Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN EMMA WENT TO FIND
Mara Bennett’s house stood empty.
Front door unlocked.
Heat running.
A mug of coffee still warm.
No Emma.
No Mara.
But there were signs they had been there.
Emma’s scarf lay over a chair.
Her overnight bag sat beside the sofa.
I grabbed it like it could answer me.
Then I saw the blood-pressure cuff on the coffee table.
Beside it:
168/112.
I knew enough now to be terrified.
I called 911.
Again.
Then I found Mara’s laptop open.
One folder.
ANDREW.
Inside were years of research.
Police records.
Insurance forms.
Payments.
My father.
My mother.
And one document that made me stop.
$250,000 wire transfer.
From Robert Carter.
To Mara Bennett.
Dated one month after Andrew’s death.
She had taken the money.
I stared.
Then behind me:
“Daniel?”
I turned.
Rachel stood in the doorway.
“How did you find me?”
“You left location services on.”
Apparently grief had also made me stupid.
She looked around.
“Where’s Emma?”
“Gone.”
Then she saw the reading.
Her face changed.
“That’s dangerous, right?”
“Yes.”
We searched the laptop.
Mara’s emails contained a message from Emma sent two nights earlier.
I need to know why you contacted me now.
Mara’s reply:
Because Robert Carter lied to both of us.
Another email.
Your first pregnancy did not end naturally.
I went cold.
“What?”
Rachel leaned closer.
Mara had attached old medical records from a clinic Emma used after Andrew died.
One doctor.
Dr. Stephen Hall.
Prescribed medication after the accident.
Emma took it for anxiety.
Weeks later, miscarriage.
Mara believed the medication had been intentionally overdosed.
I felt sick.
Why?
Then we found a payment.
Robert Carter to Stephen Hall.
Seventy-five thousand dollars.
Two days before Emma lost the baby.
“No.”
Rachel whispered:
“Daniel…”
“My father caused her miscarriage?”
We did not know.
Not yet.
But the evidence suggested something worse than a drunk-driving cover-up.
My father had feared Emma might be carrying Andrew’s child.
A child who could later connect the Bennetts to the accident.
So he paid a doctor.
I vomited in Mara’s kitchen sink.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman whispered:
“Daniel?”
“Mara?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s Emma?”
“At St. Joseph’s.”
My knees nearly gave out.
“What happened?”
“Her blood pressure spiked.”
“The baby?”
“Still alive.”
“Emma?”
“She collapsed.”
I was already moving.
Then Mara said:
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“Before you come, you need to know something.”
“What?”
“Emma didn’t leave because of Rachel.”
I stopped.
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
Her voice broke.
“She left because she found out your father killed her first baby.”
May you like
Then:
“And she believed you knew.”
