“Don’t Put On Your Red Coat Today,” My Grandson Told Me. Later That Day, I Saw the Reason – and My Stomach Dropped
The Final Threat
“We have to tell Tom now.”
But before we could move, my phone rang. It was an unknown number.
I answered carefully. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Foster?” A woman’s voice, unfamiliar. “My name is Jennifer Tate. I’m an attorney with the firm of Morrison, Westfield, and Chase. I represent Vanessa Foster.”
My stomach dropped. That was fast. “What do you want?”
“I’m calling to inform you that my client is being released on bail this morning. She maintains her complete innocence in all charges and will be vigorously defending herself.”
“She confessed! We have recordings!”
“You have recordings of a frightened woman trying to placate what she believed to be a corrupt police officer. Context matters, Mrs. Foster.”
“Now, I’m calling as a courtesy to inform you that we will be filing a civil suit against you for defamation, emotional distress, and false imprisonment. We’re seeking damages in the amount of $5 million.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Is it? You’ve publicly accused my client of murder, conspiracy, and fraud. You’ve damaged her reputation, her business, and her emotional well-being.”
“Unless you’re prepared to retract all accusations and issue a public apology, we will proceed with the suit.”
“I’ll do no such thing.”
“Then you leave us no choice. You’ll be served with papers within 24 hours. And Mrs. Foster, I should mention that we’ve also filed a competency hearing.”
“Given your age and recent erratic behavior, we believe a court-appointed guardian should evaluate whether you’re capable of managing your own affairs.”
The line went dead. I stood there, the phone cooling against my ear, understanding the full scope of what Vanessa had planned.
She wasn’t just trying to steal my property. She was trying to have me declared incompetent and unable to manage my own life.
“Mom.” Robert’s voice seemed distant. “What did they say?”
“They’re coming after me. Not just criminal defense for Vanessa, but a civil suit and a competency hearing.”
I met his eyes. “If they succeed with the competency claim, the court could appoint Vanessa, or someone she controls, as my guardian. And then…”
“Then she controls everything,” Danny finished. “Your property, your money, your healthcare decisions… everything.”
The weight of it pressed down on me. I’d thought we’d won at the mill.
I’d thought recording Vanessa’s confession would be enough, but I’d underestimated her again. She had resources, lawyers, and plans within plans.
“When’s the hearing?” Robert asked.
“She didn’t say. But with lawyers like Morrison, Westfield, and Chase, they can probably expedite it. We might have less than a week.”
“We’ll fight it. We’ll get you the best lawyer.”
“With what money, Robert? I have some savings, but not enough to fight a firm like that. They’ll bury us in motions and delays and legal fees until I can’t afford to fight anymore.”
The front door opened. Tom Brennan walked in without knocking, his face grave.
“Alexia, we have a problem.”
“Another one?”
“The forensic team tried to access that thumb drive, the encrypted files. They’re protected by military-grade encryption. It could take months to crack, maybe longer.”
“What about the files Danny could access? The emails and recordings?”
“Good evidence, but circumstantial. Vanessa’s lawyers are already claiming she was being blackmailed by Rachel, that all those emails were sent under duress.”
“Without the encrypted files, we don’t have enough to guarantee a conviction on the murder charge.”
“So she might walk?”
“Worse than that. The judge just set her bail at $200,000. Her lawyer posted it an hour ago. Vanessa’s out.”
Danny moved to the window, looking out at the driveway. “She could come here.”
“I’ve got a restraining order in place,” Tom said. “She’s not allowed within 500 yards of this property.”
“But Alexia, you need to understand something. If we can’t crack that encryption, if we can’t prove she was involved in Rachel’s murder, the best we can hope for is fraud charges. Maybe three to five years. She’d be out in two with good behavior.”
“And the farm? The deed issue is civil court, separate from the criminal case. That could drag on for years.”
“In the meantime, technically, according to that recorded document, the property belongs to Robert and Vanessa jointly.”
Robert shook his head violently. “I’ll sign it back! I’ll refuse any claim!”
“It’s not that simple. Vanessa owns half. She could force a partition sale, make the court order the property sold, and the proceeds divided. You’d lose the farm either way.”
I walked to the window, looking out at the land I’d lived on my entire life. I saw the barn where Frank taught Danny to ride and the strawberry patch now buried under winter snow.
I saw the fields that had fed us through good years and bad. “There has to be something in those encrypted files,” I said.
“Something Rachel thought was important enough to hide behind military-grade encryption. Something that Vanessa is afraid of.”
“We’re working on it,” Tom said. “But I can’t make promises.”
After he left, the three of us sat in silence. Outside, the patrol car Tom had promised pulled up, parking at the end of the driveway.
