The note went on, every word feeling like an icy drop down my spine: “The accident won’t be an accident, Em. Look at the bank statement from two weeks ago. Sarah took out a loan using our house as collateral. She had my forged signature. I found out, and when I confronted her, she threatened to ruin us.”
My hands trembled so violently that the papers nearly slipped from my grip. Sarah? My sweet, devoted sister who had spent the last month cooking meals for my kids and holding my hand? Attached to the note were printouts of secret accounts opened in my name, signed with a scrawled version of Liam’s signature that looked almost identical—except for a small dot he always placed under the ‘m’ when he was being forced to sign something under duress. It was a signal he’d taught me years ago.
I looked up at his boss, Arthur, who stood by the window with a shadowed expression. “Did you know about this?” I whispered.
Arthur turned slowly, his eyes heavy with a warning. “Liam told me he was going to turn her in to the police the morning after he died,” he said softly. “Emily, the brake lines on his car didn’t just fail. He left this file here because he knew if something happened to him, she’d be the first one at your house.”
Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my bag. The screen lit up with Sarah’s name.
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