Chapter 3: The Man Who Knew Too Much
Karen ended the call so quickly that she nearly dropped her phone.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then she slipped the phone into her pocket and forced a laugh.
“You're being ridiculous.””
I stared at her.
“That was Uncle Rick.””
“So?””
“He asked if I'd heard you.””
“You must have misunderstood.””
“I heard him say your name.””
Karen walked toward me, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor.
“Listen carefully, Hannah. You are tired, you're upset about the money, and you're imagining things that aren't there.””
“Then call him back.””
Her expression hardened.
“Don't tell me what to do.””
“Why was he asking whether I could hear you?””
“Because he was calling about your father.””
“Then why did you say Dad couldn't know about the account?””
She stopped in front of me.
Up close, I could see the tiny tremor in her fingers.
“Your father is under a lot of pressure at work,” she said.
“He doesn't need you making wild accusations every time you overhear half a conversation.””
“I'm not making accusations. I'm asking questions.””
“And I'm telling you to stop.””
She reached past me and pushed my bedroom door shut.
The click of the latch sounded louder than it should have.
“Give me your phone,” she said.
I backed away.
“No.””
“You've been recording me, haven't you?””
“No.””
“Then you won't mind letting me see it.””
“Dad told me not to give you my phone.””
That was the wrong thing to say.
Karen's face twisted.
“Your father doesn't run this house from three hours away!””
She grabbed for my phone.
I pulled it against my chest and moved toward the door.
“Stop touching me!””
Her hand caught my wrist.
Her nails dug into my skin.
For one frightening moment, we stood locked together, each of us pulling in opposite directions.
Then I shouted, “Mrs. Patterson!””
Karen released me.
“What did you say?””
“Mrs. Patterson is coming over.””
It was a lie.
But Karen glanced toward the window, and that single second was enough for me to open the door and run downstairs.
I reached the front porch just as my phone began ringing.
Dad.
I answered immediately.
“Hannah?””
“Dad, Karen tried to take my phone.””
“What happened?””
“She was talking to Uncle Rick. He asked whether I'd heard them.””
There was a pause.
Then Dad asked, “What exactly did he say?””
I repeated the conversation as closely as I could remember.
Dad's breathing grew heavier.
“Did you see what number she called?””
“No.””
“Did she say anything else?””
“She said you couldn't know about an account. And that there was paperwork.””
Another silence.
When Dad spoke again, his voice had changed.
“Stay with Mrs. Patterson until I get home.””
“Dad, what's going on?””
“I don't know yet.””
“You know something.””
“Hannah—”
“Please don't tell me it's nothing.””
He exhaled slowly.
“Rick has helped me with some paperwork over the years. I trusted him.””
My stomach tightened.
“What paperwork?””
“Financial paperwork. Insurance forms. A few things related to the house.””
“And Karen?””
“I don't know what she's involved in.””
I looked back through the front window.
Karen was standing in the living room, staring at me.
She held her phone in one hand and the torn agreement in the other.
“Dad, I think she's scared.””
“Good,” he said.
I blinked.
“Good?””
“Because someone who has nothing to hide shouldn't be trying to take your phone away.””
He paused.
“I'm two hours out. Stay where you are.””
I went to Mrs. Patterson's house and sat at her kitchen table while she made tea.
She didn't ask many questions. She simply placed a warm mug in front of me and stayed nearby while I checked my phone.
At 4:18 p.m., Madison texted me.
Mom says you're trying to get her arrested.
I stared at the message.
Then another arrived.
She said Dad will kick us both out if you keep lying.
I typed a reply, deleted it, and tried again.
I didn't lie. She took money from my account.
Madison responded immediately.
She said you gave her permission.
I looked at the screen.
Did you know she took it?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally, Madison wrote:
I knew she was buying me a computer. I didn't know she used your money.
I wanted to believe her.
Madison had always been spoiled, but she wasn't necessarily cruel. She was sixteen, and Karen had spent years telling her that everything she wanted was something she deserved.
Still, I couldn't forget the way she'd laughed when Karen handed me the receipt.
I typed:
The laptop costs almost everything I saved.
Her answer came a minute later.
I know.
Then:
Mom says if you get her in trouble, she'll tell Dad you stole from the house.
I stared at those words until my fingers went cold.
What does that mean? I wrote.
No response.
I called her.
She rejected the call.
A few seconds later, my phone buzzed.
I can't talk right now.
Then the conversation disappeared.