It was protection, or a reminder that we were prisoners in our own home. My phone buzzed with a text from another unknown number.
Stop now, Alexia. Sign over the farm, drop the charges, and I’ll let you live in peace. Keep fighting and you’ll lose everything, including people you love. You have 24 hours to decide.
I showed it to Robert and Danny. Both their faces went white.
“That’s a direct threat,” Robert said. “We need to show this to the sheriff.”
“It won’t matter. The number’s probably a burner phone, untraceable.”
I set the phone down carefully. “She’s escalating.”
“Getting desperate.”
“Or confident,” Danny said quietly. “Grandma, what if she’s already won? What if she knows something we don’t?”
The question hung in the air, poisonous and possible. What if Vanessa had already found a way to access those encrypted files?
What if she’d destroyed the evidence we needed? What if Rachel Morrison had been her partner and her victim, but also her insurance policy, and Vanessa had found a way to nullify it?
I looked at my grandson’s frightened face and at my son’s defeated posture. I felt something harden inside me.
“Then we find another way,” I said. “We dig deeper. We be smarter. We stop reacting to what Vanessa does and start anticipating it.”
“How?”
“By thinking like her. She’s a predator who’s been doing this for years. She’s careful, methodical, patient. But she’s also arrogant.”
“She thinks she’s smarter than everyone else. That’s her weakness.”
“Grandma, she might be right. She’s gotten away with this multiple times.”
“No. She’s gotten away with it because no one was looking closely enough. Because her victims were isolated, vulnerable, alone.”
I stood, feeling strength flow back into my limbs. “But I’m not alone. I have you two. I have Tom. And I have something Vanessa doesn’t.”
“What’s that?”
“Time, memory, and the knowledge that comes from having lived six decades on this earth, watching people, learning their patterns.”
I looked at them both. “Vanessa wants me to panic. She wants me to make mistakes, to act rashly. So I’m going to do the opposite.”
“I’m going to be patient and methodical. And I’m going to find out every single secret she’s been hiding.”
The Ghost of Starlight
“Where do we start?”
I thought about it. “With Rachel Morrison’s past. She didn’t just appear out of nowhere three years ago when she started working at County Records.”
“She had a life before that: family, friends, history.”
“The police are already investigating that.”
“I know. But we’re going to investigate it differently. We’re going to find out who Rachel really was and why she was willing to help Vanessa hurt people.”
“Because people don’t become accomplices to murder without a reason.”
Danny opened his laptop again. “I’ll start searching.”
As he worked, I walked through the house room by room, seeing it with new eyes. This was my territory, my home, my history.
And I would not let Vanessa take it from me.
It took Danny three hours to find Rachel Morrison’s real name. She’d changed it legally seven years ago.
Before that, she was B. Hartley, born in Billings and raised in a small town called Red Lodge. Her grandmother, Martha Hartley, had owned a 200-acre ranch there.
“Owned,” past tense. “Grandma, look at this.”
Danny turned his laptop so I could see a newspaper article from six years ago. Martha Hartley’s ranch was sold to a development company.
Six months later, Martha died in a house fire at the rental property where she’d moved. “Who bought the ranch?”
“A holding company called Summit Development Group.”
The name hit me like a fist. “Summit. The same name as Vanessa’s real estate company.”
“It’s her,” Robert said, reading over my shoulder. “Vanessa did this before. She stole Rachel’s grandmother’s property.”
“But why would Rachel help her?” Danny asked. “If Vanessa destroyed her grandmother’s life, why would Rachel become her accomplice?”
I studied the article more carefully. There was a photo of Martha Hartley, a woman about my age, smiling in front of a barn.
And next to her was a teenage girl. It was Rachel, before she’d changed her name.
“Look at the date,” I said. “Martha died six years ago. Rachel changed her name seven years ago.”
“Before her grandmother’s death. She wasn’t running from Vanessa. She was working with her.”
The implications settled over us like a shroud. “Rachel helped Vanessa steal from her own grandmother,” Robert whispered.
“And probably helped kill her,” I added. “That’s why she was so good at this. She’d done it before to her own family.”
“But then she got greedy, tried to blackmail Vanessa, and Vanessa eliminated her.”
Danny was already searching deeper. “There are two other properties Summit Development bought around the same time. Both from elderly owners. Both owners died within a year of selling.”
“Three murders minimum, possibly more.”
I stood, pacing. “This is bigger than we thought. Vanessa’s been running this scheme for at least six years.”
“We need to tell Tom,” Robert said, reaching for his phone.
“Wait.” I grabbed his wrist. “If we tell Tom now, he files a report and starts an official investigation. That could take months.”
“Meanwhile, Vanessa’s lawyers have us tied up in civil court. The competency hearing moves forward, and we lose the farm.”
