“Chelsea Brooks started as Vanessa Jimenez Ruiz in Houston, Texas. Thirty-four years old, not thirty-two as she told your son. First lie confirmed. She never attended private schools. She finished high school at a public school, and there is no record of her setting foot in any university. She worked as a waitress, a promoter, and eventually as a dealer in several casinos across the country.”
Linda placed a photo on the table. It was Chelsea but younger, maybe twenty-three or twenty-four years old. She was with an older man, about sixty years old, at what looked like a wedding.
“Her first marriage,” Linda said. “She married Richard Miller at twenty-four, owner of a chain of hardware stores in San Diego. Widower, with two adult children. The marriage lasted two years. Richard died of a heart attack. Chelsea inherited a property valued at $2,800,000. The children tried to contest the will, but they couldn’t. Everything was legal.”
“The children… what happened to them?” I asked.
“One lives in New York. The other, the younger daughter, filed a complaint against Chelsea for threats but withdrew it a week later. When I tracked her down by phone and asked her about it, she hung up. I called her back and she said, word for word, ‘That woman is dangerous. I don’t want to know anything about her or her cursed money.’”
I felt a chill run down my spine.
Linda put down another photo. Another wedding. Chelsea with another older man.
“Second marriage. Franklin Adams, a textile businessman in Dallas. Fifty-eight years old, also a widower. They married when Chelsea was twenty-seven. The marriage lasted just a year and a half. Franklin suffered a fall at home that left him in a coma. He died three weeks later. Chelsea sold the house and the business. Estimated profit: $3,200,000.”
“Did anyone investigate the fall?”
“Yes, but they didn’t find anything suspicious. Chelsea said Franklin had been drinking that night and slipped on the stairs. There were no witnesses. The house security cameras were broken.”
I looked up abruptly.
“Broken?”
“The same as at your son’s house now, Commander. Same pattern.”
My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
“Is there more?”
Linda nodded and pulled out a third set of documents.
“Third marriage. Joseph Vega, a retired civil engineer in San Diego. Sixty-two years old, widower. They married when Chelsea was thirty. This marriage ended differently. Joseph didn’t die, but his son, Paul Vega—twenty-six years old—disappeared six months after the wedding.”
“Disappeared?”
“Literally. He left his house one night and never returned. He left a text message for his father saying he needed time to think, that he was going abroad. He hasn’t been heard from in four years. Joseph tried to search for him, but eventually gave up. He fell into severe depression and signed documents giving Chelsea legal power over his finances. She admitted him to a nursing home and sold all his properties. Estimated gain: four million dollars.”
I put my hands to my face. This was worse than I had imagined.
“That boy, Paul… do you think—?”
“I don’t know what happened to him, Commander,” Linda said. “But the pattern is clear. Chelsea looks for older men, widowers with children. She marries them, and one way or another, those children end up out of the picture—dead, disappeared, or intimidated. Then she keeps the money. And now she’s with your son. Rob fits the profile perfectly. Young widower with a teenage son, and with a mother who has a property in her name. She can’t touch you directly while you’re alive, but she can make your son inherit and then manipulate him into selling.”
“That’s why she wants to push Ethan away,” I said, understanding everything. “Because Ethan is an obstacle. He’s the legitimate heir if something happened to Rob. And he’s smart enough to see her for what she really is.”
“Exactly. And that’s why she’s making him look like a delinquent. If she manages to get him admitted to a correctional facility or legally banished by his father, the path is clear.”
Linda pulled out another document.
“There’s more. Chelsea has an accomplice. His name is Gerald Hayes, a lawyer. He appeared in the three previous marriages. He takes care of the legal part—wills, powers of attorney, property sales. He splits the profits with Chelsea, fifty-fifty.”
“Do you have proof of that?”
“Suspicious bank transfers, always after each inheritance. Large amounts divided into accounts in the Cayman Islands. It’s not definitive proof for a judge, but it’s enough to start a formal investigation.”
I heard the bathroom door open. Ethan came out with wet hair and the clean clothes I had loaned him. When he saw Linda, he stopped.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning, Ethan. I’m Linda, your grandmother’s friend.”
He nodded and approached shyly. He saw the documents on the table.
“Is that about Chelsea?”
I looked at Linda. She nodded slightly. I decided Ethan deserved to know the truth.
“Sit down, son.”
I told him everything. Every marriage, every suspicious death, every disappearance. I watched his face turn pale with every word. When I finished, his hands were trembling.
“So she killed those people,” he whispered.
“We don’t know for sure,” Linda said. “But the pattern is too consistent to be a coincidence.”
“And I’m next,” Ethan said. “She wants me to disappear like Paul.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I said firmly, taking his hand. “Because now we know who she is. And we are going to stop her.”
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