Chapter 3 - The Sister Who Started Packing
By breakfast, Brooke was cheerful.
Too cheerful.
She hummed while making coffee and asked whether I wanted to drive the new SUV.
That was how I knew she had heard enough to be afraid.
Lorraine arrived five minutes later dressed for a charity luncheon.
“Big day?” I asked.
“Just a board meeting.”
I buttered toast.
“Brooke tells me you’re taking Natalie somewhere.”
Brooke froze.
Natalie stared at her plate.
I looked at my sister.
“Does she?”
“I heard you talking about an appointment.”
I smiled.
“Dentist.”
Lorraine’s eyes narrowed.
“What dentist?”
“The one I’ve had for six years.”
“Why is Natalie going?”
“Because I’m taking her to lunch after.”
Natalie played along without looking at me.
“I haven’t been out in a while.”
Lorraine’s tone turned sweet.
“You know crowds exhaust you.”
“I’ll manage.”
“She fainted two days ago,” Brooke added.
I put down my coffee.
“Then fresh air will be good.”
Lorraine did not push.
That worried me more.
At nine, I drove Natalie to the oncology clinic.
She wore a baseball cap instead of the scarf.
Halfway there, she began shaking.
I pulled into an empty church parking lot.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered.
“Yes, you can.”
“What if they tell me it’s too late?”
“Then we make a plan.”
“What if the plan is goodbye?”
I did not answer quickly enough.
She looked away.
I reached across the console.
“I failed you.”
Her eyes came back to mine.
“No.”
“I left.”
“You worked.”
“I trusted the wrong person.”
“So did I.”
“I should have called more.”
“They intercepted your calls.”
“I should have noticed.”
“Ethan.”
Her voice hardened.
“I will not spend whatever time I have left watching you punish yourself.”
I swallowed.
“Whatever time you have is going to be a long time.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
I gripped her hand.
“But I know I’m here now.”
The oncologist’s name was Dr. Priya Shah.
She was direct, calm, and kind without being sentimental.
After reviewing the biopsy, ordering imaging, examining Natalie, and taking blood, she sat across from us.
“The original pathology shows invasive ductal carcinoma,” she said. “High grade. Hormone receptor negative.”
Natalie’s fingers closed around mine.
“Stage?”
“We cannot determine that until imaging.”
“When?”
“Today.”
Dr. Shah’s mouth tightened.
“I am concerned about the delay.”
I asked, “Did four months change everything?”
She did not give me false comfort.
“It may have allowed progression. But we do not know that yet.”
Natalie nodded once.
“What happens next?”
“Mammogram. Ultrasound. MRI. Depending on findings, possibly PET/CT.”
“And treatment?”
“Likely chemotherapy before surgery, but again, staging comes first.”
Natalie breathed out slowly.
“I don’t have insurance.”
I turned.
“What?”
Dr. Shah looked at me.
“Your coverage shows active.”
Natalie stared.
“What?”
The doctor turned the screen toward us.
“Your insurer authorized today’s diagnostics.”
I felt heat rise into my face.
Lorraine had lied.
Not about a small detail.
About the one thing Natalie believed stood between her and treatment.
The insurance had never expired.
Outside the clinic, Natalie sat on a bench beneath a palo verde tree.
She did not cry.
She simply stared at the pavement.
“I could have been treated,” she said.
I crouched in front of her.
“Yes.”
“All this time.”
“Yes.”
“I sold my hair for a test that insurance would have paid for.”
“Yes.”
She finally looked at me.
“Why would she do that?”
I had asked myself the same question.
Money did not explain everything.
If Lorraine wanted to steal from me, Natalie getting treatment would not have stopped her.
Unless Natalie had discovered something.
“What happened before you found the lump?” I asked.
Natalie frowned.
“Nothing.”
“Think.”
“I was painting again.”
“What else?”
“I helped your mom organize receipts for taxes.”
I went still.
“What receipts?”
“She had boxes in the office. Restaurant bills, furniture, wire transfers, checks.”
“Did you ask questions?”
Natalie’s eyes widened.
“Yes.”
“What did you ask?”
“I found a transfer for thirty-two thousand dollars. I thought it was a mistake. It went to something called Red Mesa Properties.”
My pulse jumped.
“Then what?”
“Your mom told me it was an investment.”
“Anything else?”
“A week later I found the lump.”
“And after that?”
“She started telling me you were under financial pressure.”
I stood.
Natalie watched me.
“You think those things are connected?”
“I think Lorraine needed you scared, dependent, and quiet.”
My phone buzzed.
Marcus.
I stepped away and answered.
“I found LMW Holdings,” he said. “Registered two years ago. Your mother is the manager.”
“What owns it?”
“One property company and two vehicles.”
“Which property company?”
“Red Mesa Properties.”
I looked at Natalie.
She had heard.
Marcus continued.
“Red Mesa owns a condo in Tempe and a vacation rental in Sedona.”
“How much?”
“Combined purchase price, just under seven hundred thousand.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
“That’s impossible.”
“Not if there are loans.”
“With what down payments?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
I lowered my voice.
“Anything on Brooke?”
“Her name is on the Tempe condo as an occupant, not owner.”
“She lives at my house.”
“Apparently she also has a condo.”
I closed my eyes.
“Keep digging.”
“There’s more.”
Of course there was.
“Your mother refinanced your Scottsdale property eight months ago.”
My throat tightened.
“She what?”
“Cash-out refinance. Two hundred and sixty thousand.”
“That house was almost paid off.”
“Not anymore.”
I leaned against the car.
“Did I sign?”
“There’s a signature.”
“I didn’t sign anything.”
Marcus went quiet.
“Then we may be looking at forgery.”
Across the parking lot, Natalie stared at me.
I mouthed, Later.
Marcus said, “Get me a sample of your actual signature from that period.”
“I will.”
“And Ethan?”
“Yeah?”
“Your sister is moving money.”
“How do you know?”
“I pulled a public filing this morning. She listed the SUV for sale online under a dealer consignment account.”
I turned toward the house in my mind.
Brooke laughing.
Brooke listening outside the door.
Brooke jingling the keys.
“She’s packing,” I said.
“Then move faster.”
We returned home at four.
The white SUV was gone.
Brooke’s bedroom door was open.
Her closet was half-empty.
Lorraine stood in the hallway with a face like stone.
“Where is she?” I asked.
Lorraine crossed her arms.
“Your sister decided to stay with a friend.”
“Why?”
“You frightened her.”
I laughed.
“I made pancakes.”
“You are investigating us.”
There it was.
I kept my voice calm.
“What makes you think that?”
She stepped closer.
“Because Brooke found your recorder.”
My blood turned cold.
“What recorder?”
Lorraine smiled.
May you like
The kind of smile people wear when they think they have already won.
“The one taped under my desk.”