“So what do we do?”
“We use what we know. We force Vanessa to make a mistake.”
I looked at the clock. Six hours had passed since the text message threatening us.
There were 18 hours left on her ultimatum. “Danny, can you access Summit Development’s corporate records? Maybe they should be public filings.”
“But I’ll need time.”
“We don’t have time. Can you do it or not?”
His fingers were already flying across the keyboard. “I can try.”
While he worked, I called Tom. “Alexia, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Tom. I need a favor. The competency hearing Vanessa’s lawyers filed… when is it scheduled?”
“Tomorrow afternoon, 2:00 p.m. They expedited it. They claimed you were a danger to yourself and others.”
Twenty-four hours. Less time than I’d thought. “Who’s the judge?”
“Harold Winters.”
I knew that name. Judge Winters had ruled on property disputes in this county for 15 years.
He was tough but fair. I’d met him once at a charity auction years ago.
“Can you get me a meeting with him before the hearing?”
“Alexia, that’s highly irregular. His clerk would never…”
“Tom, please. I’m not asking you to influence him. I just need 10 minutes to present some information. Information that’s relevant to the case.”
He was silent for a long moment. “What kind of information?”
“The kind that proves Vanessa Foster has been systematically defrauding and murdering elderly property owners for at least six years. The kind that shows this competency hearing is just another tool in her arsenal.”
“Do you have proof?”
“I will by tomorrow morning. Will you help me?”
Another pause. “I’ll make a call. No promises.”
Danny looked up from his laptop, his face pale. “Grandma, I got into the Summit Development records. You need to see this.”
The screen showed a web of shell companies and holding corporations, all leading back to one name: Vanessa Marie Foster.
But there was another name buried in the paperwork listed as a silent partner: Peter Mitchell.
The lawyer Robert had brought to the police station. “Oh no,” Robert breathed. “Mitchell is working with her. He was never my lawyer. He was hers.”
“He was there to observe,” I said, understanding flooding through me. “To see how much we knew, what evidence we had. And then he reported back to Vanessa.”
Danny clicked through more documents. “There’s more. Mitchell’s law firm is listed as the legal representative for all of Summit Development’s property acquisitions.”
“He’s been part of this from the beginning.”
Which meant every word we said in that police station, and every piece of evidence we discussed, Vanessa knew about within hours.
Robert sank into a chair. “I let him right to you. I thought I was protecting you, but I gave her everything.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have known, Mom. I should have seen who Vanessa really was. All those years… all those warning signs.”
“Robert, stop. We don’t have time for guilt. We need to focus.”
I turned to Danny. “Can you print all of this? Every document showing the connection between Vanessa, Mitchell, and Summit Development?”
“Already doing it.”
The Last Stand
My phone rang. Unknown number again.
I answered on speaker. “Hello?”
“Alexia?” Vanessa’s voice was smooth and confident. “I assume you’ve received my message.”
“I did.”
“And your decision?”
“I’m still considering it.”
“Let me help you decide. I’m sitting in my attorney’s office right now, looking at some very interesting documents. Do you know what a power of attorney form is, Alexia?”
My blood ran cold. “Among the papers I filed with the court is a power of attorney that you signed three months ago.”
“It gives me complete control over your financial and medical decisions if you’re deemed incompetent. Which, after tomorrow’s hearing, you will be.”
“I never signed any such thing.”
“Your signature says otherwise. Notarized and witnessed. Very official.”
“And once the judge sees how confused you are… elderly woman making wild accusations of murder, claiming conspiracies, behaving erratically… he’ll have no choice but to appoint a guardian.”
“Probably me, since I’m family and I already have power of attorney.”
“The judge will see through you.”
“Will he? Judge Winters is a reasonable man. He’ll see a concerned daughter-in-law trying to help her aging mother-in-law who’s clearly suffering from paranoid delusions.”
“He’ll see police reports of you luring people to abandoned buildings in the middle of the night. He’ll see you making unfounded accusations against me, a respected businesswoman with an impeccable reputation.”
“Your reputation is built on fraud and murder.”
“Prove it.” Her voice turned sharp. “You have nothing, Alexia. Those encrypted files? My people accessed them two days ago. Everything incriminating has been deleted.”
“The thumb drive Danny has is worthless.”
Danny’s eyes widened, but I kept my voice steady. “If that’s true, why are you calling?”
“Because I’m giving you one last chance to do this the easy way. Sign over the farm. Drop all charges. Admit you’ve been confused and stressed.”
“Do that, and I’ll let you live out your remaining years in a nice facility. You’ll be comfortable, safe, cared for.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then after tomorrow’s hearing, when I have power of attorney, I’ll have you committed to a psychiatric facility for evaluation.”
