Chapter 8 - THE MAN BEHIND THE PLANHoward Klein looked nothing like a criminal mastermind when I saw him through the interview-room glass.
Twenty-six years old when her father died.
A nurse.
No criminal history.
No known addictions.
No reason to abandon her job, apartment, friends, and father.
But she vanished.
Police investigated briefly.
Susan—then Susan Sloan—claimed Rebecca had become unstable and accused her of trying to steal Arthur’s money.
There had been no body.
No goodbye letter.
No confirmed sighting after the night she disappeared.
Then Dad married Susan five years later.
The similarities were no longer coincidence.
Detective Monroe contacted the jurisdiction that had handled Arthur’s death.
His old medical records were pulled.
Guess whose name appeared as a consultant?
Howard Klein.
I sat beside Dad in rehab while Monroe told us.
My father looked devastated.
“I brought her into our family.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I ignored things.”
“We all did.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“I was lonely.”
Mom had been dead for almost a decade when Dad met Susan.
“She listened to me,” he whispered. “At least I thought she did.”
Lily climbed onto the edge of his bed.
“Grandpa?”
“Yes, Bug?”
“You’re not supposed to be sad when I visit.”
Dad smiled.
“Is that the rule?”
“Yes.”
“What am I supposed to be?”
“Happy.”
He pulled her close.
“Yes, ma’am.”
His physical improvement was extraordinary.
He could now walk thirty feet with a walker.
The tremor in his left hand was almost gone.
His doctors warned recovery could be uneven, but every small improvement felt like someone returning pieces of my father.
Meanwhile, Susan remained missing.
Then Monroe got a breakthrough.
The anonymous emails had been sent through multiple relays, but one mistake exposed a location.
A public library.
Security video showed the sender.
A woman.
About fifty.
Thin.
Dark hair streaked with gray.
When Monroe showed me the image, I didn’t recognize her.
Samuel did.
He whispered, “Rebecca.”
Arthur Sloan’s missing daughter was alive.
Police found her twenty-four hours later in a motel outside Asheville.
I met her at the station.
She looked exhausted.
Her hands shook when she held her coffee.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
“For not coming sooner.”
“You sent the emails.”
“Yes.”
“Why hide?”
“Because Susan thinks I’m dead.”
The story Rebecca told us sounded impossible.
Eight years earlier, she became suspicious of her father’s rapid decline.
Arthur was getting weaker.
More confused.
Susan controlled his appointments, meals, and medication.
Rebecca challenged her.
Three days later, someone followed Rebecca home.
Her apartment was broken into.
A warning was left on her bathroom mirror.
Not written in blood.
Not theatrical.
Just four words in black marker.
YOU’LL DIE BEFORE HE DOES.
Rebecca went to police.
Susan told them she was mentally unstable.
Dr. Klein supported Susan.
Rebecca panicked.
She ran.
“I thought I’d come back with evidence,” she said.
“But Arthur died.”
“Four days later.”
“Why didn’t you testify then?”
“Because I had nothing. And Klein had documents saying Dad died naturally.”
Her eyes filled.
“I was a nurse, Emily. I knew something was wrong. But knowing isn’t proving.”
“Why now?”
“Because I saw Susan’s wedding announcement years later.”
“To my father?”
She nodded.
“I started watching.”
“You followed us?”
“Not constantly. I hired people when I could afford it. Checked public records. Watched Susan.”
“Why didn’t you tell Dad?”
“I tried.”
I froze.
“When?”
“Seven months ago.”
She pulled out her phone.
An email.
Sent to Dad.
Subject:
PLEASE READ — YOUR WIFE IS DANGEROUS
Dad had never seen it.
Someone deleted it.
Susan.
Rebecca continued collecting evidence.
Then she saw Dad’s health deteriorate.
She sent letters.
They vanished.
Finally she photographed Daniel meeting Susan.
“I thought he was involved,” she said.
Daniel lowered his head.
“I understand why.”
Rebecca was also the one who told Samuel about the hidden medical company sending money to Klein.
But she had something nobody else knew.
“Howard Klein keeps records,” she said.
“What kind?”
“Private records.”
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
“Against Susan?”
“Against everyone.”
According to Rebecca, Klein had once bragged to Arthur that smart people never trusted partners in illegal arrangements.
Klein allegedly kept duplicate files in a private storage unit.
Monroe obtained a warrant.
The unit was empty.
Almost.
A filing cabinet had been removed recently.
Dust marks showed where it had stood.
But behind a loose wall panel, technicians found a memory card.
It contained several photographs.
One showed Susan and Klein.
Another showed an unlabeled vial beside Dad’s name.
A third showed a legal document.
Dad’s life insurance policy.
And beneath it was a handwritten note.
R.H. — final window: August 14.
August 14.
Two days away.
I stared at Monroe.
“What does ‘final window’ mean?”
“I don’t know.”
But Dad did.
His face turned white.
“My company.”
“What?”
“I have a board vote August fourteenth.”
Dad still owned controlling shares in Hayes Manufacturing.
If he became legally incapacitated before that meeting, a proxy provision could activate.
“Who controls your proxy?” I asked.
He swallowed.
“Susan.”
The poisoning wasn’t just about insurance.
It was about control of a company worth more than sixty million dollars.
And if Susan could not kill Dad before August 14…
she only needed to make sure he appeared incapable of speaking for himself.
Then Monroe’s phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
She ended the call.
“Klein’s attorney says he wants to cooperate.”
Relief hit me.
Finally.
Then Monroe added:
“There’s a condition.”
“What?”
“He says he’ll testify against Susan only if we protect him from the person who hired both of them.”
I stared.
“Both of them?”
May you like
Monroe nodded.
“Klein says Susan isn’t the mastermind.”
