Chapter 12 - Rebecca Asked Priscilla the Hardest Question“I did believe it.”
Rebecca said the words that night.
Priscilla sat across from her at the kitchen table.
Ethan was asleep upstairs.
No lawyers.
No police.
No documents between them.
Just sisters.
Priscilla looked down.
“I know.”
“For maybe five minutes.”
“You walked in and saw what you saw.”
“That’s not the whole reason.”
Priscilla looked up.
Rebecca forced herself to continue.
“I believed it because there was already a part of me that thought you could relapse.”
Silence.
The honesty hurt.
Priscilla’s face tightened.
“I’ve been sober seven years.”
“I know.”
“You’ve watched me.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
Rebecca’s eyes filled.
“Because I was still scared.”
Priscilla looked away.
Their family rarely apologized without explaining.
Rebecca tried not to repeat that.
“I’m sorry.”
Priscilla said nothing.
Rebecca continued.
“Your past was real.”
“Yes.”
“But I let it stay permanently available as an explanation for anything strange.”
Priscilla stared at the table.
“That’s what Miles did.”
“I know.”
Rebecca swallowed.
“And I’m sorry.”
Priscilla finally looked at her.
“I hid things from you.”
“That doesn’t make the rest okay.”
“No.”
“But it made you easier to doubt.”
“Yes.”
They sat with it.
Then Rebecca asked:
“Why did you really go to Miles six months after Dad died?”
Priscilla had said panic.
Rebecca sensed more.
Priscilla inhaled.
“Because I needed money.”
Rebecca’s stomach tightened.
“How much?”
“Thirty thousand.”
“For what?”
“Not drugs.”
“I didn’t ask that.”
“I know.”
Priscilla rubbed her hands.
“I invested in a restaurant with a friend.”
Rebecca almost laughed.
“Of course you did.”
“It failed.”
“Of course it did.”
Priscilla glared.
“Helpful.”
“Sorry.”
Priscilla continued.
She owed rent.
Taxes.
A personal loan.
She knew Harold’s estate distribution remained partially pending.
She asked Miles whether an advance was possible.
He agreed.
Too quickly.
“He gave you thirty thousand?”
“Twenty-five.”
“What did you sign?”
Priscilla’s face told her.
Rebecca closed her eyes.
“What?”
“A release.”
“For what?”
“General fiduciary claims.”
Rebecca stared.
“You signed away claims against Miles’s administration?”
“I didn’t understand it that way.”
“Did you have a lawyer?”
“No.”
“Priscilla.”
“I know!”
Her voice cracked.
“He said it was standard.”
Rebecca shook her head.
Miles collected signatures when people needed something.
Priscilla’s family consent.
The later release.
Each document legitimate-looking.
Each obtained in a context that hid its real value.
“Did the release mention Ethan?”
“No.”
“Dad’s trust?”
“Broadly.”
Bethany would need to review it.
It might not be enforceable for fraud not disclosed.
Still, it explained why Priscilla was ashamed.
“You thought if you challenged him, he’d say you took money in exchange for silence.”
“Yes.”
“Did he say that?”
“Not directly.”
“What did he say?”
Priscilla remembered.
You took an estate advance after raising concerns. Be careful how that looks.
Rebecca felt disgust.
Miles never needed dramatic threats.
He let people imagine consequences.
Then Priscilla whispered:
“I hated you too.”
Rebecca looked up.
“What?”
“When Dad died.”
“Why?”
“You were executor beneficiary.”
“I wasn’t executor. Miles was.”
“You got the house proceeds first.”
“Because I paid the taxes.”
“I know.”
“No, apparently you didn’t.”
Priscilla smiled sadly.
“I thought Dad trusted you more.”
Rebecca stared.
The same family wound appeared everywhere.
Preference.
Inheritance.
Who was trusted.
Who was chosen.
Miles used Priscilla’s insecurity.
Not created it.
Used it.
“I thought you would look at me and see the addict who needed money.”
Rebecca’s eyes filled.
“Sometimes I did.”
Priscilla nodded.
“That’s why I went to Miles instead.”
There was no clean innocence here.
That mattered.
Miles manipulated.
But their distance gave him room.
Rebecca reached across the table.
Priscilla hesitated.
Then took her hand.
“Are we okay?”
“No.”
Priscilla laughed through tears.
“Great.”
Rebecca smiled.
“We’re honest.”
“Worse.”
“Probably.”
They laughed softly.
Then footsteps sounded upstairs.
Ethan appeared wearing dinosaur pajamas.
“What are you doing awake?”
“I heard talking.”
“Go back to bed.”
He stared at them holding hands.
“Are you fighting?”
“No.”
Priscilla said:
“Sort of.”
Rebecca glared.
Ethan smiled.
Then he walked closer.
“Aunt Priscilla?”
“Yes?”
“Did the police find out who put the pills in your bag?”
The sisters looked at each other.
Not yet.
Gavin Shore denied placing anything in the bag.
Denise claimed she did not know what was in the coffee.
Bank footage did not show the exact moment the pills entered.
Rebecca said:
“They’re still figuring it out.”
Ethan frowned.
“Were they supposed to make me sick?”
“We don’t think so.”
“What were they for?”
Rebecca didn’t know.
Then Ethan said something that changed the direction again.
“The pills looked like the ones Grandpa had.”
Rebecca froze.
“What?”
“Grandpa’s white pills.”
“How would you remember that?”
“He let me help with the pill organizer once.”
Rebecca stared at Priscilla.
Harold’s medications had been managed by Marjorie.
Could the pills have come from Harold’s old supply?
Police had tested them but not yet told Rebecca the exact identification.
She called Detective Morgan.
He checked.
“They’re a common prescription sedative.”
“Was my father prescribed it?”
“We can check.”
Within an hour, the answer came.
Harold had been prescribed the same medication during hospice.
But the pills found in Priscilla’s bag were from a manufacturer batch distributed nearly a year after Harold died.
Not his.
Ethan’s memory had caught appearance, not source.
Still, one fact mattered.
They were pills associated with confusion and sedation.
Perfect for making Priscilla look as though she had relapsed.
Not poison for Ethan.
Evidence for Rebecca.
Then Detective Morgan added:
“We found a partial print on the plastic packet they came from.”
Rebecca stood.
“Whose?”
“Not Gavin Shore.”
Her pulse quickened.
“Then who?”
“We have a preliminary match.”
“Detective.”
He sighed.
“Denise Rowe.”
Rebecca closed her eyes.
Denise had carried the pills.
May you like
The question was whether she intended to frame Priscilla—
or whether Miles had forced her to.
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