The Woman He Called His Sister

At exactly three o'clock, we entered the central library through the main doors.

I had spent the drive there checking the mirrors, expecting Andre's car to appear behind us. Every silver sedan made my shoulders tense. Every unfamiliar phone notification sent my pulse racing.

Tasha noticed.

“Stop looking behind us,” she said gently.

“We're here to collect information, not solve the whole mystery in a parking lot.””

“I know.””

“Do you?””

I glanced at her.

She reached across the center console and squeezed my hand.

“Whatever happens, you're not doing this alone.””

Inside, the library was quiet. A security guard stood beside the reception desk, and sunlight poured through the tall windows onto rows of wooden tables.

Renee was sitting near the reference section.

She was a woman in her early forties with short brown hair, a navy cardigan, and a canvas bag resting against her chair. When she saw us, she stood quickly enough to knock her knee against the table.

“Thank you for coming,” she said.

Marcus introduced himself, and I gave her my name.

Renee studied my face for a moment.

“You look younger than I expected.””

I almost laughed.

“That's a strange thing to say to someone whose identity may have been used to secure a fraudulent loan.””

“I'm sorry.”” She looked genuinely embarrassed.

“I've spent the last day imagining this meeting. None of the versions sounded normal.””

She sat down again and placed the bag on the table.

“I brought copies of the records, but I want to be clear about something. I don't know everything Andre did. I worked in accounting, not law enforcement.

I saw transactions and correspondence. I can tell you what the documents say, but I can't tell you what happened to Camille.””

“That's fair,” Marcus replied.

Renee opened her bag and took out a thick envelope.

Before placing it on the table, she glanced toward the library entrance.

I noticed.

“Are you expecting someone?”” I asked.

“No.””

“Then why do you keep looking at the door?””

She lowered her eyes.

“Because yesterday, someone left a voicemail on my phone. They said I should stop going through old records.””

My skin prickled.

“Who?””

“I don't know. The number was blocked.””

“Did they threaten you?””

“Not directly. They said I had a daughter to think about, and that dragging another person's private business into the open could hurt my family.””

Marcus leaned forward.

“Did you report it?””

“I saved the voicemail and spoke to a lawyer. I wanted advice before doing anything else.””

Tasha exchanged a glance with me.

This was no longer just an uncomfortable meeting between people who had been lied to. Other people were actively trying to discourage us from examining the records.

Renee opened the envelope.

The first pages were accounting ledgers from Andre's former company. The entries were neatly organized, with dates, account codes, payment references, and brief descriptions.

She showed us one dated five years earlier.

“Here. This was a payment to Northbridge Advisory.””

The amount was $14,500.

The description read consulting services.

Below it was another payment to the same company, made three days later.

$7,500.

“Who authorized these payments?”” Marcus asked.

Renee pointed to the initials in the approval column.

“AR. Andre Reed.””

I photographed the page.

Renee continued.

“At the time, Andre told me Northbridge was advising him on a business expansion. I asked for an invoice, because the amounts were large and the descriptions were vague. He said the paperwork would come later.””

“Did it?””

“No. But I found a folder containing insurance documents and bank correspondence. That's when I began to suspect the payments weren't ordinary consulting expenses.””

She turned to the next page.

It listed a policy number, a name, and a transfer reference.

Camille Price.

Beneath it was the phrase beneficiary funding arrangement.

I felt sick.

“What's that supposed to mean?”” I asked.

“I don't know,” Renee replied.

“The language was copied from a note attached to the records. I asked Andre about it once. He said it was part of a private financial agreement and had nothing to do with the company.””

“What did you do?””

“I recorded the explanation in my accounting notes and moved on. I was worried about losing my job.””

Marcus frowned.

“You knew Camille had disappeared.””

“Not at that point. I learned that later.””

She took out another page, this one an email printed on ordinary office paper.

The sender's address belonged to Andre's former business.

The recipient was an address associated with Northbridge Advisory.

The subject line read: *Camille — Documentation Update.*

Renee pointed to the message.

“This was sent two weeks after the last accounting entry related to Camille. Andre asked whether the file was complete and whether any further authorization was needed.””

I read the email.

The wording was vague, but one sentence stood out.

*Please confirm that the beneficiary documentation remains valid if the insured party cannot be contacted.*

The room seemed to grow colder.

Marcus read the sentence aloud.

“Cannot be contacted?””

Renee nodded.

“That was the part that worried me most. I remember asking Andre why a beneficiary document would need to be discussed that way. He said Camille was traveling and difficult to reach.””

“And she disappeared shortly afterward,” I said.

“Yes.””

I looked down at my phone.

The photograph from Renee had shown Daniel Brooks's name beside the policy record.

I turned the screen toward her.

“Do you recognize this?””

Renee adjusted her glasses.

Her face changed immediately.

“Where did you get that?””

“It was sent to me anonymously.””

She examined the document for several seconds.

“That's Daniel's name. I remember it from the accounting correspondence.””

“Did you ever meet him?””

“No. I only saw his name on invoices and emails. Andre described him as a financial consultant.””

“Was he the owner of Northbridge Advisory?””

