Linda asked to see me before she would discuss Victor’s will.
I almost refused.
Grant encouraged me to go.
Not for reconciliation.
For evidence.
Linda sat behind a metal table in a secure interview room.
No hospital gown now.
Plain detention clothing.
No jewelry.
No carefully arranged hair.
I had never seen her without some visual evidence that she controlled her surroundings.
“Where is Victor’s will?”
No greeting.
No daughter.
I appreciated that.
Linda looked at Grant.
“Can she leave?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll speak anyway.”
“Good.”
She folded her hands.
“I took the will six months ago.”
“Why?”
“Because Charles was looking for it.”
“Where is it?”
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“I’ll tell you.”
“Now.”
She almost smiled.
“You really have changed.”
“No. I stopped cooperating.”
That erased the smile.
Linda looked down.
“Victor came to me before he died.”
Rebecca had said something similar.
“How long before?”
“Four days.”
“What did he want?”
“To make sure you received what he left.”
“Why trust you?”
“He didn’t.”
“Then?”
“He had leverage.”
Victor possessed documents proving Linda’s involvement in financial fraud.
He told her that if she interfered with his will, copies would reach federal authorities.
“Did they?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Charles intercepted them after Victor died.”
“So you were free to steal.”
“Yes.”
The answer was so simple that I almost missed its significance.
No justification.
No family speech.
Just yes.
“Then why preserve the will?”
Linda looked at me.
“Because Charles wanted you dead.”
The room quieted.
“When did you learn that?”
“Six months ago.”
The same time she accessed the safe-deposit box.
Charles told her the final trust plan required my disappearance after the acknowledgment became effective.
Linda objected.
“Why?”
Her eyes flashed.
“Because whatever you think of me, I did not agree to murder you.”
“You agreed to steal my identity.”
“Yes.”
“Take my inheritance.”
“Yes.”
“Help hide who my mother was.”
“Yes.”
“Let me believe Robert was my father.”
“Yes.”
“Forge my signature.”
“Yes.”
“But murder was where you discovered morality?”
She absorbed the contempt.
“Yes.”
It was not enough.
But it was true.
“What did you do?”
“I found Victor’s will.”
Linda believed the will gave me enough independent assets that Charles might abandon the plan if he could obtain money another way.
Instead, the will made me more dangerous.
It proved Victor had recognized me.
It undermined Charles’s identity fraud.
So Linda hid it.
“Why not give it to me?”
“Because you would have gone to police.”
“You mean exactly what I did.”
“Yes.”
“And that frightened you because you were guilty.”
“Yes.”
Again.
Clean answers were somehow more brutal than excuses.
“Where is it?”
“Inside Jackson’s wedding gift.”
I stared.
“What?”
“The antique clock.”
I remembered it.
A tall nineteenth-century mantel clock Linda gave Jackson and Khloe at the rehearsal dinner.
She made a speech about time and family.
Of course she did.
“Where is the clock?”
“Khloe’s parents’ house.”
Khloe had moved wedding gifts there after leaving Jackson.
Grant called.
The clock was secured within an hour.
A conservator opened the rear panel.
Inside, wrapped in archival cloth, was Victor Shaw’s original will.
Signed.
Witnessed by Teresa Vale and another employee.
Notarized.
Victor left his assets equally to any biological children proven after execution.
He named me specifically.
A later handwritten codicil named Elena.
Charles received one dollar.
The language was unmistakable.
I almost admired Victor’s clarity.
Almost.
The will also contained a confession.
Not complete.
But enough.
Victor admitted participating with Charles in financial manipulation of Arthur’s companies.
He stated Thomas Vale had been fully paid for his partnership interests.
He admitted fathering me through an act against Rebecca’s consent.
He asked that none of his money ever be described as compensation for that act.
I had to stop reading.
Rebecca left the room.
Marcus followed her.
Linda watched me.
“I read that part.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“Did it finally occur to you that Rebecca had spent her life carrying something you never understood?”
Linda’s face tightened.
“Yes.”
“Did you contact her?”
“I thought she was dead.”
“You knew she wasn’t.”
“Not until recently.”
“Dad knew.”
“Robert kept things from me too.”
For once, I hoped he had.
Grant asked about the second witness.
Michael Trent.
Former accountant for Victor.
Alive.
Living in Maryland.
Agents contacted him.
He confirmed the will.
He also possessed copies of Victor’s corporate ownership records.
That strengthened probate authentication enormously.
