We sat in Dad’s car for the entire call.
Neither of us suggested driving.
Rain had started tapping against the windshield, light enough that the glass slowly blurred without the wipers.
Rebecca remained on speaker.
Dad’s hands were locked around the steering wheel.
I held the phone between us.
“What do you mean you warned Mom?” I asked.
Rebecca sighed.
“Your mother hired a management company when she first bought the house.”
“The one Cynthia worked for.”
“Yes.”
“How did Mom even know Cynthia?”
“They went to the same high school.”
Dad stared straight ahead.
I watched him.
“You knew that?”
“Yes.”
Rebecca gave a short, bitter laugh through the speaker.
“He knew less than he thinks he did.”
Dad’s jaw tightened.
“Rebecca.”
“No, Daniel. You don’t get to be offended now.”
“Can we focus on Laura?”
“We should have focused on Laura years ago.”
I looked between the phone and Dad.
“Please.”
Rebecca stopped.
When she spoke again, her voice was calmer.
“Your mother bought that property before you were born.”
“Why?”
“She wanted something that was hers.”
“What does that mean?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“Laura loved your father.”
Dad lowered his head.
“But?”
“But she believed every woman should have at least one thing nobody could take from her easily.”
I looked at Dad.
He did not argue.
Rebecca continued.
“She saved for years. Bought a small house. Rented it out. Put the income away.”
“For me?”
“Eventually.”
“But not originally?”
“No. Originally it was security.”
That made sense in a way that hurt.
Mom had not been planning some sentimental inheritance from the beginning.
She had been practical.
Protective.
Maybe afraid.
“When did it become mine?”
“After you were born.”
Rebecca’s voice softened.
“She changed everything then.”
“The account too?”
“Yes.”
“She put rental income into it?”
“Some of it. Plus other savings.”
Dad stared at the rain.
I asked the question I was afraid to ask.
“Where does Cynthia come into this?”
Rebecca was quiet for several seconds.
“The management company hired her as an office assistant.”
“How old was she?”
“Mid-twenties.”
“Did Mom know her already?”
“Yes, but not well.”
“What happened?”
“At first, nothing.”
Rebecca’s voice became precise.
“She handled paperwork. Rent receipts. tenant calls. maintenance bills.”
“Then?”
“Your mother started finding inconsistencies.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“What kind?”
“Late fees that tenants said they paid. Repair invoices from companies nobody could verify. Deposits recorded incorrectly.”
Dad turned toward the phone.
“Why did Laura never tell me this?”
Rebecca answered immediately.
“She did.”
Dad froze.
“What?”
“She told you the management company was sloppy.”
“That I remember.”
“She told you one employee was involved.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“You didn’t want to be involved.”
His face changed.
Rebecca continued.
“You were working constantly. Laura handled the property. She complained about the management company. You told her to switch companies.”
Dad rubbed his forehead.
“That’s true.”
“She did.”
I interrupted.
“What happened to Cynthia?”
“She was fired.”
Dad looked up sharply.
“Fired?”
“Yes.”
“For stealing?”
“Not officially.”
“What does that mean?”
Rebecca sighed.
“The company blamed poor recordkeeping. Laura believed money had disappeared.”
“How much?”
“Not enough to trigger a criminal investigation. At least not from what she could prove.”
I felt cold despite the heater.
“Did Mom accuse Cynthia directly?”
“Yes.”
Dad whispered something I could not hear.
Rebecca continued.
“They had a terrible argument.”
“Where?”
“At the rental house.”
“Why there?”
“Cynthia came to collect company files after Laura terminated the contract.”
“What happened?”
“I wasn’t there.”
“But Mom told you.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
Rebecca hesitated.
“Laura said Cynthia accused her of trying to ruin her career.”
“Did she?”
“No.”
“What else?”
Rebecca’s voice lowered.
“She told Laura people like her always got everything.”
Dad turned his head.
“What does that mean?”
“I never knew.”
“People like her?”
“Stable marriage. Property. Money. Family.”
Rebecca went silent.
Then added, “Laura thought Cynthia resented her.”
I looked at Dad.
A terrible possibility was forming.
“When did Dad meet Cynthia?”
Neither of them answered immediately.
“Dad?”
He looked sick.
“About eighteen months after your mother died.”
Rebecca laughed again.
This time there was no humor at all.
“That’s what Cynthia told him.”
Dad’s face went blank.
“What are you talking about?”
Rebecca said, “You met her before.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I would remember.”
“You met her at Laura’s funeral.”
