Chapter 10 - The Name Under the Christmas Star
Renee listened to Malcolm's question without anger.
"Where was my bracelet?" she repeated. "In Mom's jewelry box. I left it there after the funeral."
"Can we check?"
"Of course."
They opened the box together. The bracelet lay beneath Loretta's church brooch, wrapped in tissue paper. Its clasp was broken. Renee had forgotten it was damaged.
Dana photographed it and arranged to compare it with the footage. The visible jewelry in the recording could not be identified reliably from the available image. Malcolm apologized to Renee for the fear his question had caused.
"You asked instead of accusing," she said. "That's different."
The investigation continued. Julian's attorney denied his client ordered anyone to tamper with Simone's vehicle. Celeste's attorney said she had no knowledge of the financial transfers. The family did not pretend that a single dramatic confession would settle everything.
On the morning after Christmas, Malcolm returned to the mansion with Andre, Dana, and an independent property assessor. Isaiah stayed safely with Renee. Malcolm had no intention of asking the boy to revisit the stairs.
The mansion looked exactly as it had before the fall. The polished banister gleamed. The enormous tree stood in the foyer. The portrait of Celeste was gone, leaving a pale rectangle on the wall.
Malcolm told the assessor which rooms needed to be inventoried. He asked Andre to arrange for the household staff to receive outstanding wages and independent contact information for investigators.
Then he went upstairs to Isaiah's room.
The walls were bare. Celeste had removed Simone's pictures, school drawings, and the dinosaur stickers Isaiah used to love. Malcolm opened the closet and found expensive new clothes with their tags still attached. At the back hung the boy's old blue hoodie, its cuffs frayed from years of washing.
Malcolm picked it up and cried.
He had bought his son gifts instead of asking why the child wore the same old hoodie every day. Isaiah had worn it because Simone bought it for him.
In the drawer beneath the bed, Malcolm found a notebook. He opened it only after Dana reminded him to handle anything potentially relevant with care. The first page held a list in Isaiah's uneven handwriting.
THINGS I CAN SAY WHEN DADDY COMES HOME.
I MISS MAMA.
I DON'T LIKE EATING ALONE.
I DIDN'T BREAK THE VASE.
PLEASE DON'T SEND ODESSA AWAY.
The last line was written smaller.
PLEASE BELIEVE ME.
Malcolm closed the notebook and held it against his chest.
That afternoon he went back to Renee's house. Isaiah was sitting on the rug building a lopsided toy bridge. Malcolm sat beside him.
"I found your notebook," he said. "I'm sorry I read it without asking."
Isaiah looked worried.
"You're not in trouble," Malcolm added. "I wanted to tell you I heard every word."
The boy put down a wooden block. "Even about Odessa?"
"Especially about Odessa."
"Can she stay?"
"She can decide what she wants. She isn't anybody's property."
Odessa, listening from the kitchen, wiped her hands and came into the room.
"I already decided," she said. "I'll help this family if this family learns to help itself."
Renee laughed. "That's a yes with conditions."
"The only kind worth giving."
They spent the afternoon building the bridge. It collapsed three times. Nobody blamed Isaiah. On the fourth attempt, Malcolm let the boy decide where the supports belonged.
"There," Isaiah said proudly. "Now it won't fall."
"Looks strong to me."
The doorbell rang at dusk.
Dana stood on the porch holding a slim folder. Her face told Malcolm this was not another routine update.
"We found the second bracelet," she said.
"Where?"
"In the evidence inventory from Simone's car."
Malcolm frowned. "Simone didn't own one."
"No. But she had something else in her purse."
Dana handed him a photocopy of a small, folded document recovered from the original evidence archive. It was a signed agreement dated the day before the crash. Simone had arranged to transfer her share of Brooks Homes into an independent trust for Isaiah and the families the nonprofit served.
The document named a successor trustee if Simone died before the transfer was complete.
Malcolm read the name.
Odessa Price.
He looked up. "Odessa?"
From the kitchen doorway, Odessa closed her eyes.
"I hoped she'd tell you herself," she said.
"You knew?"
"I knew she wanted somebody who couldn't be bought. I didn't know she finished the papers."
Dana turned to the final page. "There's more. The trust was never activated. Someone filed a replacement document three days after Simone died."
"Who?"
Dana placed the forged replacement beside the original.
The signature belonged to Malcolm—or appeared to.
He stared at it. "I didn't sign that."
"I know," Dana said. "The question is who had access to your signature that week."
Isaiah came into the hallway holding the wooden bridge.
"Daddy? Is everything okay?"
Malcolm crouched. "We're figuring something out. You're safe."
Isaiah pointed at the original agreement. "That's Mama's star."
Malcolm looked down. Simone had drawn a tiny five-pointed star beside her signature, just as she used to mark the backs of Isaiah's Christmas presents.
The boy touched it with his good hand.
"She put stars on things she wanted me to find."
Odessa went very still.
"The Christmas star," she whispered.
Renee turned toward the tree. The crooked foil star had been in their family for decades, but Simone had repaired its cardboard backing shortly before she died.
Malcolm lifted Isaiah so he could point out the star without touching it. Dana carefully removed the decoration and photographed the back. A narrow seam had been resealed with blue tape.
Inside was a tiny memory card and a note in Simone's handwriting.
IF YOU FOUND THIS, THE PERSON WHO TOOK MY FILES IS STILL CLOSE TO YOU.
Below the words was a date, a time, and a name.
Malcolm read it once.
Then again.
The name was his own.
May you like
From the doorway, Isaiah asked, "Daddy, why did Mama write your name?"
Malcolm looked at the memory card in Dana's gloved hand. He had no answer. Outside, the last Christmas lights blinked against the dark, and somewhere in the city a person who had spent four years hiding the truth was about to learn that Simone had left one final recording.