Not the messages themselves, but the contact showed that Madison had blocked me.
I lowered the phone.
Mrs. Patterson sat across from me.
“Bad news?””
“My stepsister thinks I'm going to get her mother arrested.””
“Did you steal your own money?””
“No.””
“Then you don't have to defend yourself against every story someone tells.””
I tried to smile.
It didn't work.
At 6:02 p.m., Dad called again.
“I'm almost there.””
“Are you coming straight home?””
“Yes.””
“Should I come with you?””
“No. Stay with Mrs. Patterson for now. I need to look at something first.””
“What?””
He hesitated.
“The house safe.””
My heart began pounding.
“What about it?””
“Karen has the combination. I asked her to keep some of my important documents there while I was away.””
“What documents?””
“Insurance policies. Property papers. Financial records.””
“And?””
“I checked the online account. One of the insurance policies was changed last month.””
I stood so abruptly that my chair scraped across the floor.
“Changed how?””
“I'm still trying to get the details.””
“Dad, did Karen change it?””
“I don't know who submitted the request.””
“But you think she did.””
“I think we need to be careful.””
He lowered his voice.
“Hannah, did you ever hear Karen talk about a life insurance policy?””
I shook my head before remembering he couldn't see me.
“No.””
“Did she ever ask you about my paperwork?””
“No.””
“Okay. Don't discuss this with her. I'll handle it when I get home.””
After the call, I sat in silence.
A life insurance policy.
An unfamiliar account.
My stolen savings.
And Uncle Rick, whispering into a phone that he apparently believed I couldn't hear.
I didn't know how those things connected.
But I knew they did.
At 7:11 p.m., a black pickup truck pulled into Mrs. Patterson's driveway.
Uncle Rick stepped out.
He wore a blue polo shirt and work boots, and he carried a cardboard box under one arm.
For a moment, I thought he'd come to speak to Mrs. Patterson.
Then he looked through the kitchen window.
Our eyes met.
He froze.
The box slipped against his hip.
Mrs. Patterson followed my gaze.
“Do you know him?””
“Yes,” I whispered.
Rick raised one hand in a casual wave, then walked toward the front door.
Mrs. Patterson stood.
“Stay here.””
She opened the door but kept one hand on the frame.
“Can I help you?””
Rick smiled.
“I'm looking for Hannah.””
“She doesn't want visitors.””
“This is a family matter.””
“Then you can speak to her father.””
Rick's smile faltered.
“I was hoping to clear up a misunderstanding.””
I stepped into view.
“What misunderstanding?””
He looked relieved to see me, which somehow made him more frightening.
“Hannah, sweetheart, your father and I have been trying to sort out a few financial issues.””
“What financial issues?””
“Nothing you need to worry about.””
“Then why did you ask Karen whether I heard you talking?””
Rick's expression changed.
Mrs. Patterson crossed her arms.
“I think you should leave.””
Rick ignored her.
He set the cardboard box on the porch railing and leaned toward me.
“Listen, Hannah. Your father trusts me. We've known each other a long time.””
“That's not an answer.””
He sighed.
“Your stepmother made a mistake. People make mistakes.””
“Did you help her take my money?””
“No.””
“Did you transfer money from Dad's account?””
“Absolutely not.””
“Then what's in the box?””
His eyes flicked toward it.
Just for a fraction of a second.
But I saw it.
I walked past Mrs. Patterson and reached for the box.
Rick grabbed it first.
“Don't touch that.””
I stepped back.
“Why?””
“Because it's private.””
“Whose private property?””
He didn't answer.
Mrs. Patterson pointed toward the driveway.
“Leave. Now.””
Rick picked up the box and walked back to his truck.
Before climbing inside, he turned toward me.
“Tell your father not to make any decisions before he's heard my side.””
Then he drove away.
I stood on the porch, watching his taillights disappear.
A moment later, Mrs. Patterson touched my shoulder.
“Did you see what was on that box?””
I frowned.
“What?””
She pointed toward the porch railing.
A small white label had fallen from the cardboard.
I picked it up.
It contained a shipping reference, a date, and the name of a bank.
Beneath the bank's name was a phrase printed in bold.
*PROPERTY LOAN DOCUMENTS — FINAL REVIEW.*
I read it twice.
Then I turned the label over.
Someone had written an address on the back.
My address.
Our house.
May you like
And beneath it, in Uncle Rick's handwriting, were four words.
Get Hannah's signature first.
