PART 2: The Camera They Never Saw
“Why are you in such a hurry?” I asked Marcus.
He leaned back.
“Because you’ve been avoiding us for weeks.”
“I spoke to Rachel on Sunday.”
“You talked about the weather and your back. You wouldn’t discuss the sale.”
Rachel crossed her arms.
“You wouldn’t even let me see the closing papers.”
“My attorney has those.”
Marcus laughed.
“That attorney again. You’ve been listening to strangers instead of your own family.”
“Samuel Reed isn’t a stranger. He’s my attorney.”
“And I’m your son.”
“Then start acting like it.”
His face hardened, but he stayed in his seat.
Rachel drifted toward the window.
“Dad would never have wanted this.”
I felt the familiar sting of Daniel’s name being used as an argument.
“Your father wanted the farm to stay productive. He didn’t want it divided into housing lots.”
Marcus scoffed.
“Here we go with the sentimental nonsense. Land is an asset, Mom. You can’t run a business on memories.”
“I know that better than you think.”
“Then why didn’t you sell to the developer I introduced you to?”
“Because I didn’t want to.”
“He offered more money!”
I studied him carefully.
“You seem awfully concerned about that particular buyer.”
He hesitated.
“I’m concerned about you throwing away opportunities.”
Rachel jumped in.
“Marcus was trying to get you the best deal. You should’ve been grateful.”
I remembered that developer’s proposal. Marcus had pushed hard for it, insisting the land was worth more as a residential development than as a working farm.
After going over the offer with Samuel, I had turned it down.
What Marcus hadn’t mentioned back then was that he stood to collect a hefty referral fee if the deal went through.
Samuel had uncovered that during his review.
“How much would you have received if I’d sold to your developer?” I asked.
Marcus’s expression shifted.
“That’s none of your business.”
“It was my land.”
“It was a legitimate business arrangement.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
Rachel turned toward him.
“What fee?”
He waved a hand.
“It’s irrelevant. That deal never happened.”
But Rachel kept her eyes on him.
“You told me you weren’t making anything from the sale.”
“Rachel, not now.”
I watched the two of them.
They had arrived together, talking as though every demand had been agreed on in advance. Yet Rachel evidently hadn’t known her brother expected to profit from the developer’s offer.
I wondered what else he hadn’t told her.
“Did Marcus tell you about the offer I made three years ago?” I asked.
Rachel frowned.
“What offer?”
“The one to take over the farm.”
Marcus stood.
“We’re not discussing that again.”
“I offered both of you the chance to purchase it over time. No down payment, twenty years to pay, and one season working alongside Luis so you’d understand the operation.”
Rachel gave a short laugh.
“You wanted us to move out there and work like farmhands.”
“I wanted you to know what you were buying.”
“I had a business in Kansas City.”
“And Marcus had his career. You both said no. I respected that.”
Marcus looked at his watch again.
“Ten minutes.”
My eyes drifted to the document lying beside the broken pieces of the bowl.
The signature kept nagging at me.
Not because it was a convincing imitation, but because I knew exactly which document it had been copied from.
That partnership agreement had been kept in a locked filing cabinet at the farm, along with our original deed, old tax records, and Daniel’s estate papers.
Only a handful of people knew where it was.
“Rachel,” I said, “did you go through my filing cabinet before I moved out of your house?”
She looked startled.
“What?”
“The cabinet in the guest room. The one you said was taking up too much space.”
“I moved some boxes. So what?”
“Did you open the cabinet?”
She glanced at Marcus.
That was answer enough.
“He told me you needed help organizing your paperwork,” she said.
Marcus whipped around.
“Rachel, stop talking.”
“You said Mom had forgotten where she kept important documents!”
A chill ran through me.
“Marcus, what exactly have you been telling people about me?”
He looked away.
“Nothing that isn’t true.”
Rachel’s face had drained of color.
“You told me the lawyer was worried about her memory.”
I stared at my son.
“Samuel has never expressed concern about my memory.”
Marcus shrugged.
“You forget things all the time.”
“Like what?”
He didn’t answer.
I thought back to a conversation several weeks earlier. Rachel had insisted I couldn’t remember where I’d put my bank statements, even though I’d told her they were in the filing cabinet. Marcus had later suggested I let him manage my bills.
At the time, I had assumed they were just being overbearing.
Now I wondered whether they had been building a case that I couldn’t handle my own affairs.
“You took my old paperwork, copied my signature, and told your sister I was losing my memory,” I said quietly.
Marcus got to his feet again.
“You’re making things up.”
“Then explain why my signature is on that document.”
He reached for the papers.
I covered them with my hand.
“Don’t.”
Rachel looked from one of us to the other.
“Marcus, you said she was going to sign willingly.”
“She was supposed to.”
“You told me Samuel had already approved everything.”
I looked at my daughter.
“He hasn’t.”
Marcus slammed his palm on the table.
“Enough. We’re done talking.”
He reached for my phone, which was lying beside the coffee maker.
I slipped it into my cardigan pocket.
“Leave it alone.”
“You’re coming to the bank with us.”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“Mom, don’t make me ask again.”
I backed toward the pantry.
From outside came the sound of a car door shutting.
Marcus froze.
Then a second door closed.
Rachel went to the window and lifted the curtain.
Her face changed.
“Marcus,” she whispered, “there are police cars in the driveway.”
He spun toward me.
“What did you do?”
I kept one hand pressed against my aching side.
“I made sure somebody would know what happened in this kitchen.”
