Chapter 7 - Linda’s Version of the Truth
Linda chose a crowded coffee shop.
Public.
Safe.
Calculated.
She arrived wearing sunglasses and ordered tea as if we were discussing family gossip.
“Claire was controlling,” she said.
I stared at her.
“My wife was dying.”
“That doesn’t mean she was perfect.”
“Tell me about Vanessa.”
Linda stirred her tea.
“I introduced you.”
“I know.”
“You were drowning, Daniel. The children needed someone.”
“Did you tell Vanessa about their trust?”
Silence.
“Linda.”
“I mentioned Claire had left them secure.”
“Three million dollars is more than ‘secure.’”
Her spoon stopped moving.
That tiny reaction told me she knew the amount.
I leaned forward.
“You knew.”
Linda lowered her voice.
“Claire inherited everything because her grandfather liked her better.”
There it was.
Jealousy.
Old resentment.
She talked about years of being treated as the less successful cousin.
Claire had property.
Connections.
Money.
Linda had debt.
Then Claire removed Linda from her financial contacts after accusing her of snooping.
Linda never forgave her.
“But Vanessa?” I asked.
“She was supposed to help.”
“Help who?”
Linda’s expression tightened.
“Everyone.”
I almost laughed.
“My children have marks on them.”
“I never told her to hurt anyone.”
Important wording.
Not: *I didn't know.*
Instead: *I never told her to.*
“You knew she was trying to control the trust.”
Linda looked away.
“Vanessa said once you were married, she’d persuade you to restructure things.”
“For what?”
“So the money wasn’t locked away for decades.”
“The money belongs to Ethan and Sophie.”
“They’re babies.”
“They’re my children.”
Linda leaned closer.
“You have no idea how much money is sitting there doing nothing.”
And suddenly her motive was clear.
Not protection.
Access.
She believed the children were too young to “deserve” control over their inheritance.
Vanessa apparently promised that if she gained influence over the trust, Linda would benefit from related investments.
Linda insisted she never approved abuse.
I believed she wanted me to believe that distinction mattered.
Then I asked about the missing folder.
Her face changed.
“You found it?”
I didn't answer.
That was when Linda made her mistake.
She whispered:
“Did you find the recording too?”
I stared at her.
“What recording?”
Linda realized too late.
Her hands began trembling.
“I misspoke.”
“No.”
I stood.
“What recording?”
She grabbed her purse.
“I have to go.”
I let her.
Because chasing her through a coffee shop wouldn’t give me the answer.
Finding the recording would.
May you like
And there was only one place Vanessa had hidden Claire’s documents.
The storage unit.
