Allison
Gregory appears in the doorway after a while. He watches me, not speaking, before he comes to help. We rifle through my father’s storage cabinet, and Gregory’s hand appears on top of mine, lingering there for longer than necessary as he stares at me. “You’re okay,” he says. Not a question.
He’s right. Even though my face is streaked by tears. “I’m okay,” I agree.
“Your sister loved you. I can see it all over this place.”
“You’re right. We loved each other. It’s just-” How can I explain to him? I feel guilty, yes, but also angry that she agreed to marry Paul. I’m a conflicting mess of emotions. “I just want this to be done.”
“We’ll finish it then.” He squeezes my hand, getting closer. “Together.”
“Can’t do that from Boston.”
“We’ll find a way.”
I pull back, not ready to make up, and head to my father’s desk. Gregory watches as I sit down behind the computer. Then without a word, he begins searching again, flipping through documents, scanning files, leafing through old books.
I crack my knuckles and unlock my father’s computer on the second try. “All he did was add an exclamation point at the end of his usual password,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s like he wanted me to log in.”
“Or he couldn’t imagine you ever trying.”
That makes more sense. My papa, arrogant, self-assured, so positive that his little daughter would never cross him.
Except here I am, going through his desktop, digging deep into his files.
It takes a while to go through everything. I even check his browser history, which brings up way more porn than I’m comfortable with. Idiot should use a private window next time. But finally, as I’m ready to give up, I pull open his email client and start skimming. Mostly spam, mostly work stuff-until I search Freya’s name.
Dozens of messages appear. All from my sister’s address, all directed to my father. I break out into a giddy laugh. “He didn’t know the difference between deleting and archiving,” I say, breathless with excitement.
Gregory drifts over and looks at the screen. “What are these?”
“They go back to… to before she got married.” I squint as I start to skim through. “Mostly it looks like she emailed him about work stuff. Some weekend plans… some dinner plans…” Then I reach the point where Freya got sold off to Paul and the first interesting message appears. “Look at this one.”
“Read it to me.”
I clear my throat. “Dear Papa, Things aren’t going well so far. You asked me to be honest. So I’m being honest. Paul is not a kind man. He does not treat me well. Does that upset you? I’m sorry if it does. I agreed to this marriage to save the business for you and Allison. So far, it’s working. But he makes threats, Papa. He knows he has control here. I don’t want you to do anything about it. I don’t want you to say anything, that will only make it worse. Only please, keep me in your prayers.”
I stare at the email. Her words play through my mind like a bombing campaign. Even from the beginning, Paul was treating her poorly. My father’s response is dull and meaningless, just a few platitudes about learning to please her husband, blah blah blah, total bullshit. It pisses me off reading how Papa didn’t take her seriously.
The emails kept coming. Almost daily after that, complaining about Paul, about how he emotionally manipulated her. He never got physical-he didn’t need to, apparently-but he made her life hell. Message after message, and Papa did nothing about it.
Until about a month before her death. “Listen to this,” I say, my voice cracked with tears again. “Papa, I’m going to leave him. I’m sorry. I know this will be bad. But I have to leave him. I can’t stand staying any longer. If I don’t go, I am going to die. Maybe Paul will kill me, maybe he won’t, but I am going to die if I don’t leave. I’m going to run away soon. I’m warning you now, so maybe you can do something to protect Allison. I am doing it though. I am leaving him.” It takes me a moment to compose myself enough to continue. “God, Gregory, she was going to leave him, but look at what Papa wrote back. Freya, do not be a silly child. I am begging you please from the bottom of my heart, do not leave that man, stay with him and provide as only a good wife should. Daughter of mine, I love you deeply but you must not leave him.”
It went on like that for a few days. Back and forth, Freya threatening to leave, Papa begging her not to, until it hit a breaking point, and the emails abruptly stopped.
I sit back in silence, staring at the last message.
Papa, I have something you’ll want to see. Maybe it’ll help you after I’m gone. Come take a look. Love, your daughter.
Gregory kneels down beside me. His hand on my knee. He reads my father’s response out loud. “Freya, do not be stupid do not do anything rash I am coming to speak with you shortly and we will work this out only wait for me to come fix these problems with you and your husband trust in your Papa I know what’s best.” He stares at the screen. “Your father knew your sister was going to divorce Paul or at least that she was going to run.”
Everything clicks together. Like a pattern that only makes sense from a great distance, suddenly I can see its shape.
Papa couldn’t let Freya leave Paul. If she did, Paul would call in his debts and ruin my father. There was no other way out, no other options, no escape. Freya couldn’t handle anymore, and she was going to damn Papa to hell.
Then she died. Mysteriously from a drug overdose. When it’s clear she never did drugs in her life.
“Paul kept saying he didn’t kill Freya,” I whisper, feeling empty and dry. A withered husk of myself. “What if he wasn’t lying?”
“Who else had motive to kill your sister?” Gregory asks, but he already knows the answer. I can see it in the way he stares at me. I can hear it in his voice. I feel it in the way his fingers dig into my thigh.
“This isn’t possible.” But I’m in denial trying to fight against the obvious truth.
“I found something else in the files.” Gregory stands suddenly. I latch on to his discovery, hoping whatever he’s going to show me will exonerate my father. “They’re papers showing transfers from a bunch of different accounts associated with the marijuana farms Paul works with. The money’s all getting dumped into a shell company, and I bet if we follow this trail, we’ll find it all comes back to Paul himself.”
“Stealing from the farmers?”
“Skimming off the top.” He shakes the papers. “I bet this is what Freya found. Look at her last email. She had something that might help. She gave your father these documents.”
“She hoped he could use them against Paul.”
“Instead, he buried it.” Gregory looks hard. His eyes flash with rage. “The fucking coward.”
“No.” I lean forward, slamming the laptop lid shut. My hands tremble. “Papa wouldn’t.”
“We’ll find the truth.”
I look up slowly. “Together.”
He nods, his expression hard. “Together. And when it’s done, you will go to Boston.”
I stand. My knees shake. I feel as though I might collapse. Gregory takes my hand, holding it tightly.
If I follow this to the end, if I devote myself to finding the truth about what happened to my sister, then I have to be prepared to weather anything.
Even if the truth breaks me.