Chapter 5 - THE MONEY STOLEN FROM A DEAD WOMAN
Someone had used Elena Vale's identity after she died.
The transfer wasn't small.
Eighteen million dollars.
Money meant to support Audrey's future had disappeared into a network of companies connected to Silas Crane.
I stared at the documents.
"How did nobody notice?"
Dominic looked ashamed.
"Silas managed most of our family finances after Elena died."
"Why?"
"Because I couldn't function."
His voice broke slightly.
"For months after the bombing, I barely slept. Audrey wouldn't look at me. Every room reminded me of Elena."
I said nothing.
He continued.
"Silas told me he would handle everything."
"And you let him."
Dominic nodded.
"Yes."
It wasn't an excuse.
And I respected him more for not pretending otherwise.
The independent forensic accountants found additional suspicious transactions.
The money had moved through construction companies, shipping subsidiaries, and private investment accounts.
But the most disturbing evidence involved the bombing itself.
Elena had been scheduled to meet Thomas Mercer that evening.
They intended to discuss the missing trust money with federal investigators.
The meeting never happened.
Instead, a device detonated near Elena's vehicle outside a private charity event.
Audrey had been sitting in the back seat.
She survived.
Her mother didn't.
I thought about the little girl holding her rabbit.
The way she flinched when Silas moved his hand.
The terror she'd carried for three years.
Then I asked Dominic something difficult.
"Did Audrey receive trauma counseling after the explosion?"
He nodded.
"Several specialists."
"Did any of them use American Sign Language?"
He looked down.
"Not fluently."
My chest tightened.
"Then how could they understand her?"
Silence.
Dominic closed his eyes.
For the first time, he seemed to understand the difference between providing expensive services and meeting a child's actual needs.
That afternoon, a qualified Deaf mental health specialist met Audrey.
I remained nearby because Audrey requested it.
Nobody forced her to recount the bombing.
Instead, she played with blocks, drew pictures, and communicated in ASL at her own pace.
Eventually, she drew a black car.
A woman.
A man with a scarred hand.
Then she drew something else.
A small red door.
I leaned closer.
What's that?
Audrey looked toward the specialist.
Then signed:
Mommy went there.
My heart tightened.
When?
Before the loud light.
I swallowed.
Where is the door?
Audrey pointed toward the mansion.
Downstairs.
Dominic went still.
His daughter had remembered a red door beneath the house.
But his family home had no red basement door.
At least, that was what he'd always believed.
Then the specialist asked Audrey whether anyone else had been there.
The little girl nodded.
She signed three words.
May you like
Daddy's best friend.
And for the first time, Dominic realized the bombing might have begun inside his own home.
