Part 2 of 5
I had faced mortar fire with a steadier pulse than the one I carried into Victor’s hospital room at seven that morning.
The attorney was already there.
His name was Samuel Price.
He was small, gray-haired, and impeccably dressed despite the hour, wearing a navy suit beneath a winter coat that looked older than I was. He rose when I entered.
“Sergeant Flores.”
“Jenna is fine.”
Victor lay upright against two pillows.
Color had begun returning to his face.
“You look angry,” he said.
“I’ve had an interesting morning.”
“That usually does it.”
Samuel almost smiled.
I didn’t.
I placed Victor’s letter on the rolling bedside table.
“You said a company receiving money is registered in my name.”
Victor nodded.
“Silver Oak Consulting.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“I believe you.”
Samuel opened a folder.
“Mrs. Flores, before we go any further, I need to be clear. We’re not accusing you of anything.”
“That’s comforting.”
“Jenna,” Victor said.
I looked at him.
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No.”
That earned the faintest hint of amusement from him.
Samuel slid a document toward me.
It was a business registration.
Silver Oak Consulting LLC.
The registered organizer was listed as:
Jenna Marie Flores.
My name.
My middle name.
An address I had never used.
But the date shook me most.
March 14.
I knew exactly where I had been on March 14.
Fort Polk, Louisiana.
Training exercise.
“That’s impossible.”
“We know,” Samuel said.
“There are orders. Travel records. Duty logs.”
“I’ve already requested copies with Victor’s permission to support the timeline.”
I stared at him.
“You requested my Army records?”
“Only records you can provide voluntarily. Nothing has been obtained without authorization.”
I exhaled.
“Good.”
Samuel folded his hands.
“The company received two transfers from an account held jointly by Victor and Elaine. Eighty thousand dollars in July and one hundred thousand in August.”
“And Brady?”
Victor answered.
“He witnessed one of the account authorization forms.”
My stomach dropped.
“That doesn’t mean he knew where the money went.”
“No,” Victor said. “It doesn’t.”
I looked at him.
He had written almost the same thing.
If Brady is innocent, he needs help.
If he isn’t, you deserve to know.
“What does Silver Oak Consulting do?”
“Nothing,” Samuel said.
“No website. No staff. No obvious business operations. The company appears to exist only on paper.”
I sank into the chair.
Someone had used my identity.
And either Brady knew about it or he didn’t.
Neither possibility felt good.
“Does Elaine know you discovered this?”
Victor shook his head.
“No.”
“Does Brady?”
“I don’t know.”
I thought about the cruise.
About their departure.
About the timing.
Victor had refused Brady money in August.
The transfers happened around the same period.
Then, months later, Brady and Elaine left Victor alone during Thanksgiving.
Had the cruise really been spontaneous?
Or had they gone because they expected something else to happen while they were gone?
That thought frightened me enough that I stopped myself.
Evidence.
Not imagination.
“Where is the third envelope?” Victor asked.
“In the study.”
“You didn’t open it?”
“No.”
He nodded approvingly.
“That one is only if Brady lies.”
I looked at him.
“How will we know?”
Victor turned toward the window.
“We ask him.”
Samuel explained the trust without theatrics.
It was real.
Roughly three million dollars in investment accounts, built over decades through disciplined saving, retirement income, an inheritance Victor had received from an unmarried older brother, and careful investments.
Elaine was not penniless.
That surprised me.
She had access to household funds and retirement income sufficient for ordinary expenses.
But the trust itself belonged to Victor.
He had created it years earlier.
The money was not sitting around waiting to be seized. There were trustees, beneficiaries, conditions and legal safeguards.
Most importantly, Victor had already amended parts of his estate plan months earlier.
Not because of Thanksgiving.
Because he’d become worried long before Thanksgiving.
“What exactly are you changing now?” I asked.
Victor studied me.
“Nothing because I’m angry.”
Samuel nodded.
“Victor has been explicit about that.”
“Then what?”
“Administration.”
Samuel tapped the folder.
“He wants an independent fiduciary involved in managing certain financial matters while his health declines. He also wants tighter restrictions on anyone acting under powers of attorney.”
“Elaine?”
“Yes.”
That made sense.
But there was a second part.
Victor wanted to leave the house.
Not legally.
Physically.
“I want assisted care,” he said.
I blinked.
Victor hated the phrase assisted anything.
“You do?”
“I can’t climb stairs. I can’t get food without help. Yesterday I nearly froze to death in my own living room.”
He said it calmly.
That made it hurt more.
“I kept pretending I was independent because I was afraid independence was the last thing I had.”
He looked down at his hands.
“Turns out refusing help isn’t independence.”
I said nothing.
He looked at me.
“Sometimes it’s just pride.”
That was Victor.
Even sick, he could deliver a lesson like an afterthought.
“Where do you want to go?”
“Somewhere warm.”
I smiled.
“A lot of places have heat, Victor.”
“Then my standards are improving.”
By Thanksgiving afternoon, I had done something I never expected.
I ignored Brady’s calls.
The first came at 12:17.
The second at 12:22.
The third at 12:31.
Then a text.
Happy Thanksgiving. Sorry we missed you. Mom needed this trip badly. Dad probably complained but he’ll be fine. Love you.
