Karen had not been stealing Dad’s money merely to support Mia.
She wasn’t building a business.
She hadn’t even planned to stay married to my father.
For almost three years, Karen had been preparing to disappear.
The money was being transferred into accounts connected to someone else.
Someone whose identity made no sense.
Until Rachel placed a photograph on the desk.
I stared at it.
Then at Dad.
Neither of us spoke.
The man standing beside Karen in the photograph was familiar.
Very familiar.
I had seen him at birthdays.
Thanksgiving dinners.
Christmas.
He had sat beside my father at family barbecues.
He had told me he was proud when I bought my apartment.
He was Dad’s younger brother.
My uncle Daniel.
Dad looked like someone had punched him.
“No.”
Rachel said nothing.
“No,” Dad repeated.
But there were years of messages.
Hotel confirmations.
Bank transfers.
