Chapter 5 — The Sister Who Wanted Everything
Chapter 5 — The Sister Who Wanted Everything
Carla's words stayed in my head all night.
Someone already paid her for it.
I replayed the call until there was nothing left to replay.
Her voice.
Her breathing.
The fear.
She had sounded terrified.
Not guilty.
Terrified.
At six in the morning, I called her.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
By seven, her phone had been switched off.
I looked at Irene.
“She knows something.”
Irene nodded.
“Then find her.”
“I will.”
“But Austin…”
She touched my arm.
“Don't trust her just because she's afraid.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because people can be afraid and still be dangerous.”
She was right.
I had learned that lesson too late.
Detective Harris arrived at eight.
I showed her the call.
She listened carefully.
“Can you trace it?”
“We're working on it.”
“She said someone paid my mother.”
“Did she identify the person?”
“No.”
“Did she say how much?”
“No.”
“What did she mean by keeping the baby alive?”
“I don't know.”
Detective Harris sat down.
“Then let's start with Carla.”
She opened a folder.
“Your sister has a history of financial problems.”
“How bad?”
“Bad enough to explain why she'd cooperate with your mother.”
She slid several pages toward me.
Credit card debt.
Private loans.
Gambling transactions.
Unpaid taxes.
A lawsuit.
A second lawsuit.
Then one number.
$1,870,000.
I stared.
“What is this?”
“Total outstanding debt.”
My jaw tightened.
“How did she get that much debt?”
“Mostly gambling.”
I looked away.
Carla had always been impulsive.
But I'd never known it was this bad.
Detective Harris continued.
“Six months ago, she received a payment.”
“How much?”
“Five hundred thousand dollars.”
My eyes narrowed.
“From whom?”
“An offshore company.”
“What company?”
“That's what we're trying to determine.”
She handed me the transaction report.
The payment had been routed through three countries.
Then into Carla's personal account.
And three days later, $200,000 had gone to my mother.
I stared at the numbers.
“That's the money from the photograph.”
“Yes.”
My hands tightened.
“My mother wasn't just helping Carla.”
“No.”
Detective Harris looked at me.
“They were being paid.”
I went to Carla's apartment.
The door was unlocked.
“Carla?”
No answer.
The apartment looked like someone had left in a hurry.
Drawers open.
Clothes scattered.
A suitcase missing.
The television still on.
I walked toward the kitchen.
A glass of wine sat on the counter.
Still half full.
Detective Harris entered behind me.
“Don't touch anything.”
I stopped.
She examined the room.
“Looks like she left recently.”
I noticed something on the floor.
A photograph.
I picked it up before remembering her warning.
She sighed.
“What is it?”
I turned it over.
It was a photograph of Irene.
Taken outside the hospital.
My stomach dropped.
“How did Carla get this?”
Detective Harris looked at the photograph.
“That's not the hospital.”
“What?”
She pointed.
A sign in the background.
Women's Prenatal Center.
The photograph had been taken weeks earlier.
Someone had been following Irene.
Before the attack.
Before the cameras.
Before we knew anything was wrong.
I turned the photograph over.
Written on the back:
Phase One Complete.
Detective Harris stared at it.
“This isn't just family.”
“No.”
“It's organized.”
I nodded.
Then I saw something else.
A small black notebook beneath the sofa.
I pulled it out.
Inside were dates.
Appointments.
Locations.
Names.
Irene's name appeared on almost every page.
And beneath it:
Delivery — TBD
My blood ran cold.
We took the notebook to the police.
By noon, investigators had confirmed it belonged to Carla.
But the most disturbing discovery came from the final pages.
There was a list of people.
Doctors.
Nurses.
Security officers.
A private investigator.
A lawyer.
And one name I recognized immediately.
Daniel Mercer.
I called him.
He answered on the second ring.
“Did you find something?”
“Your name is in Carla's notebook.”
Silence.
“Daniel?”
“I was afraid of this.”
“What does it mean?”
“I don't know.”
“Don't lie to me.”
“I am not lying.”
“You knew Carla was involved.”
“Yes.”
“How much did you know?”
“I knew she was asking questions.”
“What questions?”
“About the trust.”
I stared at the notebook.
“Did she ever ask about Irene?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She wanted to know whether your wife had signed anything.”
“She hadn't.”
