Chapter 13 - The Mother Natalie Never Spoke About
Natalie thought we were joking.
She was sitting at Marcus’s kitchen island with a cup of ginger tea when I told her.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“My mother is a substitute trustee for land your father owned?”
“That’s what Samuel says.”
She stared at me.
“That is impossible.”
“Apparently not.”
“My mother has never met your family.”
Samuel was still on speaker.
“That may not be true,” he said.
Natalie’s face hardened.
“You don’t know my mother.”
“No,” Samuel said. “But I know the name Margaret Voss.”
The mug slipped from Natalie’s hand.
I caught it before it hit the counter.
Her face had gone white.
“That’s her.”
Samuel continued carefully.
“Margaret Voss was listed in Daniel’s trust amendment as successor independent trustee.”
“Why?”
“I do not know.”
Natalie stood.
“No.”
“Natalie.”
She shook her head.
“No. I haven’t spoken to her in eleven years. She doesn’t know Ethan. She didn’t know his father.”
Celia spoke from the living room.
“I knew a Margaret.”
Natalie turned.
Celia walked closer.
“What did she look like?” Natalie asked.
“Dark hair then. Tall. Green eyes. Worked in accounting.”
Natalie’s face changed.
“My mother was an accountant.”
Celia closed her eyes.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Daniel hired a forensic accountant when he suspected Lorraine was stealing.”
The room went silent.
Natalie whispered, “My mother?”
Celia nodded slowly.
“I never knew her last name after she remarried.”
Natalie backed away from the counter.
“This is insane.”
I moved toward her.
She held up a hand.
“Don’t.”
I stopped.
She laughed once, but there was no humor.
“My mother investigated your mother.”
“Yes.”
“Your father trusted my mother enough to name her in a trust.”
“Apparently.”
“And she never told me.”
“No.”
Natalie pressed both palms against her temples.
“This family is contagious.”
Brooke almost laughed, then thought better of it.
Samuel said, “We need Margaret’s consent to make any major trust decisions now.”
“Where is she?” I asked.
Natalie looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
“Natalie.”
“I mean it. Last I heard she was in Colorado.”
“Why did you stop speaking?”
Her face closed.
“That is not relevant.”
“It might be.”
She looked furious.
Then tired.
Finally, she sat back down.
“My father left when I was eight. My mother raised me alone. She worked constantly. She controlled everything. Money, school, friends, what I wore, where I went.”
Brooke whispered, “Sounds familiar.”
Natalie ignored her.
“When I was twenty-two, I got engaged to someone she hated.”
I knew about the engagement.
Not the details.
“He cheated on me,” Natalie continued. “My mother found out before I did. Instead of telling me, she paid him to leave.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“She gave him ten thousand dollars and told him to disappear.”
Celia murmured, “That sounds like Margaret.”
Natalie stared at her.
“You knew her well?”
“Professionally.”
“How well?”
“Enough to know she believed outcomes mattered more than permission.”
Natalie laughed bitterly.
“Exactly.”
“What happened after your fiancé left?”
“I discovered the payment. I confronted her. She told me I should thank her.”
“And you cut contact.”
“Yes.”
Samuel spoke.
“Do you have a phone number?”
“No.”
“Email?”
“Maybe old.”
I looked at Natalie.
“We need to find her.”
She looked at me with a mixture of anger and fear.
“I am not doing this because of your land.”
“I know.”
“No, listen. I am not reopening eleven years of my life so you can protect thirty-six million dollars.”
“I don’t care about the money.”
“That’s easy to say.”
“It’s true.”
“Then walk away from the trust.”
Everyone went silent.
Natalie stared at me.
“If the money doesn’t matter, walk away.”
I understood what she was doing.
Testing the statement.
I answered without thinking.
“Okay.”
Brooke said, “Ethan.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“That is thirty-six million dollars.”
“Then you take it.”
Her mouth opened.
I turned back to Natalie.
“I will walk away if keeping it means forcing you into something you do not want.”
She stared at me.
The anger in her face cracked.
“You would?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I have already learned what money is worth when the person you love is alone in a storage room.”
Her eyes filled.
She looked away.
After a long silence, she said, “I still want to find her.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know what she knew.”
We found Margaret Voss in ninety minutes.
Not through a private investigator.
Through a pottery website.
She lived outside Fort Collins, Colorado, and sold handmade ceramic bowls under the name Maggie Voss Studio.
Natalie stared at the photograph on the website.
Margaret was sixty-four.
Silver-streaked dark hair.
Green eyes.
Strong face.
She looked like an older version of Natalie.
“I don’t know what to say,” Natalie whispered.
“Say hello.”
“That seems inadequate.”
“Say something inadequate.”
She laughed despite herself.
Then she called.
No answer.
She called again.
Voicemail.
Natalie listened to her mother’s recorded voice.
Her face folded.
She hung up without leaving a message.
“I can’t.”
“That’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t.”
She called a third time.
Margaret answered.
“Hello?”
Natalie stopped breathing.
“Mom?”
Silence.
Then:
“Natalie?”
I watched my wife become twenty-two years old again.
“Yeah.”
Margaret inhaled sharply.
“Oh my God.”
Natalie’s eyes filled.
“I need to ask you about Daniel Cole.”
The silence that followed lasted so long I checked the phone screen to make sure the call had not dropped.
Finally, Margaret said, “Where are you?”
“Arizona.”
“Are you with Ethan?”
Natalie looked at me.
“Yes.”
Margaret’s voice changed.
“Then Lorraine found the trust.”
We all stared at the phone.
Natalie whispered, “You knew?”
“I knew this day might come.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Daniel made me promise.”
“He’s been dead twenty-seven years.”
“And Lorraine has been dangerous for all twenty-seven.”
Natalie’s hand began to shake.
“What did you know about his death?”
Margaret exhaled slowly.
“I knew enough to leave Arizona.”
“Did Lorraine kill him?”
“I cannot prove that.”
“Did you think she did?”
Another silence.
“Yes.”
Natalie closed her eyes.
I took her hand.
Margaret continued.
“And if she knows you are involved now, you need to get somewhere safe.”
“We are.”
“No. You don’t understand.”
May you like
“What?”
“Lorraine never works alone.”
