Chapter 4: What Karen Was Really After
My dad called back that evening.
I was still at work, eating lunch at my desk, when his name appeared on my screen.
I stepped into the hallway.
"I asked her," he said.
His voice was different.
Flatter.
"What did she say?"
"She said she manages the family communication because I'm not good with technology.
She said she sometimes types things on my behalf when I'm not available."
"On your behalf," I repeated.
"Did you ask her to send that specific message about me?"
Silence.
"She said it needed to be said.
That someone had to make clear that the family was united."
My back was against the hallway wall.
A colleague walked past and I turned slightly away.
"Dad.
She sent a message from your account, using your name, saying your son doesn't deserve to be part of the family.
Without asking you.
Without telling you."
He didn't answer immediately.
"She said you've been difficult," he said finally.
"That you've been causing problems for a long time."
"I've been paying for Mia to live rent-free for over a year.
I've been the one people call when they need something.
I bought that apartment myself.
I've never once asked you for anything."
"Thomas—"
"Has she asked you to change your will, Dad?"
The silence that followed was the longest yet.
"Why would you ask that?"
"Has she?"
Another pause.
"We've talked about updating it.
To reflect the current family."
"What does that mean?"
"She said it made sense for things to be more balanced.
Between you and Mia."
I closed my eyes for a second.
"Dad, I need you to call your bank.
Not with Karen present.
Alone.
And I need you to check whether anything has changed on your accounts in the last two years."
"You're scaring me."
"I know.
I'm sorry.
But please do it."
He agreed.
He sounded smaller than I had ever heard him.
After I hung up, I called Sandra again and told her everything.
"The will conversation is a flag," she said.
"It may be nothing.
It may be something.
But combined with the phone access and the message — there's a pattern worth watching."
"What do I do?"
"Right now?
Nothing visible.
Let your father make those calls.
If he finds anything unusual, he needs to speak to his own lawyer.
Not yours.
His.
Someone with no connection to you or Karen."
"He won't know where to start."
"I can give you a referral.
Someone I trust.
Your father can call them independently."
"Okay."
"Thomas." Sandra's voice was careful.
"How much does your father understand about what Karen has been doing?"
I thought about his voice on the phone.
The flatness.
The way he had repeated her words back to me like he was still deciding whether to believe them.
"Not enough," I said.
"But more than he did this morning."
That night, Mia texted me.
No greeting.
Just a message.
*Drop the legal stuff and we can sort this out like adults.
I'll return the furniture.
No need to make this bigger than it is.*
I read it twice.
Then I forwarded it to Sandra without replying.
She responded within the hour.
*Don't answer.
This is an attempt to get you to withdraw before your father starts asking questions.
The furniture offer is real — she's scared.
But accepting it now would cost you more than a couch.
Hold.*
I set the phone face-down on my kitchen counter.
Mia was scared.
That meant Karen was scared.
May you like
And scared people, in my experience, didn't get quieter.
They got louder.
