Chapter 6 - The Grandmother’s Plan
The court granted an emergency protective order before sunset.
Carmen was prohibited from contacting Jessica or Olivia.
She was also barred from entering Zayden’s apartment, Olivia’s school, or any Ferris Development property.
By then, she had hired an attorney.
Not a local attorney.
Marcus Wren.
One of Arizona’s most expensive criminal defense lawyers.
His first statement was aggressive.
Mrs. Ferris categorically denies harming her granddaughter or daughter-in-law. The allegations arise from a family dispute amplified by misunderstood household discipline and improperly interpreted private documents.
Zayden read it once.
Then deleted the news alert.
Jessica sat across from him at the dining table.
The same table where Carmen had hosted twenty guests.
The apartment felt different without her.
Larger.
Quieter.
Still contaminated.
Olivia refused to enter the kitchen.
That afternoon, Jessica carried her there.
They stood together in front of the sink.
“The water can be cold,” Jessica told her.
Olivia shook her head.
“We don’t have to wash anything.”
Another shake.
“We can leave every plate dirty.”
Olivia finally smiled.
A tiny smile.
Zayden saw it from the doorway and nearly cried.
Instead, he hired movers.
“We’re leaving.”
Jessica looked at him.
“This is our home.”
“It doesn’t feel like one anymore.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere you want.”
They chose a furnished house near Paradise Valley while investigators processed the apartment.
On the first night, Olivia ate macaroni and cheese on the couch.
She asked twice whether she was allowed seconds.
By the third time, Zayden could no longer answer without his voice breaking.
“You never have to earn food in this family.”
Olivia studied him.
“Even if I’m bad?”
“There’s no bad thing you could do that would make us take food away.”
“What if I break a plate?”
“We buy another plate.”
“What if I spill juice?”
“We clean it.”
“What if I yell?”
“You still eat dinner.”
“What if Grandma says—”
“Grandma doesn’t make the rules anymore.”
Olivia stared at her bowl.
“Is Grandma going to jail?”
Zayden looked at Jessica.
Neither wanted to lie.
“We don’t know yet,” Jessica said.
Olivia nodded.
Then asked something neither expected.
“Is Grandpa Raymond in jail?”
Zayden’s heart stopped.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Grandma said he did bad things.”
Jessica leaned closer.
“What bad things?”
Olivia shrugged.
“She talked to him.”
“When?”
“At night.”
Zayden stared.
“Grandpa is dead, Liv.”
“I know.”
“Who did Grandma talk to?”
“She called him Raymond.”
“On the phone?”
Olivia nodded.
“She said, ‘Raymond, you should have stayed dead.’”
Zayden looked at Jessica.
A five-year-old could misunderstand words.
Names.
Context.
But Carmen’s message history contained a contact saved as R.
Richard Vale was dead.
Could R have meant Raymond?
Impossible.
Raymond Ferris had died four years ago.
Zayden had seen the body.
Identified him.
Buried him.
Still, investigators followed the lead.
The phone records showed the R number originated from a prepaid SIM.
Its call pattern was strange.
Carmen rarely called it.
The contact mostly communicated through encrypted messages.
But six voice calls had occurred.
One lasted thirty-seven minutes.
Detectives traced cell-tower data.
Five calls connected near downtown Phoenix.
The sixth connected from Flagstaff.
Zayden remembered Raymond’s cabin.
Police searched it.
The property had remained technically owned by Copper Meridian.
Zayden had not visited in years.
Someone else had.
The cabin contained fresh food.
Men’s clothing.
Prescription glasses.
A laptop charger.
And an ashtray containing a recently smoked cigar.
Raymond smoked cigars.
So did millions of other men.
But then officers found a photograph.
Olivia.
Taken three weeks earlier.
She was leaving preschool.
On the back, someone had written:
She has Raymond’s eyes.
Zayden drove to the Flagstaff cabin with investigators the following morning.
Jessica stayed with Olivia.
The rooms smelled of pine and dust.
Nothing felt supernatural.
Nothing felt like his father.
Until Zayden entered the small study.
On the wall hung a photograph he had never seen.
Raymond holding toddler Zayden.
Written beneath it in black ink:
A father is the man who stays.
Zayden touched the frame.
“Dad?”
No answer came.
Detective Vargas searched the desk.
One drawer contained envelopes.
Another held medication.
The third held a photograph of Carmen.
A knife had been pushed through her face.
“This was occupied recently,” Vargas said.
“How recently?”
“Maybe days.”
They reviewed a trail camera positioned behind the cabin.
The memory card contained hundreds of animal images.
Deer.
Coyotes.
A black bear.
Then a man.
Tall.
Older.
Silver hair.
His face partially hidden beneath a baseball cap.
Zayden stared at the image.
“No.”
Vargas said nothing.
The man’s posture.
Shoulders.
Hands.
There were similarities.
But people saw what grief taught them to see.
Zayden knew that.
Then the technician advanced to the next image.
The man had turned.
His face was visible.
Older.
Thinner.
A scar across one cheek.
But unmistakable.
Zayden stopped breathing.
May you like
The timestamp was from nine days earlier.
The dead man walking across Raymond Ferris’s cabin was Raymond Ferris.
