Chapter 5 - The Daughter He Underestimated
Richard loved teaching when he believed the listener was beneath him.
That had always been his weakness.
I invited him over three days after the funeral, wearing hospital socks, loose sleeves, and the blank, fragile expression he expected from me. I told him I was scared of paperwork. I told him Mom had handled more than I realized. I told him I didn’t understand the insurance forms and needed him.
Need was his favorite language.
He arrived within thirty minutes.
“Of course,” he said, sitting beside me at the dining table in the rented townhouse. “You shouldn’t be dealing with any of this.”
I placed a folder between us. Inside were harmless documents on top. Medical bills. Temporary housing forms. One insurance letter. Beneath them, hidden by design, were copies of the Beaumont transfers.
Lena had wired the room legally. Chief Mason waited two streets away. Ruth Keller was prepared to give a formal statement. The insurance investigator had already flagged irregularities but had not notified Richard.
I let him talk first.
He explained grief paperwork. Estate claims. How difficult companies could be after tragedy. How my mother would have wanted us to move forward without “digging through painful details.” Every sentence was smoother than the last.
Then I asked, “What was Beaumont Holdings?”
His hand stopped.
Not for long.
Long enough.
“That was an old business structure,” he said.
“Mom highlighted it.”
“She didn’t understand my work.”
“She seemed afraid.”
His eyes sharpened before he softened them again.
“Emily, your mother had become anxious near the end.”
There it was.
The first shovel of dirt thrown over her voice.
I looked down at my bandaged wrist and let tears gather.
“Was she wrong?”
Richard reached across the table and took my hand.
Clean fingers.
Warm skin.
A murderer’s touch pretending to be comfort.
“She was overwhelmed,” he said gently. “She saw danger where there wasn’t any.”
I nodded slowly.
“I keep trying to remember the back door.”
His grip tightened.
“You shouldn’t force yourself.”
“Why was it locked?”
“It may have jammed from the heat.”
“The key was gone.”
His face changed.
Only for a breath.
Then he recovered.
“Fire does strange things.”
I pulled out the insurance letter.
“Can you help me understand why the policy says accidental death pays more?”
He stared at the paper.
“Where did you get that?”
“It came in the mail.”
“No, it shouldn’t have.”
The room went silent.
He heard himself.
So did I.
I kept my face confused.
“What shouldn’t have?”
He stood too quickly, knocking his chair back.
“You need rest.”
“Dad?”
He grabbed the folder.
Not the harmless one.
The wrong one.
The Beaumont copies spilled across the table.
Richard froze.
I looked up at him.
No more blankness.
No more daughter needing help.
Just me.
The accountant he had spent years laughing at.
From outside, a car door closed.
May you like
Detective Ortiz entered without knocking.
“Richard Carter,” she said, “take your hands off the documents.”
