Chapter 2 - The Copy
David did not let Vivian take the recorder.
He also did not let Lily keep it that night.
That nearly caused another fight.
“It’s Mom’s.”
“I know.”
“Then give it back.”
“I need to protect it.”
“From who?”
Lily’s eyes went toward Vivian’s closed bedroom door.
David followed her gaze.
He had asked Vivian to sleep in the guest suite.
She had refused to leave the house.
Her attorney had advised her not to discuss the recording.
Now the mansion felt divided by invisible walls.
David lowered his voice.
“I’m putting it in the study safe.”
“What if she knows the code?”
“She doesn’t.”
“You thought you knew a lot of things.”
That hurt.
David let it.
“You’re right.”
Lily looked surprised.
Since Anna’s death, David had often defended himself before listening.
Tonight he seemed too tired.
“I need to make a copy,” he said.
“I already did.”
He stared at her.
“When?”
“When you were arguing downstairs.”
Lily held up her phone.
The recorder had a small data port.
Anna had once taught her how to transfer audio files for a school project.
There were eighteen recordings.
Not one.
David sat down on the edge of Lily’s bed.
“Eighteen?”
“Yes.”
“Did you listen to them?”
“Only the first.”
He looked at the torn teddy bear.
“Your mother put that recorder inside herself.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t.”
He corrected himself immediately.
“I think she probably did.”
Lily noticed.
It was a small thing.
He had stopped turning a guess into a fact.
“Can we listen?”
David hesitated.
Lily’s expression hardened.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t decide I’m too young after she hid it in my bear.”
David had no good answer.
So they listened together.
The files were numbered automatically.
The first six contained almost nothing important.
Anna dictating notes about work.
Reminders.
A grocery list.
A recording of Lily practicing piano downstairs.
Then file seven.
Anna’s voice.
“If I’m right about Meridian, Vivian has been moving money for at least a year.”
David paused the recording.
Lily looked at him.
“What is Meridian?”
“Meridian Heritage Consulting.”
“What do they do?”
“I thought they advised your mother’s company.”
Anna had owned a successful interior-design and restoration studio called Anna Bennett Design.
Historic hotels.
Private residences.
Museums.
She remained majority owner until her death.
Lily had inherited her shares through a trust.
Vivian had worked as Anna’s operations manager.
Then, after Anna became ill, she had begun handling more of the company’s finances.
Lily whispered, “Vivian worked for Mom.”
“Yes.”
“And then married you.”
David looked away.
Eleven months after Anna died.
Lily had hated how quickly it happened.
David had told her there was no correct timeline for grief.
Maybe there wasn’t.
But now every month felt suspicious.
They played file eight.
Anna sounded stronger.
“I asked Vivian for the Meridian contracts. She gave me summaries instead.”
File nine.
“I checked the vendor address. It’s a mailbox.”
David leaned forward.
File ten.
Anna speaking to someone else.
A woman.
“We can’t accuse her without the bank records.”
The woman answered, “Then let me audit them.”
Lily paused it.
“Who is that?”
David knew.
“Mina Chen.”
“Mom’s accountant?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to her?”
David’s face tightened.
“Vivian fired her.”
Lily stared.
“When?”
“After Anna died.”
“Why?”
“Vivian said Mina had mishandled company taxes.”
“And you believed her?”
David did not answer quickly enough.
Lily looked away.
The old anger returned.
“Of course.”
“Lily.”
“No. You always believed Vivian.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
He almost defended himself.
Then stopped.
“I believed her too easily.”
Lily said nothing.
That was closer.
They continued.
File eleven contained Anna crying.
Not because she was sick.
Because she was frightened.
“Vivian knows I asked Mina to audit Meridian. She told David I’ve been forgetting things.”
Then, bitterly:
“I have forgotten things. That doesn’t mean I imagined bank transfers.”
David covered his mouth.
Anna’s illness had caused fatigue and occasional brain fog.
Vivian had constantly told him it was worse.
She told him Anna left the stove on.
Forgot appointments.
Misplaced documents.
Anna denied some incidents.
David had assumed the truth was somewhere in between.
Now he wondered who had been moving the documents.
Lily pressed file twelve.
Anna whispered:
“She moved my pills again.”
David stood abruptly.
“What?”
Lily looked up.
“She moved my pills again,” Anna repeated from the speaker. “I labeled everything this morning. Tonight they were different.”
David took the phone.
Anna continued.
“I’m taking photographs from now on.”
The file ended.
“Where are the photographs?” Lily asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Her phone?”
“It was damaged.”
Anna had collapsed in the downstairs bathroom.
When paramedics arrived, her phone had been found in water beside the sink.
The device never powered on again.
David had accepted that as an accident.
Now Lily asked:
“Who found her?”
David looked at her.
The answer came slowly.
“Vivian.”
Neither spoke.
Lily selected file thirteen.
Anna’s voice came first.
Then Vivian’s.
“You’re making yourself sick with this obsession.”
Anna answered:
“No. I’m making you nervous.”
A pause.
Then Vivian said something that changed David’s expression completely.
“If you accuse me, David will think this is the illness talking.”
Anna replied:
“I know.”
Vivian laughed softly.
“That’s why you’ve already lost.”
Lily stopped the recording.
David stared at the floor.
For months after Anna’s death, he had believed Vivian was the person who understood how difficult that final year had been.
Maybe Vivian had understood it better than anyone.
Because she had been shaping it.
Lily looked at him.
“Dad.”
He raised his eyes.
“There are five more.”
Before they could play the next file, glass shattered downstairs.
They both stood.
Then came the unmistakable sound of the front door slamming.
David ran into the hallway.
Vivian was gone.
May you like
And so was Anna’s old company laptop from the downstairs office.
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