Chapter 13 - THE GOODBYE LETTERS
There were five letters.
Each supposedly written by Maya.
Each saved as a draft.
Each describing how unhappy she was.
How frightened she was of me.
How she wanted to leave.
How she believed I cared only about work.
The handwriting had been imitated digitally from Maya’s schoolwork.
The language was carefully simplified.
But the letters were too polished.
Too strategic.
One ended:
Please don’t come looking for me because being around you makes me feel sick.
Another said:
Eleanor is the only person who understands me.
The final one was titled GOODBYE.
It was dated April 18.
The day Maya was supposed to enter Northbridge.
I read it twice.
Then placed it down.
“What was the plan?”
Thomas answered.
“Maya would be placed.”
“You would receive this letter.”
“Eleanor would tell you Maya asked for no contact.”
“And because Northbridge was privately controlled…”
“She could restrict communication.”
I stared at the page.
“So Maya disappears behind a facility door.”
“And I’m told she hates me.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Eventually you might believe it.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
I wanted to say I would never believe it.
But twelve months earlier, I had believed the birthday card Eleanor dictated.
Best Dad Ever.
Thank you for working so hard for us.
I had believed the photograph of Maya asleep while she sat inside a pantry.
Maybe Eleanor understood my weaknesses better than I did.
That hurt.
Maya did not see the fake letters.
She never needed to.
Instead, she began therapy with a child trauma specialist recommended by the hospital.
I changed my schedule.
Canceled London.
Canceled Denver.
Canceled three investor dinners.
My executive team survived.
The planet kept spinning.
At breakfast on Thursday, Maya poured too much cereal.
Milk spilled over the bowl.
It hit the table.
Then the floor.
Maya froze.
The spoon slipped from her hand.
Her face went white.
I saw the panic before she spoke.
“I’m sorry.”
I grabbed a towel.
“It’s milk.”
She stared at me.
“I’ll clean it.”
“We’ll clean it.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.”
“Please don’t—”
She stopped.
“Don’t what?”
Her eyes filled.
“Nothing.”
I crouched.
“Maya.”
She whispered.
“Don’t make me eat on the floor.”
My heart cracked again.
“I won’t.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
I handed her the towel.
“You know what your mom once did?”
She shook her head.
“She spilled an entire pot of tomato sauce in this kitchen.”
Maya’s eyes widened.
“All of it?”
“All of it.”
“What did you do?”
“I slipped in it.”
She laughed.
“And then your mom laughed so hard she sat on the floor.”
Maya smiled.
“Was she mad?”
“No.”
“She called takeout.”
Maya looked at the spilled milk.
Then at me.
“Can we call takeout for cereal?”
I laughed for the first time in days.
“No.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
She grinned.
Progress did not look dramatic.
Sometimes it looked like spilled milk.
Sometimes it looked like a child learning that accidents did not require punishment.
Then the criminal case exploded again.
David Mercer accepted a cooperation agreement.
He admitted helping Eleanor fabricate emails and move money.
He admitted moving the security server.
He admitted lying about bribery.
Then he gave investigators one final piece.
A recording from six months earlier.
Eleanor and Vivian were discussing me.
Vivian sounded impatient.
“You keep acting like Sarah is still your competition.”
Eleanor replied:
“She is.”
“She’s dead.”
“She owns half this house.”
“Her daughter owns the rest of him.”
Silence.
Then:
“I’m tired of living in another woman’s museum.”
Vivian laughed.
“So send the girl away.”
“I’m trying.”
“And Richard?”
“He’ll forgive anything if you make him feel guilty enough.”
I stared at the transcript.
There it was.
The emotional center of everything.
Eleanor did not see Maya as a child.
She saw her as Sarah’s claim on me.
A rival’s living presence.
And because she could not erase Sarah from my history, she tried to erase Maya from my present.
Vivian was arrested on financial fraud and conspiracy charges.
Helena Price faced fraud-related charges and investigation for practicing under false professional pretenses.
David’s cooperation did not erase his crimes.
Michael faced conspiracy and fraud counts.
Peter Cole was located in Canada.
He was detained trying to cross under his own passport.
Investigators found no evidence he ever damaged the plane.
But he admitted Eleanor wanted him to create a maintenance emergency so I would miss the board meeting.
For once, the plan had not been murder.
It had only been theft, fraud, coercion, child abuse, and betrayal.
The word only felt obscene.
Then Eleanor made her final move.
Her attorney requested a private settlement meeting.
Rebecca laughed when she read the email.
“What does she want?”
I asked.
“To negotiate.”
“About Maya?”
“No.”
“About everything.”
Eleanor offered to surrender all claims to the house.
She would waive spousal support.
She would transfer certain financial records.
She would cooperate regarding Vivian.
In return, I would support reduced criminal charges and agree not to pursue civil claims.
I stared at Rebecca.
“What does she think this is?”
“A business deal.”
“It’s how people like Eleanor understand the world.”
I rejected it.
Immediately.
Then Rebecca held up one finger.
“There’s one more term.”
“What?”
“She says she has information about Sarah.”
Every part of me went cold.
“What information?”
“She claims Sarah changed something shortly before she died.”
“What?”
“The trust.”
Thomas frowned.
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?”
Rebecca asked.
Thomas thought.
Then slowly went quiet.
“What?”
I demanded.
He looked at me.
“Sarah signed a final codicil two days before entering hospice.”
“Yes.”
“I prepared it.”
“What did it change?”
“Nothing involving ownership.”
“Then what?”
Thomas stared at the desk.
“It added instructions for Maya’s guardian.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who was named?”
“You.”
“Obviously.”
“And if I died?”
“Michael.”
I closed my eyes.
Michael.
The brother who had now betrayed us.
Thomas continued.
“But Sarah added a third person.”
“Who?”
He looked at me.
“I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember?”
“It was six years ago.”
“The original was filed with the estate archive.”
“Then get it.”
Thomas called.
Ten minutes later, he had an answer.
His expression was strange.
“What?”
I asked.
“The third guardian was Rosa Alvarez.”
I stared at him.
Then my phone rang.
Rosa.
I answered.
Her voice was shaking.
“Mr. Sterling.”
“What happened?”
“There is someone outside my sister’s house.”
My pulse jumped.
“Call police.”
“I did.”
“Do not go outside.”
“I won’t.”
Then she whispered:
“He left something at the door.”
“What?”
“A photograph.”
My body went cold.
“Of what?”
Rosa swallowed.
May you like
“Of Maya.”
“Taken yesterday.”
