Chapter 7 - The Voice of the Dead
We sat in the front seat of Marlow’s unmarked police cruiser, parked in the drizzling rain two blocks from the bank. Marlow plugged the recorder into the dashboard USB port. The small LED screen blinked to life.
*File 01: Recorded October 28, 2014.* Two weeks before Mara died.
Marlow hit play. Static hissed through the car speakers, followed by the muffled sound of a door closing and the clinking of glasses.
*‘Julian, stop it,’* Mara’s voice sounded weak, breathless, her lungs struggling for oxygen. Hearing her voice after a decade felt like a physical spike driven through my ear. *‘I told you... I won’t sign the conservatorship over the estate. That money is Ethan’s trust from his biological father. It belongs to him.’*
*‘Mara, sweetheart, you’re not thinking clearly,’* Julian’s smooth, predatory voice purred on the tape. *‘Your heart is failing. Robert is a simple carpenter. He doesn't know how to manage a seven-figure portfolio. When you're gone, he'll mismanage it, or the state will take forty percent in probate. Sign the trustee authorization over to Vance Capital. I’ll ensure Ethan gets an allowance. I’ll make sure Robert keeps the house.’*
*‘You’re a parasite, Julian,’* Mara coughed violently, a wet, rattling sound that turned my stomach. *‘I looked at the portfolio. The accounts are empty. You lost it in the commercial real estate crash, didn't you? You stole my son’s future!’*
A heavy thud sounded on the recording, followed by Mara gasping.
*‘You shouldn't have dug into those books, Mara,’* Julian’s tone had turned ice cold, devoid of warmth. *‘Take your medicine. Robert picked it up this morning. He loves you so much, you know. He’d be broken if anything happened to you.’*
*‘Get out... get out of my house!’*
The recording clicked off.
Silence engulfed the cruiser. Rain drummed steadily against the metal roof. Tears were running freely down my face, hot and stinging, pooling in the white stubble on my chin.
"He poisoned her," I whispered, the reality shattering ten years of delusion. "He stole the trust fund, poisoned her to hide the theft, used my signature to set me up as the patsy, and then used that leverage to blackmail a seventeen-year-old boy into exile."
"And when Ethan finally got tired of running and started digging into the old accounts," Marlow said, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel, "Julian realized the kid was getting close. That’s why Julian tried to kill him this morning."
My cell phone vibrated violently against my hip.
I pulled it out. The caller ID flashed: **Portland General Hospital - ICU Desk.**
I hit answer. "Hale here."
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"Mr. Hale! This is Nurse Diaz from SICU," the voice was frantic. "You need to get up here immediately. Your son’s vitals plummeted. Someone just turned off his oxygen bypass valve!"
***
