Chapter 4 - THE BROTHER WHO DISAPPEARED TOO
Harold Stanley had always been the charming one.
I became a social worker.
He became a businessman.
I drove a ten-year-old Subaru.
Harold collected watches and divorced two women before he turned fifty.
People liked him immediately.
That had always been his gift.
Our falling-out happened twelve years earlier.
Money.
Our father left us equal shares of a small commercial property.
Harold wanted to sell.
I didn’t.
He forged my signature on preliminary documents.
When I discovered it, I threatened legal action.
He called me self-righteous.
I called him a thief.
We never repaired things.
Dennis stayed in contact with him.
That should have bothered me more than it did.
Harold liked Dennis.
They were alike.
Both believed rules were obstacles created for less clever people.
Ortiz located Harold in Arizona.
Retired.
Scottsdale.
Large house.
Golf club membership.
No criminal record.
She flew there with another investigator.
Two days later, she called me.
“Harold admits meeting Emily.”
I stood in my kitchen.
“Where?”
“Salem.”
“Why?”
“He says Margaret asked him to drive Emily to Washington.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did he?”
“According to him, yes.”
“Then why did Emily sound afraid?”
“Harold says Dennis arrived unexpectedly.”
That surprised me.
“What?”
“Harold claims Dennis followed him.”
“Did they fight?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to Emily?”
“Harold says she ran.”
“Ran where?”
“Bus station.”
“And after that?”
“He says he never saw her again.”
I did not believe him.
Neither did Ortiz.
Then she uncovered something important.
Harold had received $40,000 from Dennis five days after Emily disappeared.
Payment description:
Consulting.
Dennis had been twenty-eight.
He did not have forty thousand dollars lying around.
At least, he shouldn’t have.
Which returned us to my accounts.
I hired a forensic accountant.
Within a week, we found it.
Between my retirement portfolio, Margaret’s accounts, and the commercial property trust, nearly $310,000 had disappeared over six years.
Small transfers.
Fake expenses.
Loans I never authorized.
Dennis had been stealing from us.
Margaret had discovered some of it.
Instead of reporting him, she covered losses with her own savings.
Then she became ill.
Her cancer diagnosis came shortly after Emily disappeared.
Suddenly the final years of my marriage looked different.
Margaret had not only carried cancer.
She had carried guilt.
Fear.
And the knowledge that our son might be dangerous.
I was angry at her.
I was also devastated for her.
Both things could be true.
Sophie moved into a therapeutic foster placement while the court determined what would happen next.
I hated that.
I understood it professionally.
I still hated it personally.
I applied for kinship placement immediately.
My age became a discussion.
Seventy-one.
Widower.
Retired.
No other children at home.
The caseworker asked whether I understood what raising a five-year-old involved.
I almost laughed.
Instead I said:
“I spent thirty-eight years helping other people raise children safely. I think I can learn how to pack a lunch.”
Sophie visited me twice a week.
At first she barely spoke.
Then she discovered my backyard.
Margaret had planted strawberries.
Sophie picked them too early and insisted sour meant “extra flavor.”
She liked grilled cheese.
Hated eggs.
Slept with three lights on.
And asked before touching almost anything.
“Can I use the blue cup?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Can I sit here?”
“Yes.”
“Can I have another cracker?”
That question nearly destroyed me.
“Yes, sweetheart. You never have to ask if you’re hungry.”
She stared at me.
“Daddy said food costs money.”
“It does.”
“Then I shouldn’t eat too much.”
I turned away long enough to control myself.
Then I made her another sandwich.
Trisha returned from Hawaii in handcuffs.
Her attorney immediately blamed Dennis.
Trisha claimed she had not known Sophie would be left alone.
That lasted twelve hours.
Then police recovered text messages.
TRISHA:
How much water does she need?
DENNIS:
Two bottles should be enough.
TRISHA:
What if she screams?
DENNIS:
Nobody uses the attic.
TRISHA:
Your dad might come in.
DENNIS:
He won’t. Cleaner goes Thursday.
The cleaning appointment.
He had scheduled Rosa after they expected to return.
I had misunderstood the date and sent her early.
That mistake saved Sophie.
When Dennis realized it, according to investigators, he was furious.
Not guilty.
Furious.
Trisha eventually admitted the truth.
She hated Sophie.
Not because Sophie had done anything.
Because Sophie proved Dennis had loved someone before her.
“She looked like Emily,” Trisha said.
That was enough.
Then came another revelation.
Sophie had not been living with Dennis voluntarily since Christmas.
Rachel Porter had called him because someone had been watching her house.
Dennis removed Sophie.
He told Rachel he was protecting her.
Instead, he hid her.
“From whom?” Ortiz asked.
Dennis refused to answer.
Then Harold’s attorney called.
He wanted immunity.
Ortiz refused to promise it.
Harold talked anyway.
Emily was alive after the bus station.
He knew because he had helped her leave.
Not just Oregon.
The country.
“Where?” I asked when Ortiz told me.
“Canada first.”
“And then?”
“Unknown.”
“Why?”
“Because Emily believed Dennis would kill her.”
I sat silently.
Harold claimed he took the $40,000 to finance her escape.
That sounded almost noble.
Too noble.
Then Ortiz added:
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Emily had a second child.”
My heart stopped.
“When?”
“Two years after she disappeared.”
“With whom?”
“We don’t know.”
“Where is the child?”
“We don’t know that either.”
I closed my eyes.
May you like
Then Ortiz said:
“But Harold does.”
