Chapter 3 - GARY’S SECOND RECORDING
Gary came to the hospital under escort the next morning.
He looked as though he had not slept.
Neither had I.
The fetal monitor had remained reassuring overnight, but I was still having occasional uterine tightening. Dr. Morris wanted another day of observation.
Gary stopped beside the door.
“Can I come in?”
“You’re my brother.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
The distinction mattered.
“Yes.”
He sat across from me.
His phone remained with police.
“I should’ve told you.”
“Told me what?”
“That Brenda had been talking about the baby like it was a problem.”
My stomach tightened for reasons unrelated to contractions.
“How long?”
“Months.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I thought she was jealous.”
“She is jealous.”
“Not like this.”
Gary worked in information systems for Reed Heritage Group, our family’s land and hospitality company.
Brenda worked in family marketing.
I had left the company five years earlier after marrying Preston and starting an architectural-design practice.
Robert remained chief executive and trustee of several family holdings.
According to Gary, Brenda had become increasingly furious after Mom’s death because “everything still somehow came back to Audrey.”
“What everything?”
“She never said.”
“You work in company systems. You know more than that.”
Gary stared at his hands.
“Dad kept certain trust files off the company network.”
“Dad?”
He looked at me sharply.
“I didn’t say Dad did this.”
“You looked at him yesterday when I asked whose voice was on the recording.”
“So did you.”
“Gary.”
He inhaled.
“I recorded because Brenda asked me to film the lunch.”
“Why?”
“She said you’d make a scene about an announcement.”
“What announcement?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
“Why agree?”
“I thought she wanted something stupid for social media.”
I laughed once.
It sounded ugly.
“Brenda has been thirty-one for an entire year. Stop describing her plans like she’s seventeen.”
Gary accepted that.
He told me about the first recording.
At 10:14 a.m., Brenda stood beside the patio table speaking to someone behind the outdoor kitchen wall.
The person said:
“You only need to upset her enough to send her to the hospital.”
Brenda answered:
“And if nothing happens?”
“Then we use Bennett.”
“What if he stays calm?”
“He won’t.”
That was the clip Gary showed me before Robert reached for his phone.
There was a second recording.
Gary had left his phone on the counter after walking away.
The camera showed only a ceiling beam.
The microphone remained active.
Brenda asked:
“What happens if the baby’s fine?”
The voice answered:
“Then we have another chance before September.”
My daughter was due September 18.
My skin went cold.
“What happens in September?”
Gary shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
The recording continued.
Brenda:
“You promised my share changes.”
Voice:
“When Audrey’s line is removed from the equation.”
I stopped breathing.
“Her line?”
Gary’s eyes filled.
“I’m sorry.”
“Play the rest.”
“The police have it.”
“What did you hear?”
“The person told Brenda not to touch you where cameras could clearly see.”
“Then why did she hit me in front of everyone?”
“She got angry.”
That fit my sister better than a controlled plot.
She had been given instructions.
Then hatred did the rest.
“Whose voice?”
Gary whispered:
“I think I know.”
“Say it.”
“I need more than thinking.”
I nearly shouted.
Then I looked at the monitor above my daughter’s heartbeat.
Everyone in my family had been acting on certainty without enough evidence.
I would not become them.
“Fine.”
Gary stood to leave.
Then stopped.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“When the ambulance took you away, Dad didn’t ask if the baby was alive.”
I stared at him.
“What did he ask?”
May you like
Gary’s voice dropped.
“He asked whether Brenda had gotten close enough.”
