It was.
Just not the kind he thought.
Detectives obtained security footage from neighborhood cameras.
Karen had been approaching Daniel’s curb for months.
Not only on trash day.
Early mornings.
Late evenings.
Sometimes standing near the mailbox.
Once photographing the house numbers.
Another time looking into the open garage while Daniel was inside.
Then HOA records produced something strange.
Karen filed eleven complaints about Daniel in eight months.
Trash placement.
Fence stain.
Driveway cracks.
Mailbox height.
Lawn edging.
Exterior lighting.
Every complaint forced some level of documentation.
Photographs.
Property records.
HOA correspondence.
Owner contact information.
One included a request for Daniel’s closing documents.
The HOA denied it.
Karen tried again through a “community compliance verification” request.
Denied.
Daniel stared at the copies.
“She was trying to get property information.”
Detective Brooks nodded.
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“That’s what we’re working on.”
Then they found the link.
Margaret’s old house had been sold after her death.
Proceeds were divided between Daniel and Rebecca.
Daniel used part of his share as the down payment on his current home.
Karen knew.
How?
A Family Bridge spreadsheet recovered from old cloud storage listed Margaret Hayes.
Property owner.
Estimated home equity.
Next of kin:
Daniel Hayes.
Address updated two years after death.
Daniel’s current address.
The spreadsheet had been accessed eleven times from an account associated with Karen.
Most recently:
Three weeks before the mailbox fire.
Daniel read the date.
“Why?”
Brooks looked at him.
“Maybe because she knew something was about to surface.”
“The hospital letter.”
“Possibly.”
“How?”
“We found an email.”
She handed him a printout.
Hospital legal to former Family Bridge contact list.
Notification that archived records involving external patient-support organizations were under review.
Sent six weeks earlier.
Karen received it.
Daniel felt his hands shake.
“She knew.”
“She knew records were being reopened.”
“And then watched my mailbox.”
Brooks nodded.
Daniel remembered Karen’s words.
“She needs to learn a lesson.”
Not the HOA.
Not Daniel.
Maybe Margaret.
Or someone connected to her.
He suddenly remembered another thing.
Karen had once told him:
“Your mother should have taught you to respect rules.”
He assumed it was a generic insult.
Now he wasn't so sure.
CHAPTER 10: REBECCA REMEMBERS
Rebecca came to Daniel’s house that weekend.
She carried an old plastic storage tote.
“Mom's paperwork.”
They spread everything across the dining table.
Insurance.
Bills.
Tax returns.
Medical forms.
Then Rebecca found a yellow envelope.
Inside:
Family Bridge Relief.
APPLICATION FOR TEMPORARY MEDICAL SUPPORT.
Margaret had started filling it out.
Name.
Address.
Income.
Property ownership.
Then stopped.
Across the top she had written:
NO. DANIEL SAYS DO NOT SIGN.
Rebecca covered her mouth.
A second sheet contained handwritten notes.
Purple glasses woman pushy.
Says form “just verifies assets.”
Asked about deed.
Daniel stared.
His mother had known.
Not everything.
Enough.
Then beneath the form they found a business card.