Nobody spoke after Daniel told us.
My former husband stood abruptly.
“When?”
“An hour ago.”
“Where?”
“His office.”
My son looked at Daniel.
“Accident?”
Daniel shook his head.
“Police haven't released a cause.”
Anna's face had gone pale.
“He knew I was coming.”
“Yes.”
“Then somebody wanted him silent.”
Daniel didn't deny it.
I thought about the letter in my hands.
My mother's handwriting.
The hidden trust.
The false death record.
Twenty-four years of decisions made around a child who had been alive all along.
And now the man who supposedly knew everything was dead.
My youngest daughter sat beside Anna.
“We're not going anywhere.”
Anna nodded.
Daniel closed his case.
“Neither am I.”
My former husband looked at him.
“You should open the account.”
Daniel stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because you need to see who has been receiving the instructions.”
Daniel hesitated.
Then he took out his phone.
He made a call to the bank director.
“I need the dormant account opened under the successor-beneficiary clause.”
There was a pause.
Daniel glanced at Anna.
“Yes. All four beneficiaries present.”
The bank director told him something.
Daniel's face tightened.
“What?”
I asked.
“The account has already been accessed.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
Anna stood.
“By whom?”
The director had apparently sent a digital record.
Daniel looked at it.
Then he showed us.
The access authorization carried a name.
Anna Bell.
Anna shook her head.
“I never signed anything.”
“I know.”
My oldest daughter looked at the forged document.
“Someone copied her signature.”
Daniel nodded.
“But there is a problem.”
“What?”
“The bank's system says the authorization was authenticated through a biometric record.”
Anna stared at him.
“I've never given that bank my biometrics.”
Daniel's expression darkened.
“Neither have I.”
My son leaned over the phone.
“Then how?”
Nobody had an answer.
We drove to the bank.
The director met us in a private room.
He looked exhausted.
“I have never seen anything like this.”
He placed a printed report in front of Anna.
“The account recognized your identity before we formally entered you as a beneficiary.”
“That is impossible.”
“Yes.”
He turned to me.
“Unless your identity was registered twenty-four years ago.”
My throat tightened.
“The hospital.”
He nodded.
“The original records.”
Daniel looked at the report.
“Someone connected the hospital identity file to the trust account.”
Anna stared at the paper.
“So someone always knew.”
“Yes,” the director said.
“Who?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“We don't know.”
Daniel asked for the transaction history.
The director handed it over.
There were dozens of small movements over the years.
Education payments.
Medical expenses.
Housing.
Travel.
Everything Anna had received had been paid through the protected account.
Anna's eyes filled.
“You paid for my school?”
Daniel shook his head.
“Your trust did.”
She looked at him.
“You said you protected me.”
“I did.”
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I promised your guardian I wouldn't reveal your identity until you were old enough to protect yourself.”
Anna wiped her cheek.
“And now?”
“Now you're old enough.”
The director placed another document on the table.
“This is the most recent instruction.”
It was dated three days earlier.
My husband leaned forward.
“That's the one.”
“What is it?” I asked.
He pointed.
“It's a request to dissolve the protective clause.”
Daniel read it.
His face went still.
“Who submitted it?”
The director hesitated.
“Your former husband.”
My husband shook his head.
“I didn't.”
Daniel looked at him.
“You're saying you didn't submit this?”
“No.”
“Then someone forged his authorization too.”
My stomach sank.
Someone had been using all of us.
My husband.
Susan.
Anna.
Even Daniel.
The director continued.
“The request was rejected because it required unanimous consent.”
My son looked at the agreement.
“All four.”
“Yes.”
Anna understood.
“They need all of us.”
Daniel nodded.
“And they can't get it.”
A soft knock came at the door.
The bank director opened it.
A police officer stood outside.
He held a small evidence bag.
Inside was a key.
The officer looked at me.
“Are you Margaret Hart?”
“Yes.”
“This was found in Martin Vale's office.”
He handed me the bag.
The key was old.
Attached to it was a metal tag.
Three numbers were engraved on the front.
33.
My breath stopped.
“Ledger page thirty-three,” Susan whispered.
Daniel looked at her.
“Where did you get that?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
The officer handed over another item.
A photograph.
My father.
My mother.
Daniel's father.
And a fourth man.
I had never seen him.
But Daniel recognized him.
His face drained of color.
“Who is that?” Anna asked.
Daniel didn't answer.
My husband did.
“Martin Vale's partner.”
Daniel looked at him.
“You said you never knew him.”
“I said I never met him.”
“Then how do you know?”
My husband stared at the photograph.
“Because he was the man who stood beside Vale when they took the baby.”
Anna froze.
“What?”
I couldn't breathe.
The officer looked confused.
My daughter grabbed Anna's arm.
“What baby?”
My husband pointed at the photograph.
“Yours.”
The room disappeared around me.
“No.”
My husband looked at me.
“I saw him at the hospital.”
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
“You told me she died.”
“I was told to.”
“By whom?”
He looked at Daniel.
Daniel stared back.
My husband slowly shook his head.
“Not him.”
“Then who?”
He turned toward Anna.
“The man who signed your death certificate.”
Anna's lips parted.
“Who?”
My husband whispered the name.
And this time, Daniel didn't correct him.
Because Daniel knew it too.
The fourth man in the photograph was Margaret's own uncle.
A man everyone in the family had believed died twelve years before Anna was born.
He had been alive.
He had been the final controller of the hidden account.
And according to the photograph, he had been there when Anna disappeared.
Click here to continue reading: PART 21: The Uncle Everyone Buried Was Alive When Anna Disappeared, and Margaret Realizes Her Family Had Been Lied to for Decades
The Last Call Ended Differently Than Any of Us Expected, and I Finally Heard What My Children Had Been Trying to Tell Me
Part 20 of 30