“I know.”
“Then why was she asking?”
Daniel's voice became quiet.
“Because someone told her that if Irene disappeared before the baby was born, the trust would become vulnerable.”
I closed my eyes.
“Who told her?”
“I don't know.”
“You'd better find out.”
“I'll try.”
“No.”
My voice hardened.
“You will.”
That afternoon, Carla finally called.
Her voice was barely audible.
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Is Irene there?”
“No.”
That was a lie.
Irene was in the next room.
But I didn't want Carla to know.
“Where are you?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Then tell me why you called.”
She started crying.
“I didn't know what Mom was doing.”
“You helped her.”
“I know.”
“You broke into my house.”
“I know.”
“You hurt Irene.”
“I never hit her.”
“You were holding the hammer.”
“I was trying to scare her.”
“Why?”
“Because Mom told me she'd destroy me.”
I frowned.
“Destroy you how?”
“She said she'd tell you everything.”
“What everything?”
Carla went silent.
“Carla.”
“She knows what I did.”
“What did you do?”
“I stole money.”
“How much?”
“Not enough.”
“What does that mean?”
“She made me sign things.”
“What things?”
“I don't know.”
“You signed documents?”
“Yes.”
“About the trust?”
“I think.”
My anger rose.
“You think?”
“I was drunk.”
“You were gambling.”
“Yes.”
“And Mom used your debt.”
“Yes.”
“What did she promise you?”
Carla whispered:
“Everything.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She said once the baby was born, the trust would be mine.”
My blood ran cold.
“She promised you nineteen million dollars?”
“Not all of it.”
“How much?”
“Half.”
I laughed bitterly.
“She promised you nine million dollars?”
“Yes.”
“Why would she?”
“Because she said you would never know.”
I closed my eyes.
My sister had wanted everything.
The money.
The house.
The trust.
Even my mother's approval.
And she had been willing to help destroy my family to get it.
But then she said something that made me stop breathing.
“Austin.”
“What?”
“There's something you don't know.”
“What?”
“Mom doesn't control the trust.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Her voice trembled.
“Someone else does.”
“Who?”
“I saw him.”
“Who?”
“He met Mom at the hospital.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“The night Irene was admitted.”
“What's his name?”
“I don't know.”
“What did he look like?”
“Tall.”
“That doesn't help.”
“Gray hair.”
“Anything else?”
“He had a scar.”
“Where?”
“Across his left cheek.”
I looked at Detective Harris.
She immediately began writing.
“Carla, where are you?”
She hesitated.
Then whispered:
“I'm at Dad's old house.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“The house he left before he died.”
“Where?”
She gave me the address.
Then the line went dead.
We drove there immediately.
The house had been empty for twelve years.
My father had owned it before he moved into the mansion.
My mother had always told me it had been sold after his death.
It hadn't.
The deed was still in his name.
I opened the door with a spare key Daniel had given me.
The house smelled like dust and old wood.
“Carla?”
No answer.
Then I heard footsteps upstairs.
I ran.
Detective Harris followed.
We found Carla sitting on the floor of my father's study.
She was crying.
There was blood on her sleeve.
“Carla!”
She looked up.
“Don't come closer.”
“Who hurt you?”
“I did.”
“What?”
She laughed through her tears.
“I tried to take the money.”
I stared at her.
“What money?”
She pointed toward the wall.
A hidden compartment was open.
Inside were dozens of files.
Bank records.
Photographs.
Medical documents.
And one envelope.
My father's handwriting.
I approached.
Carla whispered:
“That's what Mom was looking for.”
I picked up the envelope.
It had my name on it.
Again.
But this time, there was something else.
A second name.
For Austin and the mother of his child.
I looked at Carla.
“What did you do?”
She shook her head.
“Nothing.”
“Why are you bleeding?”
“Because I tried to leave.”
“From whom?”
She stared toward the window.
“He came.”
“Who?”
“The man with the scar.”
My blood ran cold.
“Where is he?”
“He's gone.”
“Why?”
“Because I told him I couldn't do it anymore.”
“Do what?”
Carla looked at me.
“Give him the baby.”
I froze.
She covered her face.
“I was supposed to take Irene's child.”
Silence filled the room.
Detective Harris moved closer.
“Carla, tell us everything.”
Carla looked at me.
