Chapter 6 - Melanie’s Offer
Melanie called me from jail.
I almost refused the call.
Almost.
Wyatt stood beside the hospital window while the automated system announced that the conversation would be recorded.
Then Melanie’s voice came through.
“Sadie?”
I said nothing.
“Are you there?”
“Yes.”
She exhaled.
“I need to talk to you.”
“You’re talking.”
“Can Wyatt hear this?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not ideal.”
“Then hang up.”
“Wait.”
For the first time since we were children, Melanie sounded frightened.
“I didn’t know Dad was going to hit you.”
“Congratulations.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“I thought they were going to scare you.”
“With a brick?”
“I didn’t see the brick until—”
“You said I wouldn’t move.”
Silence.
I had remembered the exact words.
Melanie had walked onto the porch after Dad attacked me and said:
I told you she wouldn’t move.
“What did you mean?”
“Sadie…”
“What did you mean?”
She started crying.
I had heard Melanie cry many times.
Usually when she wanted something.
This sounded different.
Not remorse.
Panic.
“Mom said if you postponed the wedding, we could fix everything.”
“What needed fixing?”
“The trust.”
There it was.
Wyatt folded his arms.
“Keep talking,” I said.
Melanie lowered her voice.
“I didn’t know all of it.”
“You drove Grandpa to that house.”
“How do you know?”
“Nora Whitfield has pictures.”
Another silence.
Then:
“That spying old witch.”
Any sympathy I might have felt disappeared.
“You shoved Grandpa into a car.”
“He was confused.”
“No.”
“Sadie, you weren’t there.”
“He was being held prisoner.”
“He had dementia.”
“No, Melanie.”
I spoke slowly.
“Charles lied.”
She stopped breathing for a moment.
“You don’t know that.”
“Police traced the payment.”
Melanie cursed.
Wyatt’s eyes narrowed.
That reaction mattered.
She knew.
“You knew Charles was paid.”
“No.”
“You just reacted like you did.”
“I’m scared.”
“You should be.”
“Sadie, please.”
“What do you want?”
Another pause.
Then my sister offered me a deal.
“I can help you.”
I laughed.
“From jail?”
“I know where things are.”
“What things?”
“Documents.”
“Police already have Box 214.”
“Not those.”
My attention sharpened.
“What documents?”
“Dad kept backups.”
“Of what?”
“Transfers. Accounts. Agreements.”
“Why would he keep evidence of crimes?”
“Because he never trusted Mom.”
That sounded believable.
My parents had spent thirty-two years married while constantly preparing for betrayal by the other.
“Where?”
“I’ll tell you.”
“In exchange for what?”
“Ask the prosecutor to help me.”
There it was.
Melanie had never given anything without receiving more.
“I don’t control the prosecutor.”
“They’ll listen to you.”
“Why should I help you?”
“I’m your sister.”
I nearly hung up.
Then she said:
“I can prove Mom planned the attack.”
Everything stopped.
Wyatt turned toward me.
“How?”
“There’s a recording.”
“Where?”
“Not so fast.”
“Goodbye, Melanie.”
“No!”
Her voice became desperate.
“I recorded Mom because I didn’t trust her.”
“When?”
“The morning you were attacked.”
“What did she say?”
Melanie breathed rapidly.
“She said if Wyatt saw you damaged badly enough, he would finally understand you weren’t worth the trouble.”
My stomach turned.
Wyatt’s face changed.
“Where is the recording?”
“I want a deal.”
“You are in no position—”
“Sadie.”
She started crying harder.
“They’re going to bury me with them.”
“You helped them.”
“Not with this.”
“You helped keep Grandpa captive.”
“I was twenty-one when they told me.”
“And twenty-seven three weeks ago.”
Silence.
“You were still helping.”
“I didn’t know how to leave.”
That sentence sounded almost human.
Almost.
“Then why did you go to the bank?”
“I needed the medical envelope.”
“Why?”
“Because Charles told me to.”
“Why?”
“He said if police ever compared the reports, we were all finished.”
We.
Not they.
Melanie heard herself.
She began talking faster.
“Listen, I did things. I know that. But Mom and Dad started everything. Charles too. I can prove it.”
“Then tell police.”
“I need protection.”
“From whom?”
She became silent.
“Melanie?”
“Someone else is involved.”
Wyatt moved closer.
“Who?”
“I don’t know his real name.”
“That’s convenient.”
“I’m serious.”
