Chapter 8 - The Missing Years
The recording was played in a private interview room.
Daniel sounded younger than Mara remembered. His voice carried the warm, teasing rhythm that had once made her laugh in grocery store aisles. Now it came through a speaker crowded with static.
“June, if you keep telling Mara I’m dangerous, she’ll never let me see my daughter.”
June answered, “You disappear for days. You drink when you’re frightened. You expect me to trust you with an infant?”
“I’m getting treatment.”
“You’re getting excuses.”
“Mara knows about my heart.”
“Mara knows what I tell her.”
Mara stopped the recording.
No one spoke.
“She lied to me,” Mara said.
Detective Bell nodded. “It appears so.”
“Why?”
June sat across from them, hands clasped. The hard, polished grandmother had vanished. She looked old, frightened, and tired.
“Because I believed Daniel would die if Mara followed him,” she said.
“So you destroyed his relationship with us?”
“I protected you.”
“You protected your version of me.”
June’s eyes filled. “You were nineteen. You had a baby and no money. He wanted to take you to New Mexico.”
“I wanted to go.”
“You wanted to run.”
“That was my choice.”
“You were a child.”
Mara leaned forward. “And Leni? Why did you frighten her?”
June looked toward the door. “Because she was repeating things.”
“What things?”
“That I kept secrets. That Daniel loved her. That you would leave me.”
The answer was so naked that Mara nearly mistook it for an apology.
“You locked her in a pantry because you were afraid I would leave you?”
June’s mouth trembled. “I locked the door because she was running toward the road.”
“The video says otherwise.”
“I was angry.”
“Yes.”
“I made a mistake.”
“You made weeks of mistakes.”
June looked at Bell. “I never meant to harm her.”
“Intent is not the only issue,” Bell replied.
The door opened, and a man in a dark jacket entered. He was in his late fifties, with a silver beard and a folder tucked beneath his arm.
Mara recognized him from the photograph beside the blue box.
“Who are you?”
He looked at June. “Grant Mercer.”
June stood abruptly. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Grant placed the folder on the table. “You promised this would end.”
Bell stepped between them. “Mr. Mercer, you need to leave.”
“I have records.”
“Then give them to me.”
Grant hesitated, then handed over the folder.
Inside were invoices from a private home-care company called BrightPath. Every invoice listed services June had supposedly provided to Leni: overnight supervision, medication support, transportation.
Most were false.
Mara looked at June. “You billed them?”
“The company offered reimbursement.”
“For caring for your granddaughter?”
“I needed money.”
Grant spoke quietly. “June owed BrightPath. I helped her file claims. When she stopped cooperating, they threatened to expose the fraud.”
Bell frowned. “Why are you involved?”
Grant looked at Mara. “Because I own BrightPath.”
He opened the folder to the last page.
There, beneath a forged signature, was a payment authorization from Mara.
May you like
And the signature was not June’s.
It belonged to someone who had access to Mara’s old family documents.