Renee shook her head.

“I don't know. But he was copied on several messages about payments and policy paperwork.””

I asked her whether she had an address or a phone number for the company.

She handed me a printed invoice.

The address matched a commercial building near the old railway station, close to the apartment listed on the mortgage documents.

Marcus let out a slow breath.

“It's the same area.””

Renee nodded.

“There was one other thing. After Camille disappeared, Andre told me to archive her paperwork under a different client code. He said the original file was being transferred.””

“Transferred where?”” I asked.

“He didn't say.””

“Did you do it?””

“Yes. I changed the code because it was part of my job, but I kept the original records in the archive before I left.””

She looked ashamed.

“I know I should have questioned it more. I know that now.””

I reached across the table.

“You weren't responsible for knowing what he was doing. You weren't the one creating these documents.””

Renee stared at my hand for a moment, then nodded.

“Thank you.””

Tasha photographed the remaining pages while Marcus wrote down the dates. We were careful to keep the original envelope intact, and Renee agreed to preserve the rest of her records for the appropriate investigators.

Then she pulled one final sheet from the envelope.

It was a printed bank reconciliation.

Three transactions were highlighted.

The first was the $14,500 payment to Northbridge.

The second was the $7,500 payment.

The third was a payment of $42,000 made nearly five years later.

That was the transaction connected to the loan agreement bearing my name.

The recipient account was different, but the payment reference contained the same sequence of letters and numbers.

Marcus leaned closer.

“Why would an old transaction and a recent loan have nearly identical reference numbers?””

Renee frowned.

“I don't know. They may relate to an internal accounting system, or someone may have reused an identifier. That's something an investigator would need to verify.””

I appreciated that she wasn't pretending to have all the answers.

We had enough speculation already.

Then Marcus noticed a handwritten note beside the third transaction.

He read it silently, then looked up at Renee.

“Who wrote this?””

She examined the handwriting.

“It looks like Andre's.””

“What does it say?”” I asked.

Marcus turned the page toward me.

The note was brief.

*Use the original structure. Daniel has the forms. Do not contact the insurer directly.*

My mouth went dry.

The document tied Daniel to the old financial records and the newer paperwork, but it did not prove why the instructions had been written or whether Daniel had followed them.

I photographed the note and placed the file back in its envelope.

“We need to give all of this to the investigators,” I said.

Renee nodded.

“That's why I brought it.””

She began gathering the loose pages, then suddenly stopped.

Her hand hovered over the envelope.

“There was one more folder,” she said.

“I didn't bring it because I thought it was personal.””

“What kind of folder?””

“It contained a list of payments connected to people Andre had relationships with. Not just Camille. Other names. Amounts, dates, policy numbers.””

My heart hammered.

“Other women?””

“Some women. One man, too. I didn't recognize every name.””

Marcus looked pale.

“How many?””

“Seven.””

Seven.

The number sat between us like a threat.

Renee continued.

“I don't know whether all those people were victims. Some may have been legitimate business clients. But I remember seeing your name in the newer records, Nia.””

I swallowed.

“What did the record say?””

“That was why I called you. I recognized the account reference from the old ledger. Your name had been added to a new file, and the payment amount was much larger than anything I remembered from the earlier transactions.””

“How much larger?””

She hesitated.

“More than a hundred thousand dollars.””

My heart seemed to stop.

“I don't have a hundred thousand dollars.””

“I'm not saying the money belonged to you. I'm saying the ledger referenced a transaction connected to your name.””

Tasha closed her notebook.

“We need to stop here and speak to the attorney before we look at any more records.””

Renee agreed.

As we stood, she slipped a small business card into my hand.

“That's the number for the accounting firm's compliance officer. They may still have archived electronic copies. I don't know whether they'll be able to release them, but the records should exist.””

I thanked her.

Then she caught my wrist gently.

“One last thing, Nia.””

I turned.

“If someone calls you and says they know what happened to Camille, don't assume they're telling the truth. Andre used stories about people to make everyone afraid of asking questions.””

I nodded slowly.

“We'll be careful.””

Renee walked away first, disappearing between the bookshelves.

Tasha and Marcus followed me toward the exit.

I had almost reached the security desk when a man in a gray jacket stepped into our path.

He was in his fifties, with graying hair and a leather folder tucked beneath one arm.

“Ms. Carter?”” he asked.

I stopped.

“Who are you?””

He opened the folder and showed me a business card.

Daniel Brooks.

My blood ran cold.

“You said you didn't know anything about those documents,” Marcus said.

Daniel's jaw tightened.

“I said I didn't prepare the marital agreement. That's true.””

“Then why are you here?””

“Because someone sent me a photograph of the files you're examining, and I think you deserve to hear an explanation before you make a decision that could affect all of you.””

Tasha stepped between us.

“We're not going anywhere with you.””

Daniel looked at her, then back at me.

“I didn't ask you to.””

He pulled out a sealed envelope.

“Inside are records showing where some of the money went. I can't explain every transaction, but I can show you that Andre wasn't the only person using these accounts.””

Marcus stared at the envelope.

“Who's the other person?””