The color disappeared from his face.
“Hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
“Blair—”
“You forged my signature on a second mortgage.”
“You’re hysterical.”
“And Mom found it.”
His hands curled into fists.
“You have no proof.”
“Not yet.”
I held his gaze.
“But the police will.”
He took a step toward me.
“You have no idea what you’re doing. I warned you what happens to your career if this gets ugly.”
I stepped aside.
“Then go.”
He stared at me.
“Run.”
He stormed out.
Only after his vehicle disappeared did my hands begin to shake.
I went into Mom’s bedroom and continued packing.
Then I lifted her favorite beige cardigan from the chair.
Something heavy shifted inside its pocket.
I reached in.
And pulled out a small digital dictaphone.
“Blair Will Know”
Mom used the recorder for her volunteer work.
She practiced audiobook narration with it constantly.
The battery was dead.
I found the charging cable, plugged it in, and waited.
