“Because he was planning to flee the country once you died. We found emails between him and Rachel discussing moving to Costa Rica or Panama with fake identities. They wanted to disappear with your inheritance before the debts caught up with them.”
“My God,” I whispered. “How far did his plan go?”
“Very far, Ms. Helen. We found fake passports already processed, plane tickets purchased for two weeks after your expected date of death. Even a property already rented in San José, Costa Rica.”
I sat down heavily in the armchair. My son didn’t just want my money. He wanted to wipe himself off the map with it.
Let his own children grow up fatherless while he lived a life of luxury with stolen money.
“We can recover that money,” Sarah said. “We’ve already initiated the legal process. With the criminal charges, the government can freeze those accounts. It will take time, but yes—eventually we will recover it.”
“I want every penny of that to go toward an educational fund for my grandchildren,” I said. “They are the innocent victims in all of this.”
“That’s a beautiful idea,” Sarah replied. “We’ll do it.”
That same afternoon, another unexpected visitor arrived—Deborah, Rachel’s mother, a woman in her mid-sixties who had always been distant from me.
“Ms. Helen, I know I have no right to be here,” she began in a trembling voice, “but I needed to talk to you.”
“Come in, Deborah,” I said. “Sit down.”
She sat on the edge of the sofa, nervous, wringing a handkerchief in her hands.
“I came to ask for your forgiveness—for my daughter—for not having seen what was happening, for not having stopped her.”
“You didn’t know,” I told her.
“I should have known,” Deborah said. “The last few months, Rachel was different. She was spending money like crazy—buying expensive things, bragging about the coming inheritance. I thought Mark had gotten a good job. I never imagined they were stealing from you.”
“Did you know anything about the plan with Frank?” I asked.
Deborah turned pale.
“The plan to kill you? God, no. I found out when they were arrested. I almost had a heart attack. My own daughter planning a murder.”
“I’ve gone to see her in jail once,” she continued. “I couldn’t bear it. She lied straight to my face. She said it was all Mark’s fault, that she was a victim. But I heard the recordings that came out in the news. I heard her laughing about your death. That’s not the daughter I raised.”
“People change when money is involved,” I said.
“My grandchildren ask me where their mom is,” Deborah whispered. “I don’t know what to tell them. How do you explain to a six-year-old that his mother is in jail for trying to kill his grandmother?”
My heart ached. The children were always the ones who suffered the most in these situations.
“Where are they now?” I asked.
“With me,” Deborah said. “Social services gave me temporary custody. But Ms. Helen, I don’t have the resources. I live on my pension. I can barely give them the basics.”
“Deborah,” I said, “listen to me closely. Those children are my grandchildren. They will not pay for their parents’ sins. I am going to establish a trust for their education, health, and basic needs. They will have everything they require.”
Deborah began to weep.
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