The rain suddenly sounded louder.
Dad shook his head.
“There were hundreds of people.”
“She signed the guest book.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw her.”
Dad’s hand slipped from the steering wheel.
I asked, “Did Mom know Cynthia personally enough that she would come to the funeral?”
“No.”
“Then why was she there?”
Rebecca said nothing.
“Aunt Rebecca?”
“I asked myself that for years.”
Dad’s voice became sharp.
“You never told me?”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“Three months after you started dating her.”
He stared at the dashboard.
“I told you Cynthia had known Laura.”
“You said you recognized her.”
“I said more than that.”
“I don’t remember.”
“I know.”
The bitterness in Rebecca’s voice softened into exhaustion.
“You were grieving, Daniel. Then suddenly you were happy. Maya was little. You wanted a family again.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“I thought you hated her because she wasn’t Laura.”
“I hated her because Laura didn’t trust her.”
The silence that followed felt final.
I asked, “Did Mom ever write down what happened with the management company?”
“Yes.”
Dad straightened.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“She kept records.”
“Where?”
“She had copies.”
“Where, Rebecca?”
“I don’t know.”
Dad hit the steering wheel once with the heel of his hand.
Not hard.
Just helplessly.
I looked at my phone.
“Could they be in the cabinet?”
“Maybe.”
“Did you know about the cabinet?”
“Yes.”
Dad turned toward me.
I stared at him.
“Apparently everyone knew except us.”
Rebecca said quietly, “Maya.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No. You have every right to be angry.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were a child.”
“I’m twenty-one now.”
“I know.”
“You had my number.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
The silence hurt more than an excuse would have.
Finally she said, “Because your father asked me to stay away.”
I turned slowly toward Dad.
He looked at me.
“What?”
“When?” I asked.
“Years ago.”
“Why?”
He rubbed his face.
“After Cynthia and Rebecca had a fight.”
“What fight?”
Rebecca answered.
“Cynthia told him I was poisoning you against her.”
“Were you?”
“No.”
Dad spoke quietly.
“You told Maya not to trust Cynthia.”
“I told a seven-year-old girl to call me if she ever felt unsafe.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew it then.”
Dad did not answer.
Rebecca’s voice cracked slightly.
“You were so desperate to make that marriage work that anybody who questioned Cynthia became a threat to your peace.”
Dad looked down.
The words hit because they were true.
I remembered Aunt Rebecca sending cards every birthday.
For years the messages had become shorter.
Hope you’re doing well.
Call anytime.
Always here.
I had thought she was distant.
Maybe she had been waiting for an invitation I did not know I was allowed to give.
“When did Mom write the letter?” I asked.
“A few months before she died.”
“Was she already sick?”
“Yes.”
“Did she know she was dying?”
There was a long pause.
“She knew it was possible.”
I looked out at the rain.
My mother had been planning for me while dying.
The thought was almost unbearable.
“Why did she mention someone she feared without naming Cynthia?”
Rebecca sighed.
“Because she didn’t know who would eventually read the letter.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does if you knew Laura.”
“How?”
“She was careful.”
“With what?”
“Accusations.”
Rebecca paused.
“She suspected Cynthia had altered records. She never proved theft. Laura would not write something she couldn’t prove.”
I understood immediately.
It sounded like something Evelyn Hart would approve of.
Evidence from suspicion.
“Then how do we prove it now?”
“You may not be able to prove what happened at the management company.”
“But the house?”
“That should have records.”
Dad reached for the legal folder.
“Evelyn is pulling them.”
“Good.”
Rebecca’s tone changed.
“Daniel.”
“Yes.”
“Do not warn Cynthia about what you’re looking for.”
“She already knows we found some papers.”
“How much?”
“Not everything.”
“Keep it that way.”
I glanced at Dad.
“That’s what the lawyer said.”
“Listen to her.”
I almost smiled.
“You haven’t changed.”
Rebecca laughed softly.
“That may not be a compliment.”
“It is today.”
The call lasted another hour.
Rebecca gave us dates.
Names.
The name of the old management company.
The name of its former owner.
A storage facility where archived business records might have gone after the company closed.
Dad wrote everything down.
Before hanging up, Rebecca asked me one question.
“Are you staying at that house?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Dad flinched.
Rebecca noticed.
“I’m not punishing you, Daniel.”
“It sounded like it.”
“I’m telling Maya to keep distance until this is clear.”
“I agree.”
That answer surprised both of us.
Rebecca went quiet.
