Chapter 5 - The VideosThe hard drive changed the case.
That made me trust him.
He didn’t rush to judgment.
He didn’t treat my uniformed background as proof that I was automatically right.
And he didn’t treat my mother’s age as proof that she was harmless.
He asked questions.
Dates.
Accounts.
Names.
Who controlled what.
Who witnessed what.
When he finally spoke, he looked at Gwen.
“Mrs. Coleman, did anyone physically prevent you from leaving the residence?”
Gwen hesitated.
“Not with locked doors.”
“What happened when you tried?”
“Margaret took my shoes once.”
Bell frowned.
“She took your shoes?”
“It was winter.”
My stomach twisted.
Gwen continued.
“Another time Paige stood in front of the door.”
“Did she touch you?”
“She shoved me.”
“Any injuries?”
“I fell.”
“Were police called?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Gwen stared at the floor.
“Margaret said they would put me in a psychiatric hospital.”
Bell glanced at the pill bottle.
“Did she tell you the medication was prescribed?”
“Yes.”
“Did she ever show you the prescription?”
“No.”
“And the shaved head?”
Gwen went quiet.
Bell waited.
Finally she said, “Paige said I had lice.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why do you believe she cut your hair?”
Gwen’s fingers tightened together.
“She wanted me to look sick.”
Everyone in the room became still.
Bell leaned forward.
“Why?”
“She and Margaret told people I had cancer.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
Gwen looked at me.
“They raised money.”
For several seconds, I could not process the sentence.
“Who raised money?”
“Your family.”
“For you?”
She nodded.
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
Bell immediately started writing.
Claire asked, “Was there an online fundraiser?”
“Yes.”
Paige had created it.
According to the page, Gwen had an aggressive form of cancer and I was “serving overseas and unable to return.”
Photographs showed Gwen bald.
Thin.
Exhausted.
The caption asked neighbors, friends, military families, and strangers to donate toward treatment.
Treatment Gwen never received because she never had cancer.
The amount raised was $41,782.
I stared at the screen.
People had written comments.
Praying for you.
Stay strong, Gwen.
Thank you for your husband’s service.
A local church had donated $5,000.
A veterans’ group had donated $2,500.
My mother had posted updates.
“Gwen is fighting bravely.”
“Another difficult treatment today.”
“We appreciate your support.”
My hands went numb.
“They used her abuse as marketing.”
Claire’s voice was cold.
“Yes.”
Bell asked Gwen, “Did you know about the fundraiser?”
“Not at first.”
“When did you find out?”
“Six months ago.”
“What happened?”
“I confronted Paige.”
“And?”
“She laughed.”
Gwen’s eyes filled.
“She said nobody would believe me because I looked exactly like the pictures.”
That night, police went to the house.
My mother answered the door.
By then, her version of events was ready.
She claimed Gwen had developed psychiatric problems after I deployed.
She claimed the medication had been given accidentally.
She claimed Gwen voluntarily shaved her head.
She claimed the fundraiser had been created because Paige misunderstood a medical conversation.
She claimed every dollar I sent had been spent maintaining the property.
And she produced documents.
Receipts.
Contracts.
Statements.
A neat folder full of explanations.
For approximately twenty minutes, it almost looked convincing.
Then Detective Bell asked one question.
“Mrs. Coleman, if Gwen had cancer, which oncologist treated her?”
My mother stopped talking.
She recovered quickly.
“Gwen handled those appointments.”
“Which hospital?”
“I don’t remember.”
“For a woman living in your home?”
“She was very private.”
Bell nodded.
“Then why were you posting treatment updates online?”
Mom’s expression hardened.
“I was trying to help.”
Bell looked at Paige.
“Which cancer did she have?”
Paige said ovarian.
Mom said lymphoma.
At the same time.
Bell glanced at me.
That was the moment the story cracked.
Not shattered.
Cracked.
But once a lie opens, investigators know where to push.
The police photographed the basement.
They collected medication.
They requested bank records.
They preserved the fundraiser page.
And then Derek arrived.
Paige’s boyfriend stepped out of his truck angry and confused.
“What’s going on?”
Paige rushed toward him.
“Don’t say anything.”
That sentence was a mistake.
Bell heard it.
So did Derek.
He looked at Paige.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are cops here?”
She grabbed his arm.
“Go inside.”
Derek pulled away.
“I’m not getting involved in your family’s crap.”
Then he looked at me.
I recognized him from the picture in my old bedroom.
“You Evan?”
“Yes.”
He gave a nervous laugh.
“Man, welcome home.”
I said nothing.
Bell asked Derek whether he lived at the property.
“Yeah.”
“How much rent do you pay?”
Derek looked confused.
“Rent?”
My mother closed her eyes.
Another crack.
“No rent,” Derek said.
Bell asked, “Who bought your truck?”
Derek pointed toward Paige.
“She did.”
“With what money?”
“I don’t know.”
Paige snapped, “Stop talking.”
Derek stared at her.
“You told me it was inheritance.”
I looked at Paige.
“What inheritance?”
Nobody answered.
Derek’s face changed.
He had just realized he might have been living inside someone else’s stolen money.
He backed away from Paige.
“What did you do?”
“I said shut up.”
“No.”
He looked toward the house.
“The salon too?”
Paige’s face went white.
Bell immediately said, “Mr. Mercer, would you be willing to speak with me separately?”
Derek nodded.
Paige screamed his name.
My mother finally lost her composure.
“Everyone needs to stop treating us like criminals!”
I stared at her.
Gwen stood beside Claire wrapped in a coat.
I said quietly, “Then where did my money go?”
Mom looked at me.
“You owed this family.”
There it was.
Not denial.
Entitlement.
“I owed you?”
“You left me to manage everything.”
“I sent money for my wife.”
“You were never here.”
“I was deployed.”
“And I sacrificed too.”
Gwen flinched.
I stepped between them.
“What did Gwen owe you?”
Mom’s face twisted.
“She lived here for free.”
“It was her house.”
“She contributed nothing.”
“She was my wife.”
“And she poisoned you against us!”
I stared at my mother.
“So you punished her?”
She realized too late what she had said.
Detective Bell’s pen stopped moving.
Paige whispered, “Mom.”
The yard became silent.
My mother looked at Bell.
“That’s not what I meant.”
He calmly closed his notebook.
“I think we’ve heard enough for tonight.”
But we hadn’t.
Because Derek was already speaking to another officer beside the driveway.
And five minutes later, that officer walked over carrying a small black external hard drive.
He held it up.
“Detective?”
Bell looked at Derek.
“What is that?”
Derek swallowed.
“Paige keeps backups.”
“Of what?”
May you like
He looked at me.
“Everything.”
