Chapter 8 - Margaret’s CarMargaret denied it.
But it proved Rachel believed he had sabotaged her car before.
And Vale’s response sounded disturbingly close to an admission.
The audio continued.
Eric begged Rachel to calm down.
Rachel demanded that they restore Lily’s money and report everything.
Vale told her she was being naive.
Then came the most important exchange.
Rachel: “If anything happens to me, copies go to the police.”
Vale: “Then maybe you should make sure nothing happens.”
Rachel: “Is that a threat?”
Vale: “It’s advice.”
Eric interrupted.
“Enough.”
For the first time in the recording, he sounded frightened.
“Richard, she’s my sister.”
Vale replied:
“Then control her.”
The recording ended shortly afterward.
Detective Brooks immediately turned it over to state investigators.
The case was no longer only financial.
A cold-case homicide team reviewed Rachel’s crash.
The original car had been destroyed years ago, but photographs and mechanical reports remained.
A retired mechanic who inspected the vehicle was interviewed.
He remembered something.
“The brake line looked sliced.”
The original report called it a rupture.
Why had no one pursued it?
Because the mechanic had told an insurance adjuster, not police.
And the adjuster?
Worked for a company connected to Richard Vale.
The pattern became impossible to ignore.
Meanwhile, Eric remained missing.
Margaret was arrested on fraud charges after investigators documented several transfers she personally authorized.
Her attorney insisted she had been manipulated by Eric.
Eric’s lawyer, speaking through the media, claimed the opposite.
Family loyalty had collapsed.
Then Margaret asked to see me.
I refused.
She asked again through Sarah.
“She says she has information about Rachel.”
I agreed under one condition.
Police would be present.
The meeting happened in a courthouse conference room.
Margaret looked ten years older.
No makeup.
Gray hair pulled back.
Hands trembling slightly.
She stared at me.
“How is Lily?”
“You’re not entitled to that information.”
Her eyes filled.
“I love her.”
“You pinned her to the floor.”
“I panicked.”
“You terrified her.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
Margaret looked toward Detective Brooks.
“Because she found Rachel’s letter.”
“That explains what you did, not why.”
Margaret swallowed.
“I thought Eric had destroyed it.”
“So did he.”
“He told me he had.”
“Why did Rachel’s letter scare you?”
“Because she blamed me for everything.”
“Were you stealing?”
Margaret’s silence answered.
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know how much you stole?”
“It didn’t start that way.”
Of course.
People rarely describe themselves as thieves.
They say borrowing.
Moving.
Protecting.
Fixing.
Margaret told us James, her husband, had made disastrous investments before his death.
They were close to losing several rental properties.
Eric introduced her to Richard Vale, who proposed temporarily moving money from family trusts.
Temporary became permanent.
Vale used the funds to create profitable real-estate deals.
Margaret convinced herself everyone would eventually be repaid.
They weren’t.
“Did you know they forged my name?”
“No.”
“Did you know someone damaged Rachel’s brakes?”
Her face crumpled.
“No.”
“Do you know who killed her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why am I here?”
Margaret stared at her hands.
“Because Eric called me.”
Brooks leaned forward.
“When?”
“Two days ago.”
“From where?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did he say?”
“He said Richard found him.”
The room went still.
Eric wasn’t hiding from police.
He was hiding from Vale.
Margaret continued.
“Eric said he had kept evidence for years because he was afraid Richard would kill him too.”
“The memory card?”
“Yes.”
“Why send it to Daniel?”
“He said Rachel deserved the truth.”
“Where is Eric now?”
“I don’t know.”
Brooks pressed.
“Did he mention anything?”
Margaret thought.
“He said something about going back to where Dad taught us to fish.”
I knew the place.
Rachel had taken me there once.
Lake Hope.
Southeastern Ohio.
Eric and Rachel’s father had rented a cabin there every summer.
Brooks called state police immediately.
They found Eric’s rental car near an abandoned lakeside cabin.
Inside were blood drops.
A broken lamp.
Two coffee cups.
And Eric’s phone.
No Eric.
No Richard Vale.
Search teams spread through the woods.
By nightfall, they found footprints near the lake.
Then a jacket.
Eric’s.
Blood on the sleeve.
Lily and I stayed with Marcus again.
At 11:40 p.m., someone knocked.
Three times.
Marcus looked through the camera.
“No way.”
On the porch stood Eric Collins.
Soaked.
Bleeding.
Barefoot.
I opened the door only after Brooks confirmed officers were minutes away.
Eric collapsed inside.
“They know,” he gasped.
“Who?”
“Vale.”
I grabbed a towel.
“Where have you been?”
“He took me.”
“Why?”
Eric looked at me.
“Because I know who was driving behind Rachel when she died.”
My heart hammered.
“Was it Vale?”
Eric shook his head.
“No.”
May you like
He looked toward the doorway as sirens approached.
“It was my mother.”
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