIN.

Signed by Evelyn Carter.

I stood motionless.

Maya covered her mouth.

Rebecca continued.

“I realized Evelyn had been intercepting everything.”

“Why didn’t Dad call?”

“She changed my number in his contacts.”

“What?”

“She gave him a fake number.”

The cruelty was so calculated that I struggled to understand it.

Rebecca had tried reaching Dad too.

Letters returned.

Calls blocked.

Eventually she believed he had abandoned her.

Then Dad died.

“How did you know?”

“I saw his obituary.”

Her voice broke.

“He died believing I hated him.”

I sat down.

For the first time since childhood, I remembered something.

When I was about nine, I once found Dad crying in his office.

He had a photograph of a teenage girl.

When I asked who she was, he closed the drawer.

“A friend’s daughter,” he said.

My stomach turned.

Rebecca.

“Why are you calling now?”

“Because someone contacted me yesterday.”

“Who?”

“A woman named Maya.”

Every head turned toward my wife.

Maya looked confused.

“I didn’t call you.”

Rebecca paused.

“What?”

“I’m Maya. I never contacted you.”

Silence.

Then Rebecca whispered, “Oh God.”

Detective Harris stepped closer.

“Rebecca, how were you contacted?”

“Email.”

“From what address?”

“It had Maya’s name.”

“When?”

“Two days ago.”

I looked at my wife.

Two days ago she was locked inside the shed.

Someone else had emailed Rebecca while pretending to be Maya.

“What did it say?” Naomi asked.

Rebecca took a breath.

“It said Evelyn had found out I still existed and that my life was in danger.”

A chill moved through me.

“Anything else?”

“It included a photograph.”

“What photograph?”

Rebecca hesitated.

“One of Caleb and Maya.”

“Recent?”

“Yes.”

“When was it taken?”

“At what looks like a restaurant.”

Maya looked at me.

Our anniversary dinner.

Three weeks earlier.

Someone had photographed us without our knowledge.

Naomi asked Rebecca to forward the email.

Within minutes, it arrived.

The photograph showed Maya and me leaving an Italian restaurant.

There was another image.

My mother outside our house.

Then another.

A photograph of a handwritten trust page.

Rebecca gasped when Naomi described it.

“That’s why I called.”

“Why?”

“Because the trust is mine too.”

I stopped breathing.

“What?”

“Our father created it before he died.”

Rebecca explained.

Dad had secretly amended his estate.

Half of Carter Development would eventually belong to me.

The other half would belong to Rebecca.

But there was a condition.

The inheritance remained under temporary management until Rebecca was located and legally notified.

I stared at Detective Harris.

“My mother has been receiving income from the trust.”

“Yes.”

Rebecca continued.

“She was never supposed to own the principal.”

My mind raced.

If Rebecca appeared, Mom’s control would end.

If Maya had our baby, my estate would have another protected heir.

Suddenly my mother’s panic made terrible sense.

Rebecca threatened her financial control.

Maya threatened it too.

The baby threatened it most.

Naomi’s phone rang.

She answered.

Her face hardened.

“When?”

She walked toward the window.

“Secure the scene.”

I stood.

“What happened?”

Naomi ended the call.

“Someone broke into Daniel Price’s office.”

“Daniel’s?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Within the last hour.”

“What did they take?”

“His computer is missing.”

Of course.

Evidence.

“What about Daniel?”

Naomi’s expression became grim.

“He’s missing too.”

My phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number.

One photograph.

Daniel Price tied to a chair.

Blood on his forehead.

Behind him stood someone wearing a dark hood.

Below the photograph were six words.

HE TALKED. NOW YOUR MOTHER WILL.

Maya looked at the screen.

“Who sent that?”

I didn’t know.

Then another message arrived.

CHECK YOUR FATHER’S GRAVE.

I stared at it.

Naomi immediately took my phone.

“No one goes anywhere alone.”

I barely heard her.

My father’s grave.

For six years, I had visited every anniversary of his death.

My mother always came with me.

Every year she cried beside the stone.

Every year she told me how much she missed him.

Now I wondered how many of those tears had been real.

Two hours later, officers searched the cemetery.

Naomi would not let me come.

Instead, I waited beside Maya’s hospital bed.

At 2:14 a.m., Naomi called.

“We found something.”

My throat tightened.

“What?”

“There’s a waterproof container buried behind your father’s headstone.”

I stood.

“What’s inside?”

“Letters.”

“To Rebecca?”

“Yes.”

My eyes filled.

“And something else.”

“What?”

Naomi became quiet.

“A recording made by your father three days before he died.”

I stopped breathing.

“What does it say?”

“We haven’t listened to the whole thing.”

“Naomi.”

Her voice softened.

“Caleb, the first line is your father saying he believes Evelyn is trying to kill him.”