Chapter 4: Unwitting Pawns

“Sarah?” I managed, the name feeling foreign in my mouth. “What about Sarah?”

Mac leaned back, his gaze still sharp. “Your sister made several calls to Oasis Medical Suites in the weeks leading up to your father’s ‘business trip’.”

“Confirmation calls, she called them. Updating preferences. Asking about services.”

“Why would she do that?” I asked, completely bewildered. “She knows nothing about booking retreats.”

“Exactly,” Mac said. “She was establishing a pattern. Creating a paper trail, or rather, a call log trail, that made it look like the Caldwell family’s retreat was a fluid thing, subject to Richard’s input, even if you were the one paying.”

He pushed a printed call log across the table, extracted from Oasis’s records by means I didn’t want to ask about. Several entries showed “Sarah Caldwell” calling, each followed by notes about “client preference adjustments” or “account information updates.” The dates corresponded to the period after I had initially booked the retreat, but before my father announced his fake trip.

“Richard coached her,” Mac explained, his voice flat.

“He put her up to it. Made her believe she was ‘helping him out’ with the details. Probably told her it was ‘complicated’ and he needed a ‘fresh set of eyes’ or some such nonsense.”

“By having her call, he was subtly creating a narrative that he had informal control over the booking,” Mac continued.

“It made it easier for Valerie Greene, or anyone else, to accept his word when he later called to put the refund on administrative hold.”

My jaw clenched. My own sister, an unwitting accomplice in my father’s elaborate scheme. He had used her, just as he used his shell companies, as a disposable tool.

I left Mac at The Corner Pocket, the call log burning a hole in my hand. My mind raced, trying to reconcile the image of my impulsive, frivolous sister with this calculated manipulation. I needed to talk to her. Immediately.

I drove to Sarah’s apartment, my hands gripping the steering wheel. I saw her car parked outside, a new convertible Richard had “lent” her, a subtle reminder of the financial strings he pulled.

I knocked hard on her door. It took her a moment to answer, her hair a mess, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in her hand.

“Elias? What are you doing here?” Her eyes widened, seeing the storm on my face.

“We need to talk,” I said, my voice low and tight.

“It’s about Dad. And Oasis.”

Her cheerful demeanor evaporated. “What about it? Mom said you cancelled the trip and then tried to ruin everything.”

“That’s part of the problem,” I retorted. “You’ve been listening to Dad. But what he told you wasn’t the truth.”

I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. I showed her the call log.

“Do you remember making these calls to Oasis, Sarah?” I asked, pointing to her name and the dates.

She glanced at the paper, her brow furrowing. “Oh, yeah. Dad asked me to. Said he was swamped with ‘important business’ and couldn’t get around to it.”

“He said it was just to ‘confirm’ a few things. Like, what kind of massages Mom liked, and if they had a good gym.”

“He told me it was a favor,” she continued, her voice trailing off as she saw the look on my face.

“He said he was trying to make sure everything was perfect for Mom and the family. He made it sound like I was helping him.”

“Did he tell you *why* he needed you to confirm those things, Sarah?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even, despite the anger swirling inside me.

“Did he tell you he had just announced he wouldn’t be going on the trip himself? That I had already cancelled the entire reservation?”

Her eyes darted from the call log to my face, then back to the floor. “No. He just said it was for the family. He always talks about ‘family obligations’ and ‘making sure we’re taken care of’.”

“He made me feel like I was being helpful. Like I was contributing to the family harmony, you know?” She stammered, her voice growing smaller.

“He even said if I did a good job, he’d let me pick out a new dress for the formal dinner at the retreat.”

The anger in me solidified into a cold, hard ache. He had dangled a dress in front of her, knowing her weakness for superficial luxuries, to get her to do his dirty work.

“Sarah, he used you,” I said, the words heavy. “He used you to make it seem like he had control over my reservation, over my money.”

“He manipulated you to help him justify freezing my refund, which he then planned to use for himself.”

Her face went pale. Her hand flew to her mouth. “No. Dad wouldn’t… he wouldn’t do that. He’s trying to save the family money, isn’t he? He always says things are tight.”

“He’s not trying to save money, Sarah. He’s trying to cover his own tracks. He has a history of financial manipulation, of skirting debts with shell companies and empty promises.”

“Mac, a private investigator, found all of this. He found a pattern, Sarah. You were just another piece in his game.”

Tears welled in her eyes, not of sadness, but of dawning realization and betrayal.

“He told me you were being difficult,” she choked out.

“He said you were trying to break away from the family, that you were being selfish for not wanting to go on the retreat with us. He said you were trying to hurt him.”

“He always twists things, doesn’t he?” I said, a bitter laugh escaping me.

“He makes himself the victim, and everyone else the villain.”

“He just wanted me to help him,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“He gave me a list of questions to ask, specific things to confirm. He even helped me rehearse what to say.”

“He was building his case,” I clarified, watching her face crumble.

“He was setting the stage for his next move: seizing my money without my consent.”

She sat heavily on her sofa, the half-eaten cereal forgotten. Her shoulders shook. “I can’t believe… I actually thought I was helping him. I thought I was being a good daughter.”

“You were, Sarah,” I said, a wave of pity washing over me despite my anger. “You just didn’t know you were helping him hurt me.”

“He never really tells us anything, does he?” she said, looking up, her eyes red-rimmed.

“He just expects us to fall in line, to do what he wants. And Mom just… lets him.”

Her words were a painful echo of my own growing realization about our family’s dysfunctional dynamics. Richard didn’t just manipulate; he created an entire ecosystem of denial and enablement. Sarah was a casualty, just as I had nearly been. My father’s betrayal ran deeper than I could have imagined. This wasn’t just about money; it was about trust, and he had shattered it into a million pieces.