Chapter 12 - Melanie’s VersionMelanie requested an interview with Detective Bell.
Her attorney attended.
Grant did not.
But afterward, Bell told him enough.
Melanie admitted the affair.
Not the fraud.
She admitted purchasing the condominium.
Not with stolen money, she claimed.
Spencer had told her it was an investment distribution.
She admitted knowing about Friday’s restructuring.
She insisted Spencer told her it would protect Grant from business risk.
She admitted pressuring Grant to attend.
But denied understanding the documents.
Then came Ayla.
Melanie insisted the freezer incident was “a catastrophic lapse in judgment.”
Not planned abuse.
Not attempted harm.
Ayla had been “out of control.”
Melanie had “panicked.”
Kiara nearly threw the phone across the room when she heard.
“Ayla was begging.”
Grant sat silently.
Kiara continued.
“She threatened to leave her there for good.”
“I know.”
“She dragged her.”
“I know.”
“You cannot let people turn this into a misunderstanding.”
“I won’t.”
Grant’s calm surprised her.
He had changed in four days.
Not healed.
Changed.
He was no longer rushing to control appearances.
He was listening.
Documenting.
Waiting.
Ayla’s therapist recommended that Ayla not be exposed to legal conversations constantly.
So Grant created boundaries.
Breakfast was breakfast.
Homework was homework.
The investigation stayed in the library.
It was imperfect.
But Ayla noticed.
One evening she walked into the kitchen.
Grant was making grilled cheese.
Badly.
“Kiara usually does that.”
“I’m learning.”
“You burned it.”
“I’m learning slowly.”
Ayla laughed.
The sound stopped him.
It was the first time he had heard her laugh since the freezer.
He nearly cried.
Instead he flipped the sandwich.
It landed partly outside the pan.
Ayla laughed harder.
Then her face suddenly changed.
Grant turned.
“What?”
She stared at the stainless-steel refrigerator.
The hum.
A mechanical sound.
Similar to the freezer.
Her breathing quickened.
Grant immediately turned the appliance off at the wall.
The kitchen became quiet.
Ayla looked embarrassed.
“Sorry.”
“No.”
Grant crouched nearby but did not touch her.
“Nothing to apologize for.”
“I know it’s just the fridge.”
“Your body doesn’t know that yet.”
Her therapist had taught him that sentence.
Ayla nodded slowly.
Later, Kiara found Grant sitting alone in the dark kitchen.
“You okay?”
“No.”
She sat across from him.
Grant said, “I used to think providing everything was the same as being there.”
Kiara waited.
“I gave her the best school. The house. Trips. Tutors.”
“She wanted you.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He looked at her.
Kiara did not apologize.
“She told you she was afraid.”
“I know.”
“And you explained it away.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t make your guilt another thing she has to carry.”
Grant absorbed that.
“What do I do?”
“Believe her the first time.”
Simple.
Difficult.
Necessary.
The next morning, Rachel arrived with new evidence.
Melanie had not merely benefited from North Channel.
She had sent emails discussing the restructuring.
One recovered draft read:
If Grant hesitates, I’ll remind him Serena designed the trust because she never trusted him. That always gets under his skin.
Grant stared at the sentence.
Melanie knew exactly where his wounds were.
Another:
He signs when he feels he has something to prove.
Kiara whispered, “She studied you.”
Grant nodded.
“She married me.”
Then Rachel opened an encrypted chat recovered from a company backup.
Spencer:
Once G signs, we move Phase Two.
Melanie:
And the girl?
Spencer:
Trust company issue later. Keep her quiet until then.
Grant stopped breathing.
Rachel looked at him.
Melanie replied:
She snoops.
Spencer:
Then scare her.
Grant’s chair scraped backward.
Kiara stood too.
Grant looked physically ill.
“Scare her.”
Rachel’s voice was quiet.
“It was sent three weeks ago.”
Before the freezer.
Melanie had not invented the punishment in one moment of anger.
The idea of frightening Ayla into silence had existed beforehand.
Whether Spencer intended physical abuse or not, he knew Ayla had become a problem.
Grant looked at Kiara.
“She wasn’t just cruel.”
“No.”
“She was protecting the scheme.”
Kiara nodded.
Grant’s phone rang.
Bell.
“We found the music box.”
Grant stood.
“Where?”
“In Spencer’s office storage unit.”
“Contents?”
“Empty.”
Grant shut his eyes.
Then Bell continued.
“But the velvet lining had something written underneath.”
“What?”
“An account number.”
Grant opened his eyes.
Bell read it aloud.
Rachel typed.
The number belonged not to a bank account.
It belonged to a safe-deposit box.
In Serena Mercer’s name.
May you like
The branch still existed.
And no one had opened the box since three weeks before Serena died.
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