I read it twice.
Dad probably complained but he’ll be fine.
I turned my phone facedown.
Victor watched from his hospital bed.
“You’re not answering?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if I answer right now, I won’t be asking questions.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
“I’ll be making statements.”
“Better to ask questions.”
“I know.”
Another text arrived.
Wish you were here.
I almost laughed.
Instead I typed:
Victor is in the hospital. He’s stable. We’ll talk when you return.
I stared at the screen.
Sent.
Brady called immediately.
I let it ring.
Then he called again.
And again.
On the fourth call, I answered.
“Jenna?”
There was wind behind his voice.
Music.
People laughing.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“At the hospital.”
Silence.
“With Dad?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
I closed my eyes.
“You tell me.”
“What?”
“He was alone in a house with no heat.”
“The heat was working when we left.”
That came quickly.
Too quickly.
“Was it?”
“Yes.”
“Then why was the thermostat set to off?”
Silence.
I continued.
“He was dehydrated. He hadn’t been cared for properly. His medication needs to be reviewed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said.”
Another silence.
Then Brady lowered his voice.
“Mom said Dad was exaggerating.”
“Exaggerating what?”
“How much help he needed.”
Something inside me shifted.
Not proof.
But something.
“You left anyway.”
“I thought you were getting there Wednesday.”
“I told you Thursday.”
“I must’ve misunderstood.”
“No.”
“Jenna—”
“No. Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Turn a decision into a misunderstanding.”
The line stayed quiet.
Then I heard Elaine in the background.
“Who is it?”
Brady muffled the phone.
I caught only fragments.
Hospital.
Jenna.
Dad.
Then Elaine’s voice became louder.
“Ask her what she’s done with the papers.”
My entire body stilled.
“What papers?”
Brady came back.
“What?”
“Your mother just asked what I’ve done with the papers.”
“She’s talking about Dad’s insurance.”
“She didn’t say insurance.”
“Jenna, you’re upset.”
“I am.”
“Can we not do this while I’m on a ship?”
“You chose the ship.”
That stopped him.
I didn’t raise my voice.
I didn’t have to.
“We’ll talk when you come home.”
“Jenna—”
I ended the call.
Victor had heard enough to understand.
“What papers?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
Samuel, seated near the window, looked thoughtful.
“Did Elaine know about the documents in the study?”
Victor frowned.
“She knew I kept files there.”
“Did she know about the steel box?”
“No.”
At least Victor believed she didn’t.
That didn’t mean she hadn’t found it.
The answer arrived that night.
Not from Elaine.
From a stranger.
An email appeared in my military account from an address I didn’t recognize.
Subject:
YOU DON’T KNOW ME. PLEASE READ BEFORE THEY RETURN.
My first instinct was phishing.
I almost deleted it.
Then I saw the attachment name.
SilverOak_Formation.pdf
I called Samuel before opening anything.
We checked it carefully from a separate secure device.
The email contained no demand.
No threat.
Only a message.
Sergeant Flores,
My name is Leah Martin.
I used to work for Elaine Flores.
You don’t know me, but I know who you are because I was instructed to prepare paperwork using your identity.
I quit after I realized what was happening.
I have been afraid to contact you.
If Victor Flores is still alive, please tell him I’m sorry.
The paperwork was not created to steal from him.
It was created to hide money from someone else.
I read the sentence three times.
Not created to steal from him.
Created to hide money from someone else.
Samuel leaned over my shoulder.
“Who’s Leah Martin?”
Victor knew.
His face changed the moment I said the name.
“She worked for Elaine.”
“Doing what?”
“Bookkeeping.”
“When?”
“Until spring.”
The company had been created in March.
I continued reading.
There is something Victor doesn’t know.
Elaine wasn’t the person who asked me to register Silver Oak.
Brady was.
The room seemed to contract around me.
Victor said nothing.
Neither did Samuel.
The message continued.
He told me you had agreed to the company and that he was helping you establish it while you were away for training.
I believed him.
At first.
Then he asked me to backdate documents.
I refused.
That was when Elaine became involved.
I don’t know exactly what they were doing.
I do know they were terrified Victor would find a payment labeled HARBOR RIDGE.
There are records.
I kept copies because I knew one day someone might blame me.
I have attached only enough to prove I am telling the truth.
If you want the rest, I will meet you.
But not at the Flores house.
I stared at Brady’s name until the letters blurred.
Victor spoke first.
“Do you believe her?”
“I believe we need to verify it.”
He smiled faintly.
“Army.”
“Always.”
I scrolled to the final line.
Leah had written one last sentence beneath her signature.
Something she clearly considered important.
Before you confront Brady, ask him what happened in Wilmington on August 18.
I felt something cold move through my chest.
August 18.
Brady had told me he’d spent that entire weekend helping Victor after chemotherapy.
I looked at Victor.
“Were you receiving treatment on August eighteenth?”
“No.”
“Was Brady with you?”
Victor’s brow furrowed.
“No.”
“Then where was he?”
Victor looked toward the dark hospital window.
“I suppose,” he said quietly, “that’s the next question.”
-END OF Chapter 2–
GO TO PART 3 -> Part 3 – I arrived home for Thanksgiving and discovered my parents’ house completely