Miles stared straight ahead, jaw tight. “This is what she does. She builds a story. She sets pieces in place.”
I thought of my mom’s ripped note: Don’t trust—
My stomach rolled. “She was warning me,” I said. “She was warning me and I was busy. I was… living.”
Miles reached over and squeezed my hand. His palm was warm, steady. “We’re not going to let Kara write the ending.”
At home, my inbox had three more notifications—document requests, signature reminders, a final notice that made my skin crawl.
Miles opened them on his laptop, not letting me touch the mouse like I might contaminate the evidence.
The documents were dated for the week my parents collapsed. The IP addresses—whatever that meant—weren’t from my apartment. The phone number attached to the account wasn’t mine.
But the signature field showed a scrawl that looked disturbingly close to my handwriting. Close enough to fool someone who wanted to be fooled.
I pressed my fingers to my temple. My head felt full of cotton. “How did she even—”
Miles’ eyes flicked up. “She’s watched you sign things your entire life. Birthday cards. Holiday checks. She’s had access to your mail. Your old school forms. She could’ve practiced.”
Practice. Like forging my identity was a hobby.
Hollis called us in again that evening. The office smelled like burnt coffee and stale air, like nobody had slept there in weeks.
He studied the digital forms and nodded slowly. “This is good for us,” he said.
“Good?” I snapped, surprise turning to anger. “How is this good?”
“Because it proves premeditation,” Hollis said, calm. “Kara and Owen weren’t improvising. They were building legal cover. They were preparing to move assets fast. And they were preparing a scapegoat.”
My throat tightened. “Me.”
Hollis held my gaze. “Yes. But they did it sloppily. The metadata points away from you. We can show it wasn’t you.”
I wanted to believe him. I wanted the world to be the kind of place where truth automatically won.
But I’d just learned how easy it was to remove two batteries and almost erase two lives.
Back at my parents’ apartment, my mom sat at the small kitchen table with a pen in her hand. She wasn’t writing. She was just holding it, staring at the blank page like she was trying to force reality to make sense.
“I keep thinking,” she said softly, “if I could just talk to her… maybe she’d tell me why.”
My dad’s face tightened. “We know why.”
My mom’s eyes flashed. “No,” she whispered. “I know what you’re saying. Money. The house. But why did she become… that.”
I sat down across from her, the chair legs scraping lightly. “Mom—”
She lifted her hand, stopping me. Her fingers trembled. “She’s still my daughter.”
The sentence landed heavy.
My dad’s voice was low, rough. “So is Jamie.”
My mom flinched, tears slipping out anyway. “I’m not choosing,” she said, voice breaking. “I’m just… I need to see her face and hear her say it.”
My stomach twisted. “You want to visit her?”
My mom’s gaze lifted to mine. “Just once. I need… closure.”
I imagined Kara behind a glass partition, her eyes calculating, her voice soft and poisonous. I imagined her turning my mother’s love into a weapon.
Miles’ hand found mine under the table.
My dad stared at my mom for a long, silent moment. Then he looked at me, his eyes tired and fierce.
“We don’t owe her closure,” he said. “But your mother is bleeding inside. And she’ll bleed until she knows.”
My throat tightened. “Mom, if you go—”
“I won’t go alone,” she said quickly, almost pleading. “Jamie, please. Come with me. Just… come with me.”
The room felt suddenly too small. The air smelled like tea and fear.
I looked at Miles. His face was calm, but his eyes were asking the same question my stomach was screaming.
Could my mother survive one conversation with the person who tried to kill her?
Part 11
The prison visitation room was colder than I expected.
Not just temperature-cold. Soul-cold.
The air smelled like bleach and old metal. The walls were the color of damp concrete. Plastic chairs were bolted to the floor in neat rows, like someone had tried to organize human pain into a grid.
My mom wore her nicest cardigan, the soft blue one she used to save for church. It made me want to cry, because she looked like she was going to meet a daughter for lunch instead of facing a monster in a jumpsuit.
My dad came too, even though he swore he wouldn’t. He didn’t speak much on the drive. His jaw worked like he was grinding something invisible between his teeth.
Miles wasn’t allowed in, so he waited outside, pacing in the parking lot with his phone in his hand like a lifeline.
When Kara walked in, I almost didn’t recognize her.
No makeup. Hair pulled back. Her face looked sharper, more hollow, but her eyes were the same—bright, alert, always searching for leverage.
She sat behind the glass and picked up the phone.
My mom’s hands shook as she lifted her receiver.
For a second, nobody spoke. Just breathing. Static. The faint murmur of other families in the room, voices bouncing off hard surfaces.
Then Kara’s mouth curved into something that might’ve been a smile.
“Hi, Mom,” she said softly. “You came.”
My mom’s voice cracked immediately. “Kara… why.”
Kara blinked slowly, like she’d practiced this expression in a mirror. “I didn’t think you’d believe anyone else,” she said. “I thought if I told you, you’d understand.”
My dad’s face tightened. He lifted his phone and said, voice low and flat, “Try.”
Kara’s gaze flicked to him, irritation flashing. “I’m not here to fight with you.”
My mom’s tears slid down silently. “We almost died,” she whispered.
Kara’s expression softened, but it felt performed. “I know,” she said. “And I hate that it happened like that.”
Like that.
Like it was a messy breakup. Like it was a plan that went slightly off schedule.
I leaned forward, gripping the phone so hard my knuckles hurt. “Don’t,” I said quietly. “Don’t talk like you slipped and spilled something. You built it. You timed it. You tried to sell the house while they were unconscious.”
Kara’s eyes snapped to mine, heat flaring. “You always make it about you.”
My mom gasped softly. My dad went still, like the last thread of denial had finally snapped.
Kara exhaled, forcing calm. “Fine. You want the truth? The truth is I was tired.”