“What does he do?”
“He fixes problems.”
A chill ran through me.
“Did he hurt Charles?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Dad hire him?”
“I think Mom did.”
That surprised me.
Mom had always appeared less openly threatening than Dad.
But perhaps that had been the illusion.
“What name do you know?”
“Mr. Black.”
Wyatt almost laughed.
“That sounds fake.”
“It is fake.”
“Describe him.”
“Sixties. Tall. Gray hair. Scar near his left ear.”
“Have you met him?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Three times.”
“Where?”
“Once at the rural house.”
My pulse accelerated.
“What did he do?”
Melanie’s voice dropped.
“He told Grandpa he could make people disappear without anyone asking questions.”
I closed my eyes.
This had become larger than financial fraud.
“Tell Detective Beckett.”
“I will.”
“Then why call me?”
“Because there’s something else.”
“What?”
“Dad doesn’t know Mom hired him again.”
“Again?”
“For Charles.”
Wyatt went rigid.
“Are you saying your mother ordered Charles attacked?”
“I heard her make the call.”
My mother.
The woman who laughed while blood ran down my face.
The woman who bribed Nora less than twenty-four hours later.
It should not have shocked me.
It did.
“Do you have proof?”
“That’s the recording.”
“The same recording?”
“There are several.”
“Where?”
Melanie hesitated.
“In my apartment.”
“Police searched your apartment.”
“They didn’t find this.”
“Where is it?”
“Inside the piano.”
I almost smiled despite myself.
Melanie owned a decorative baby grand she could barely play.
“There’s a removable panel beneath the keyboard.”
Wyatt immediately texted Beckett.
Melanie heard the tapping.
“You’re telling him?”
“Yes.”
“I said I wanted a deal!”
“You said you wanted protection.”
“Sadie!”
“You called your injured sister from jail to negotiate evidence in an attempted murder investigation.”
“I didn’t try to kill you!”
“Then prove it by telling the truth.”
She began sobbing.
“I’m going to lose everything.”
For once, I answered without anger.
“You already did.”
I ended the call.
Police searched Melanie’s piano that afternoon.
Inside they found two flash drives, cash, copies of trust documents, and seven audio recordings.
The first contained Mom discussing the plan to delay my wedding.
The second contained Dad instructing Melanie to follow Wyatt.
The third was Charles explaining why the original medical evaluation had to disappear.
But the sixth recording changed everything.
My mother’s voice said:
“Charles is becoming unstable.”
A man replied.
“Then he’s a liability.”
Mom:
“I don’t want a body.”
The man:
“Then you want him unable to talk.”
Mom:
“Exactly.”
The timestamp was eleven hours before Charles Vance was found unconscious.
Detective Ortiz played the final recording for me in my hospital room.
This one was only thirty-two seconds.
Mom sounded angry.
“Sadie won’t sign. Wyatt won’t leave her. Theodore is refusing again.”
The unknown man asked:
“What do you want me to do?”
Mom replied:
“Whatever makes the wedding impossible.”
I felt Wyatt’s fingers close around mine.
Detective Ortiz stopped the recording.
“You understand why we’re treating this differently now.”
“Yes.”
“Your father may have attacked you directly, but the evidence suggests your mother solicited intervention.”
“Attempted murder?”
“We’re discussing charges with the prosecutor.”
I looked down at my bandaged arm.
“They really wanted forty-eight million dollars that badly.”
Ortiz’s expression became grim.
“It may be more.”
“What?”
“Your grandfather’s company owns industrial land purchased decades ago.”
“So?”
“A logistics corporation recently offered to acquire the property.”
“How much?”
Ortiz opened her folder.
“One hundred and eighty million dollars.”
I stared at her.
“That doesn’t mean the trust is worth that much.”
“No.”
She turned a page.
“It means your controlling interest could be worth more than one hundred million.”
Wyatt sat back slowly.
Suddenly the insanity became mathematically clear.
My parents had not been fighting over a comfortable inheritance.
They believed my marriage stood between them and generational wealth.
Ortiz closed the file.
“Melanie wasn’t exaggerating about one thing.”
“What?”
“Whoever Mr. Black is, your mother contacted him again yesterday.”
“From jail?”
“Through another inmate’s attorney call.”
My blood went cold.
“What did she say?”
Ortiz looked directly at Wyatt.
“Only one sentence.”
He gripped my hand.
May you like
“What sentence?”
“Finish what we started.”
