Chapter 5 - The Skeletons in the Closet
Marcus’s PI, Ray, was a retired Miami-Dade homicide detective with a white beard and a scar across his left cheek. He showed up at my penthouse two days later with a duffel bag full of files, a six-pack of beer, and a scowl that said he’d seen every terrible thing humans could do to each other.
“Your hunch was right,” he said, dumping the files on my coffee table. “Richard Voss was your parents’ financial advisor from 2014 to 2016, when their plane went down. He changed his name three times between then and now—Richard Voss, Rick Vale, Richard Vincent. Evelyn Hale was your mom’s college roommate. She was the maid of honor at their wedding.”
I froze. I’d known Evelyn was a friend of my mom’s, but I’d never known she was maid of honor. My mom had never talked about her much, just said they’d “drifted apart” after college.
“Your parents had a $2.7M life insurance policy,” Ray said, pulling out a faded policy document. “Beneficiary was you, but Voss forged a change of beneficiary form six weeks before the crash, made it out to a shell company he owned. He got the money two weeks after they were buried. Your mom’s will also left you the apartment, the car, all their jewelry—Voss stole $400k in jewelry from their safe the day after the funeral. Evelyn let him in. She had a key.”
I felt sick. I remembered the day of the funeral, Evelyn showing up with a casserole, crying, saying she’d “take care of everything.” I’d been so broken, so lost, I’d let her. I’d given her a key to the apartment “to water the plants.” She’d used it to let a thief steal my parents’ last things.
“Plane crash report,” Ray said, sliding a thick folder across the table. “NTSB said it was engine failure, but I talked to the mechanic who inspected the plane three months before. He said the engine was in perfect shape. Voss paid him $50k to change his story. The mechanic is dying of cancer now, he’s willing to testify. He said he’s carried it around for 10 years, he wants to make it right before he dies.”
He pulled out more photos: my parents’ small Cessna, the wreckage in the Everglades, the engine with a loose fuel line that had been “tampered with, intentionally” per a new forensics report Ray had commissioned.
“Then the 2018 accident,” Ray said. “We found the truck driver. He’s a homeless guy Voss paid $10k to run Spencer off the road. He’s in a shelter in Fort Lauderdale, he’s willing to talk. Said Voss told him ‘just scare him, don’t kill him’ but the truck hit harder than he meant to. Evelyn paid him an extra $5k after to disappear.”
I sat back, staring at all the files, all the proof, all the pain these two people had caused me. My parents’ death, my lost baby, 10 years of a loveless marriage, all so Evelyn could have money and status she never earned, so Voss could scam his way through life.
“Why didn’t they just kill me?” I said, more to myself than anyone else. “If they wanted the money that bad, why not just get rid of me?”
“Because you were the golden goose,” Marcus said, leaning forward. “As long as you were alive, working, making money, they could leech off you. Kill you, and Apex goes to your next of kin—you have no kids, no siblings, it would go to distant cousins in Ohio. They’d get nothing. Keep you alive, miserable, working your ass off, and they get to live like kings on your dime. The wedding was just the final play—they thought once Spencer was married to Penelope, they could get you to sign over the company in the divorce, then leave you with nothing.”
That night, I called a board meeting of Apex Holdings. I told the directors everything— the fraud, the murders, the embezzlement. They were shocked, but supportive. “We’ve always known you were the heart of this company,” the lead director said. “Whatever you need to take these people down, we’re behind you 100%.”
The next day, Spencer showed up at my penthouse, banging on the door, screaming my name. The security team was about to escort him away, but I told them to let him in. He was a mess—unshaven, wearing a dirty t-shirt and jeans, his eyes red from crying or drinking, probably both.
“I know,” he said, the second the door closed. “I know about the accident. I know about my mom and Voss. Penelope told me. I saw the texts. I’m so sorry, Laura. I’m so, so sorry. I was an idiot, I was weak, I let them manipulate me. I’ll do anything to make it right. I’ll testify against them, I’ll give you back every penny I stole, just… please don’t send me to prison too. I can’t go to prison.”
He fell to his knees, grabbing my legs, sobbing. I looked down at him, the man I’d once loved more than anything, the man I’d sold my parents’ apartment for, the man I’d lost a baby for. And I felt nothing. No anger, no sadness, no pity. Just empty.
“Get up,” I said, my voice cold. “You have two choices. You testify against Evelyn and Voss, you give back every dollar, you sign over every asset you have, and I’ll recommend to the DA that you get 5 years probation, no prison. Or you stay quiet, you protect them, and I make sure you spend the next 20 years in a cell next to your mother. Your call.”
He looked up at me, his face streaked with tears, and nodded. “I’ll testify. Whatever you want.”
“Good,” I said, stepping away from him. “Marcus will be in touch with the details. And Spencer? If you lie, if you hide anything, I will burn your entire life to the ground. Don’t test me.”
May you like
He left, and I locked the door behind him. I poured myself a glass of wine, walked out onto the balcony, and watched the sun set over the bay. For the first time since I was 22, I had all the answers. All the proof. All the power.
And I was going to use every last bit of it to make sure no one ever hurt me or anyone I loved again.
