Chapter 9 - The Forged Witness
I called Rachel before Allison finished speaking.
Rachel answered from a grocery-store parking lot, and I heard the metallic click of her car door shutting.
"I didn't sign anything," she said immediately.
My throat loosened enough for a breath.
"Are you sure?"
"Sarah, look at me on video. I didn't sign it."
I turned on the camera.
Her face filled the screen, angry and frightened.
She had always been the bolder sister.
When we were children, she confronted bullies while I worked to prevent anyone becoming upset.
But now I saw real fear in her eyes.
"Michael asked me for a statement," she reminded me. "I refused. He left a blank form in my office."
"Did you keep it?"
"I threw it away."
Allison asked Rachel to describe the meeting in a signed account and to preserve any reception footage or email confirming the date.
Rachel agreed.
Then she told me Michael had called her again that morning.
He'd said a sister who loved me would support reconciliation, not legal action.
When she refused, he said she should worry about her own house.
I felt cold all over.
"Did he threaten you?"
"He tried. I'm documenting it."
By the afternoon, Collins had learned Daniel's affidavit was accompanied by a scanned statement bearing Rachel's name, but the origin of the scan was still in dispute.
No one declared it forged merely because we said so.
We gathered dates, messages, and whatever independent records might establish what happened.
For a moment I resented the patience that truth demanded.
Michael could invent a lie in seconds.
Undoing it required other people, careful procedures, and time Emily didn't have to spare.
I walked back to her room and discovered an unfamiliar woman standing outside the door.
She wore a camel coat and held a bouquet of pale yellow roses.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
The woman smiled politely.
"I'm from the company. We wanted to wish Emily a speedy recovery."
"What's your name?"
"Caroline."
She didn't offer a last name.
I asked who sent her.
"Mr. Price."
I felt the hallway narrow.
"Please leave the flowers at reception," I said.
Her smile thinned.
"He thought your daughter might appreciate knowing people care about her."
"She knows."
The woman glanced toward the room.
"Tell her not to make this harder than it needs to be."
Then she walked away.
I informed the nurse, security, and Detective Collins.
The bouquet never reached Emily's room.
Later, while checking the belongings bag, I found something folded beneath the hospital discharge-information packet prepared for a future date.
It was a printed photograph of our house.
Someone had drawn a small red circle around Rachel's car parked outside.
On the back, in block letters, were four words.
May you like
SHE HAS MORE TO LOSE.