“I didn't want to.”
“You agreed.”
“I was desperate.”
“You agreed.”
“Yes.”
She began sobbing.
“Mom said it wasn't kidnapping.”
I stared at her.
“What did she call it?”
“An arrangement.”
“What arrangement?”
“She said the baby would be raised by another family.”
“What family?”
“I don't know.”
“Who paid you?”
“I never saw them.”
“Who paid Mom?”
“I don't know.”
“Then what do you know?”
Carla looked at the envelope in my hand.
“Dad knew.”
My heart stopped.
“Knew what?”
“He knew someone would come for his grandchild.”
I looked down at the envelope.
“What's inside?”
“I don't know.”
“Then we're opening it.”
I broke the seal.
Inside was a single photograph.
My father stood beside a man.
The man had gray hair.
And a scar across his left cheek.
I stared at the photograph.
The man was older.
But unmistakable.
He was the same man Carla had described.
On the back, my father's handwriting read:
If this man ever comes near my family, run.
I looked at Carla.
“Who is he?”
She whispered:
“Victor Hale.”
Detective Harris stiffened.
“You know that name?”
“Yes.”
She looked at me.
“Everyone in this city who knows organized crime knows it.”
“Who is he?”
Her expression was grim.
“He isn't a businessman.”
“Then what is he?”
“A broker.”
“For what?”
She looked toward Irene's photograph in my hand.
“People.”
My stomach turned.
“What?”
“Children.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Carla continued.
“He arranges illegal adoptions for wealthy clients.”
I stared at her.
“And my mother?”
“She made a deal with him.”
“For our baby?”
Carla nodded.
“Yes.”
I looked at the photograph of my father.
He had known.
Twelve years ago, he had anticipated this.
He had built the trust to protect his future grandchild.
And my mother had spent years trying to find a way around it.
I looked at Carla.
“Why did you tell me?”
She wiped her face.
“Because I finally realized something.”
“What?”
“I thought Mom wanted the money.”
She looked at the photograph.
“She doesn't.”
“Then what does she want?”
Carla's voice broke.
“She wants the baby.”
We returned to the safe house before dawn.
Irene was awake.
The moment she saw my face, she knew something had happened.
“What did you find?”
I sat beside her.
“My sister admitted everything.”
I told her about the money.
The trust.
The cameras.
The medical records.
The man with the scar.
The plan to take our baby.
Irene listened without speaking.
When I finished, she looked down at her stomach.
“Someone wants our child.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Money.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“What?”
“There is something else.”
She looked at me.
“Remember what your mother said?”
“What?”
“Before the wedding.”
I frowned.
“She told me something.”
“What?”
“She said our child would change everything.”
I stared at her.
“Why would she say that?”
“I didn't know.”
I suddenly remembered my father's letter.
The money is not where Margaret believes it is.
The trust wasn't simply money.
It contained evidence.
Evidence my mother desperately wanted.
But why would a child be necessary to access it?
Then I understood.
My father's trust had been designed to activate when his grandchild was born.
That meant the birth itself would trigger something.
Something my mother wanted.
Something Victor Hale wanted.
Something my father had spent twelve years protecting.
I stood.
“We need to talk to Daniel.”
Irene nodded.
Before I could move, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man's voice spoke calmly.
“Mr. Wentworth.”
“Victor Hale?”
A pause.
“So you know my name.”
“I know what you do.”
“You know what people say I do.”
“You threatened my family.”
“No.”
His voice was almost gentle.
“I offered your mother a solution.”
“Stay away from my wife.”
“You're misunderstanding the situation.”
“What situation?”
“Your father made a promise.”
My blood ran cold.
“What promise?”
“The child belongs to someone.”
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“My child belongs to me and Irene.”
Victor laughed softly.
“You still don't understand.”
“What?”
“The baby isn't the prize.”
I froze.
“Then what is?”
His answer came slowly.
“The baby is the key.”
The call ended.
I looked at Irene.
She was staring at me.
“What did he say?”
I swallowed.
“The baby is the key.”
“To what?”
I looked at the documents on the table.
The trust.
The medical reports.
My father's letter.
The photograph.
And suddenly, every piece seemed connected.
My father hadn't simply left behind money.
May you like
He had left behind a secret.
And my unborn child was somehow the only person who could unlock it.
