The generous offer to cover her medical expenses, his insistence on being involved in her care, the way he’d isolated both of us from our other friends and family. It had all been part of their plan. “We need to find Dr. Patel,” Kate said firmly. “She might have records from before the Harrison doctor took over. something to show Leah’s original condition.
Already on it, officer Taylor replied, typing on her phone. And we’ve got officers looking for Brooke and Malcolm. The hospital security cameras caught them leaving in a black SUV heading east. They’ll be going to the lakehouse, I said suddenly. Everyone turned to look at me. The Harrison Family Lakehouse in Vermont.
It’s where they keep their most sensitive documents. Matthew told me once when he’d had too much to drink. said his father taught him that every family needs a vault. Leah started to speak but suddenly began coughing violently. “Doctor” Jones rushed to check her vital signs while I held my sister’s hand, feeling more helpless than ever.
“Your numbers are dangerously low,” Dr. Jones said after examining Leah. “We need to start counteracting these medications immediately. I’m ordering new blood work and calling in a specialist. I have copies. Leah gasped between coughs. Of everything, not just the financial records, the original medical reports. She squeezed my hand. In the painting? What painting? Kate asked.
The one I gave Becca for her wedding. The lighthouse. Leah’s voice was getting weaker. My mind raced back 15 years to my wedding day. Leah had given us a painting of a lighthouse at dawn, one she’d done herself. Matthew had hated it, called it amateur-ish, but I’d insisted on keeping it. It had hung in my home office ever since, a reminder of my sister’s creative spirit.
“It’s hanging in my office,” I said. “But Matthew is probably at the house by now. Then we need to get there first,” Kate declared. “Those records could prove everything. The financial fraud, the medical manipulation, all of it.” Leah grabbed my arm with surprising strength. “Be careful,” she whispered. There’s something else hidden in that painting.
Something I never told anyone about the day. The day their father really died. A new text lit up my phone. A message from Matthew with a photo attached. My heart stopped when I opened it. It was a picture of my home office, the wall where Leah’s lighthouse painting hung or used to hang.
The photo showed an empty wall with only a nail remaining. Below it, Matthew had written, “Did you really think I didn’t know? Come alone to the lakehouse. Time to finish this. Doctor Jones’s voice seemed to come from far away as she announced Leah’s test results. What she said next would force me to make an impossible choice.