Then she said, “Maybe you’re finally listening.”
After the call ended, we remained in the car.
Rain ran down the windows in crooked lines.
Dad did not start the engine.
“I lied to you.”
I looked at him.
“About what?”
“Cynthia knowing your mother.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
He swallowed.
“I lied to myself first.”
I waited.
“When I started dating Cynthia, she told me she had barely known Laura.”
“But you knew they’d met.”
“She said they’d crossed paths through work.”
“And Aunt Rebecca told you more.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you check?”
He looked toward the windshield.
“I didn’t want to.”
That answer was terrible.
It was also honest.
“Why?”
“Because Cynthia made life easier.”
I said nothing.
“When your mother died, everything became logistics. Work. Bills. daycare. school. grief counseling. Meals.”
His voice roughened.
“I loved you, but I was drowning.”
“And Cynthia helped.”
“Yes.”
“She knew what to do.”
“Yes.”
“She organized everything.”
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
“And you didn’t ask why she was so good at stepping into Mom’s life.”
His face tightened.
“No.”
That was the beginning of his marriage.
Not romance.
Relief.
Cynthia had entered a house full of grief and made herself useful.
Maybe that was not sinister.
Maybe it had simply become sinister later.
Evelyn’s warning returned to me.
Do not turn suspicion into proof.
I forced myself to hold both possibilities.
“Did you love her?”
Dad looked at me sharply.
“What?”
“Cynthia.”
He stared out the windshield.
“Yes.”
Present tense or past, I could not tell.
“Do you still?”
He looked exhausted.
“I don’t know who she is right now.”
I believed him.
We drove home separately.
I did not go inside.
I collected one more box from the garage and returned to Beth’s apartment.
That evening, Dad texted that he had located tax returns.
He sent photographs.
For at least nine years, rental income from the property had been reported.
Not under my mother’s estate.
Not under my name.
Under Cynthia’s.
I forwarded everything to Evelyn.
Her reply was brief.
Do not contact Cynthia. I will review.
The next morning, I was in lab when Brandon called.
I ignored it.
He called again.
Then a third time.
I silenced my phone.
After class, there were six messages.
Please call me.
It’s about Mom.
Maya seriously.
I think she lied to me.
Please.
This isn’t about the house.
The final message came ten minutes later.
I found something in her bag.
I stood in the hallway outside the lab while students moved around me.
For a moment, I considered deleting everything.
Then I called.
Brandon answered before the first ring finished.
“Where are you?”
“At school.”
“Can you talk?”
“For five minutes.”
He was breathing quickly.
“I went back to Mom’s friend’s place.”
“Why?”
“To get Mason’s diaper bag.”
“Okay.”
“She wasn’t there.”
“Brandon.”
“I’m getting there.”
I leaned against the wall.
“What did you find?”
“Her purse was open.”
“Did you go through it?”
“No.”
He paused.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“What did you find?”
“A key.”
My stomach tightened.
“A key to what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why are you calling?”
“Because it has a tag.”
“What does the tag say?”
He exhaled.
“Daniel’s office.”
I went still.
“The cabinet?”
“I think so.”
“Where are you now?”
“In my car.”
“Do you have the key?”
“Yes.”
“Do not take it to Dad.”
“What?”
“Call Evelyn.”
“The lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if Cynthia says you stole it, we need this handled correctly.”
Brandon was silent.
Then he whispered, “Maya.”
“What?”
“There was something else.”
My stomach sank.
“What?”
“A receipt.”
“For what?”
“A storage unit.”
I straightened.
“Where?”
He gave me the facility name.
I knew it.
Rebecca had mentioned it the day before.
The same company that had absorbed records from my mother’s old property management firm.
My pulse jumped.
“What date is on the receipt?”
“Last month.”
Not ten years ago.
Not forgotten paperwork.
Last month.
“What unit number?”
“214.”
I wrote it on my hand.
Brandon’s voice was shaking now.
“Why would Mom have a storage unit there?”
I stared at the ink.
“I don’t know.”
But for the first time, I suspected Cynthia had not merely hidden old records.
She might have been actively maintaining control over them.
And whatever was inside Unit 214 could tell us whether the past had been buried by accident—or deliberately preserved where nobody thought to look.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: Brandon Brought the Key to the Lawyer, but What We Found in Cynthia’s Storage Unit Made Him Stop Defending Her
The Night Before My Final, Cynthia Decided My Brother’s Emergency Was More Important Than the Future I Had Built
Part 6 of 35
