Chapter 4: Twelve Attachments
The second detective's name was Reyes.
He was younger than Hara, quieter, and he read faster.
He scrolled through the attachments on my phone without a word while Hara stood beside him and I stood beside both of them in the parking lot with the vineyard lights casting long yellow shapes across the gravel.
"These are originals?" Reyes said.
"Copies of originals.
My aunt has the physical documents."
"Where is she?"
"Richmond.
About an hour from here."
He handed my phone back and looked at Hara.
Something passed between them that I couldn't read.
"Ms.
Claire," Hara said, "we're going to need you to come to the station tomorrow morning and make a formal statement.
Tonight we're going to ask your father some additional questions.
I want you to understand — you are not under investigation.
Your name appears on these documents as a victim."
The word landed strangely.
Victim.
I had never thought of myself that way.
I had always thought of myself as the capable one.
The one who figured things out.
The one who didn't need help.
"What happens to him tonight?" I said.
"That depends on what he tells us."
I nodded.
I looked through the window one more time.
Madison had stopped crying.
She was sitting at a table near the bar, still in her dress, Eric beside her now with his hand over hers.
She was staring at the floor.
Mom was speaking to her, leaning close, one hand on Madison's shoulder.
I watched Mom's mouth move.
I couldn't hear the words.
But I had heard enough of my mother's reassurances over the years to know exactly what she was saying.
*It's going to be fine.
Don't worry.
Claire always overreacts.*
I turned away.
My car — my Lexus, still sitting in the lot, the tow truck idling fifteen feet away — had a parking ticket tucked under the wiper blade.
I pulled it free.
It was from the vineyard's private security.
Issued forty minutes ago, before any of this had started, because I had parked two inches over the line of my assigned space.
I almost laughed.
I folded the ticket and put it in my purse.
My phone rang again.
This time I recognized the number.
It was my business partner, Gwen.
"I just saw something strange," she said when I answered.
"There's a lien on the company's secondary account.
Filed this morning.
Claire, it's in your name but I didn't authorize any lien and neither did you — did you?"
"No."
"It's for eighty-two thousand dollars."
I closed my eyes.
"Gwen, call our attorney.
Right now.
Tonight.
Tell her everything and tell her I'll explain the rest in the morning."
"What is happening?"
"My father has been using my identity for ten years.
The police are here.
I'll call you when I can."
Silence on the line.
"Claire," Gwen said.
"Tell me what you need."
"I need you to protect the company while I deal with this."
"Done," she said.
"I'll stay at the office all night if I have to."
I hung up and looked back at the vineyard entrance.
Dad was being walked toward one of the police cruisers.
Not in handcuffs.
Not yet.
But the officer's hand was on his arm and his steps were short and careful, the way a man walks when he knows that running is no longer an option.
Mom appeared in the doorway.
She saw him.
Her hand went to her mouth.
Then she looked across the parking lot and found me.
And her expression changed.
The grief dropped away.
What replaced it was something colder.
She pointed at me.
Just one finger.
No words.
I didn't move.
She turned back inside.
My phone buzzed.
A text from a number I didn't have saved.
*You should have just given her the car.
This didn't have to happen.*
May you like
I stared at it for a long moment.
Then I screenshotted it and forwarded it directly to Detective Hara.
