Chapter 5 - THE NIGHT MARGARET LEFT
Twenty-eight years earlier, Margaret left Thomas for six weeks.
That was the family version. The truth:
She moved in with my father. Alan Brooks.
I stared at Thomas. “You knew?” “Yes.” Then:
“Was my father having an affair with Margaret?” “Yes.”
My stomach turned.
I was four.
Derek was seven. Then:
“Did our families know each other?” Not publicly.
Margaret worked for Alan.
Thomas handled some accounting.
Then emotional entanglement became affair.
Margaret left Thomas.
Alan considered leaving my mother too.
But then my mother became seriously ill.
She had lupus complications.
Alan ended the affair.
Margaret returned to Thomas. Then resentment. Then money. Dad wrote:
“Margaret believes I chose my family over her. She is not wrong.” Then:
“I do not trust her around Abigail’s estate because she once said, ‘One day your daughter will get everything you refused to build with me.’”
I felt sick.
So Margaret’s interest in my trust was not merely greed.
It was old grievance.
Then Thomas confessed something worse.
He agreed to become my trustee partly because Alan asked him as a form of restitution. For what?
Thomas had discovered the affair and threatened to expose Alan’s tax irregularities unless Margaret came home. Blackmail.
Small but real.
Alan later paid Thomas consulting fees far above market.
Then Thomas felt indebted. Then afraid.
Everyone connected through secrets before I was old enough to spell my name. Then:
“Did Derek know about affair?” “No.” Margaret hid.
Then after Derek learned about trust, did she tell him why she knew? No.
Then Caroline found one letter from Margaret to Alan. Never sent.
“You chose Abigail’s mother because she was sick and made yourself a hero. One day Abigail will see you were not the man she worships.” There. Pain. Then:
“I will never take from your daughter.”
She wrote that at thirty-three.
Years later she did exactly that.
People become what they once swore against.
Then Detective Collins asked whether the old affair mattered criminally. Not directly.
But it explained motive and access.
Then she said:
“Do not let motive become excuse.” Good.
Then Derek’s case.
Nicole Harris, his affair partner, agreed to testify.
She had texts. Derek:
“If I divorce Abby now, lawyers see everything.” Then:
“I need her to sign.” Nicole: “Then wait.” Derek:
“I’m done waiting.”
Then after my fall:
“She fell. Maybe this fixes everything.”
That sentence was powerful.
Then prosecutors charged Derek with aggravated domestic assault, financial crimes, identity-related offenses, and attempted theft. They investigated attempted homicide but remained cautious.
Then one more physical fact.
The stairwell camera.
Our house security system stored no indoor video, I thought.
But one exterior camera reflected the upstairs landing through a glass panel. Poor angle. Still.
It showed my shadow turning. Derek approaching.
Then a sudden forward movement from him.
Then my body falling out of frame. No audio.
No clear contact point. But consistent.
Then Margaret’s text one minute later:
“Did she take the files?” Then Derek:
“No. She’s down.” Then: “Call ambulance?” Margaret: “Wait.”
My blood went cold.
How long did they wait? Phone timestamps: Six minutes.
Then Thomas called 911 himself. There.
He had finally acted.
Six minutes after I fell.
Could delay worsen my injuries?
Possibly pain and blood loss, but not likely life-threatening based records. Still.
Then Thomas said:
“I heard Derek say she wasn’t moving.”
Why did Margaret say wait?
“She wanted the papers.”
They searched for bank statements before calling emergency services.
That was the truth.
Then Detective Collins looked at me.
“Abigail, the recorder in hospital may be the cleanest piece of evidence we have about Margaret’s knowledge of prior violence.”
“We broke one leg.” Yes. Then:
“Was that literal?” I thought.
Derek had caused injury.
Margaret had helped cover.
Then hospital slap.
She used “we” because in her mind they were a unit.
Then something shifted inside me.
For years I kept asking which Reed had really hurt me. Derek physically.
Margaret psychologically and financially.
Thomas through silence. The answer: Different ways. Different responsibility.
No need to compress into one villain.
Then the trust court froze all disputed properties.
My condo? Derek condo.
Northline repayment plan began. Thomas resigned.
Margaret fought removal. Lost.
Then I appointed an independent professional co-trustee. Caroline asked:
“Why not manage alone?”
“Because power should not depend on whether I’m the good person today.” She smiled.
Then my recovery. Physical therapy. Standing. Pain. Anger.
Then one afternoon, my therapist asked me to walk between parallel bars. I froze. Stairs flashed. Derek.
Then I said: “I can’t.” Therapist answered: “Not today?” I thought.
“Yes. Not today.”
That distinction mattered.
Then next session, I walked. Three steps. Then five. Then ten.
Then Detective Collins called.
They had found a second life-insurance application.
Not $3 million. $8 million.
Submitted one week before my fall. Applicant signature: Abigail Reed. Not mine. Beneficiary: Derek Reed.
The application had been rejected because medical records were incomplete.
May you like
Derek had tried to insure my life for eight million dollars days before pushing me down the stairs.
And the prosecutor was ready to revisit attempted murder.
