Brooke Harrison stood at the foot of her bed, immaculate in designer clothes that probably cost more than Leah’s monthly medical bills. But it was the third person in the room that made my blood run cold. Malcolm Jones, the accountant who’d helped me gather evidence against the Harrisons. He stood beside Brooke, looking nothing like the sympathetic ally who’d guided me through documenting the family’s financial abbe.
Brook’s voice dripped honeycoated venom. How good of you to join us. We were just having a lovely chat with your sister about old times, about loyalty, about family secrets. Leah’s eyes met mine, and I saw a lifetime of unspoken words pass between us. They tried to buy my silence, she said quietly. Again, the first time was 3 years ago, wasn’t it? I moved to my sister’s side, taking her hand.
It was cold right before your diagnosis. Malcolm cleared his throat. Miss Porter, perhaps we could discuss this privately. There’s been a misunderstanding about certain documents. You mean the documents you helped me collect? I cut him off. Tell me, Malcolm, was that Brook’s idea? Get close to me. Pretend to help me build a case.
all while reporting back to the family. Figure out exactly what evidence I had. It’s more complicated than that, he started. But Kate’s laugh from the doorway cut him off. Is it Malcolm? Because it seems pretty simple to me. She walked in. Officer Taylor beside her. You helped the family identify threats, then helped neutralize them.
