But impossible to ignore.
Daniel asked, “When did Hudson Family Consulting become involved?”
“About five months ago. Marisol told me that a foundation connected to Thomas’s estate was finally helping her. She said I needed to make small payments for processing and medical documents before the insurance funds could be released.”
“That sounds like a scam,” Daniel said.
“I know that now.”
“You didn’t know then,” David said.
Maya looked at him, surprised by the lack of anger.
“I wanted to believe her,” she whispered. “I wanted to believe my mother had finally come back because she loved me.”
David took her hand.
Maya’s eyes filled with tears.
“I thought if I sent enough money, she would visit after Liam was born. I imagined her holding him. I imagined forgiving her.”
“You were hoping.”
“I was being foolish.”
“No.”
David’s voice was firm.
“You were hoping.”
Maya looked away.
Daniel tapped the table lightly.
“There’s one detail that matters. You said someone had been answering Marisol’s messages for her. Did the language change?”
Maya frowned.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Around October.”
“How?”
“The earlier messages were emotional. Sometimes confused. The newer ones were formal. They used business terms. I assumed someone was translating.”
“Do you still have all of them?”
“Yes.”
“Send them to me.”
Maya did.
Daniel’s phone chimed.
He opened the files and began reading.
The room settled into silence.
Ten minutes later, he looked up.
“These October messages and the messages from today were not written by the same person.”
“You can tell?” David asked.
“The phrasing is completely different. The October messages refer to Thomas as ‘Mr. Bennett.’ The earlier messages call him Tom.”
Daniel scrolled further.
“And here. This one tells Maya not to mention the payments to David because ‘he is under pressure supporting Eleanor.’”
David’s gaze sharpened.
“How would Marisol know that?”
“She might not,” Daniel said.
Maya stared at the screen.
“Your mother knew.”
No one spoke.
A soft knock came at the door.
Lena Morales returned, accompanied by a uniformed police officer.
The officer introduced himself as Officer Grant. He was middle-aged, with a calm voice and snow melting on the shoulders of his jacket.
“I understand this has been a difficult night,” he said. “I’m here to document what happened at the apartment. This is not an interrogation.”
David glanced at Maya.
She nodded.
For the next forty minutes, they described the condition of the apartment, the missing food, the formula, the thermostat, and the security footage.
Officer Grant watched the saved recordings without comment.
When the video ended, he removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Who is currently in Miami?” he asked.
“Eleanor Bennett, Chloe Mason, Mark Mason, and my nephew Ethan,” David said.
“Do any of them live at your apartment?”
“No.”
“Did any have permission to remove the food and baby supplies?”
“No.”
“Did they know Mrs. Bennett needed medical care?”
Maya answered.
“I told Eleanor the incision was painful and bleeding.”
“What did she say?”
“That it was normal.”
“Did you ask to see a doctor?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She said the doctor would only frighten me and that David would blame me for making him leave work.”
Officer Grant wrote carefully.
David felt anger rising again, but this time it was different.
It did not need to explode.
It needed to remain clear.