Victor’s estate could finally be declared.
Which meant Charles’s decade-long impersonation would become legally visible.
His assets could be frozen.
His authority would collapse.
Unless he destroyed the evidence first.
Grant organized the Maine operation around Jackson’s farmhouse address.
Before agents departed, Jackson asked to speak to me.
I went.
He sat behind glass.
No physical contact.
“Khloe filed for annulment.”
“I know.”
“She won’t answer me.”
“She shouldn’t have to.”
He nodded.
“I loved her.”
“Maybe.”
His eyes lifted.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I believe you wanted her. I believe you liked being with her. I believe you may have felt something you call love.”
“That’s harsh.”
“You forged a document to access her inheritance.”
He looked down.
“Yes.”
“Love that requires secret ownership paperwork needs another name.”
He accepted that too.
“What do you want, Jackson?”
“To tell you Charles will expect the farmhouse search.”
“Then why send police there?”
“Because the originals matter.”
“Trap?”
“Probably.”
“Explosives?”
“I don’t know.”
Grant had anticipated that.
Bomb teams went first.
They found no explosives.
They found surveillance.
Charles was watching remotely.
Agents entered.
Inside were filing cabinets covering thirty years.
Blackmail records.
Identity documents.
Photographs.
Payments.
Arthur.
Victor.
Linda.
Robert.
Rebecca.
Jackson.
Even Marcus.
Charles had maintained files on everyone.
One cabinet was labeled E.W.
Mine.
Inside were school photographs.
University records.
Employment information.
Medical appointments.
Travel itineraries.
Bank balances.
Charles had watched me for years.
I felt violated in a way the missing money had not prepared me for.
Grant showed me one scanned page.
A behavioral assessment.
Emily avoids confrontation with family.
Emily responds to guilt.
Emily will pay to prevent public embarrassment.
Emily believes financial independence makes her safe.
I stared at the last sentence.
That was why the wedding worked.
They understood my habits.
Not me.
My habits.
Another page listed expected reactions if I discovered the transfer.
Probability Emily contacts family first: 82%.
Probability Emily contacts police immediately: 11%.
Probability Emily accepts repayment promise: 67%.
They had calculated me.
They were wrong.
One note had been added recently in Jackson’s handwriting.
You don’t know her anymore.
I looked at it for a long time.
Grant’s team found Charles’s communication server in the farmhouse basement.
One active connection remained.
They traced it.
A marina in Maine.
Charles was going back to boats.
Rebecca refused to remain behind.
Grant refused to take her.
They argued until I interrupted.
“What marina?”
Grant gave the name.
Rebecca went pale.
Same marina where Victor had died.
Charles was returning to the place where he killed his brother.
Why?
Jackson knew.
When Grant told him the location, he stood.
“He’s going for the wreck.”
“What wreck?”
“Victor’s boat.”
Parts of it had never been recovered.
Charles believed Victor hid a waterproof document case aboard before the fire.
“What’s inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why risk everything?”
“Because Victor told Teresa it contained the only evidence Charles could never explain away.”
Rebecca remembered.
Victor had mentioned a recorder aboard.
Not audio.
Video.
A small marine camera.
He had begun recording meetings after becoming afraid of Charles.
If the device survived, it might show Charles at the marina the night Victor died.
Federal divers were mobilized.
Charles was already there.
Coast Guard located a boat leaving the harbor.
Grant received aerial footage.
Charles stood at the helm.
He was heading toward coordinates matching the old fire site.
Then another boat appeared behind him.
Smaller.
Moving fast.
Driver unidentified.
The camera zoomed.
Jackson.
I stared at Grant.
“He’s in custody.”
She was already calling.
The man in Jackson’s cell was still there.
Grant looked at the aerial image again.
Same height.
Same hair.
Same face.
But not Jackson.
Rebecca whispered, “Who is that?”
Marcus enlarged the image.
I understood before anyone said it.
Charles had spent decades creating false identities.
Apparently he had created one more.
A man who looked enough like Jackson to impersonate him.
And the real Jackson had never returned to custody after the hydroelectric facility.
The man who surrendered had been someone else.
Jackson had fooled us again.
Click here to continue reading: PART 16: Jackson’s Second Escape Led Back to Victor’s Sunken Boat, Where Charles Finally Revealed Which Son He Had Been Preparing to Sacrifice
The Morning After My Brother’s Wedding, One Missing Number Turned Every Family Favor I Had Ever Made Into Evidence
Part 15 of 24