“It happens all the time with elderly people who become delusional. The evaluations can take months.”
“Meanwhile, I’ll sell the farm, liquidate your assets, and there won’t be anything left for you to fight for.”
“You’ll spend whatever time you have left in an institution while your precious land becomes a subdivision called Meadowbrook Estates.”
She’d thought of everything. Every angle, every possibility, except one.
“Vanessa, can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Did Rachel beg before you killed her?”
Silence on the line, long and cold. “I didn’t kill Rachel. I would never.”
“Save it. I know about Martha Hartley, Rachel’s grandmother. I know about the ranch in Red Lodge, about Summit Development, about all of it.”
“Rachel learned from the best. She watched you destroy her grandmother, and she joined you. But then she wanted more, and you couldn’t allow that.”
“You can’t prove any of this.”
“Can’t I? I have corporate documents linking you to Summit Development. I have property records showing a pattern of elderly victims. I have recordings of you admitting to conspiracy.”
“And I have something else, Vanessa. Something you don’t know about.”
“What?”
“Rachel gave Danny a backup of those encrypted files. The real backup. Not the thumb drive. She was smarter than you thought. She hid it somewhere even you couldn’t find it.”
It was a bluff. A complete bluff. But I heard the change in Vanessa’s breathing.
“You’re lying.”
“Am I? Rachel told Danny that if anything happened to her, he should look in the place where it all began. The place where she first met you.”
“Do you know where that is, Vanessa? Because Danny does.”
Another pause. “Even if that were true, you’d never get into those files. The encryption is military grade.”
“Unless you have the password, which Rachel gave to Danny before she died.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Then why are you still on the phone? Why not just hang up and proceed with your plan?”
I let that sink in. “You’re afraid, Vanessa. Afraid that for once, someone was smarter than you. That Rachel played you just as well as you played everyone else.”
“This conversation is over.”
“No, it’s not. Because I’m going to that hearing tomorrow. And I’m going to bring every piece of evidence I have: every document, every recording, every connection to your past victims.”
“And I’m going to present it all to Judge Winters, not as the confused old woman you think I am, but as someone who has spent the past week becoming an expert in your crimes.”
“The judge won’t allow it. It’s a competency hearing, not a criminal trial.”
“Then we’ll see, won’t we? 2:00 p.m. tomorrow. I’ll be there. Will you?”
I hung up before she could respond. Robert was staring at me. “Mom, was any of that true? Does Danny really have a backup?”
“No. But Vanessa doesn’t know that.”
“You just declared war on her.”
“No, Robert. She declared war on me the moment she forged my signature. I’m just finishing it.”
I looked at Danny. “How much time do you need to find out where Rachel and Vanessa first met?”
“Grandma, I don’t even know where to start.”
“Yes, you do. Rachel worked at County Records. That’s where Vanessa would have recruited her.”
“Find out when Rachel started that job. Look at what properties Vanessa was selling at that time and cross-reference it with Rachel’s background. There’s a connection. There has to be.”
Danny’s fingers flew across the keyboard. Ten minutes later, he found it.
The Red Lodge Ranch, Martha Hartley’s property. It was listed by Summit Properties six years ago.
The listing agent was Vanessa Foster. And the transaction was recorded at County Records by… He looked up, eyes wide. “By B. Hartley. That was her first week on the job.”
“That’s where they met. Where Vanessa recruited her, or where they finalized their plan together.”
I grabbed my coat. “We need to go there now.”
“Mom, it’s 9:00 at night. That ranch has probably been developed, torn down, or…”
“Or it hasn’t. Either way, we need to look. If there’s any chance Rachel hid evidence there, we have to find it before Vanessa does.”
Tom called back. “Alexia, Judge Winters will give you 15 minutes tomorrow at 1:00 p.m., before the hearing. But that’s all. Don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t. Thank you, Tom.”
We took my truck, all three of us, with the patrol car following at a distance. The drive to Red Lodge took 90 minutes through dark mountain roads and small towns already asleep.
The ranch was still there, not developed or torn down, just abandoned. The house was a burnt-out shell, exactly as the newspaper had described it.
But the barn still stood, weathered and leaning but intact. “Why would Vanessa keep this?” Robert wondered. “Why not tear it down and build?”
“Because she couldn’t,” Danny said, checking his phone. “The property is tied up in legal disputes.”
“Martha Hartley’s will left everything to Rachel, but Rachel disclaimed the inheritance. Then Martha’s other relatives contested it. It’s been in probate court for six years.”
“So no one could touch it,” I said. “Which means if Rachel hid something here, it’s been safe all this time.”
We approached the barn carefully. The doors hung open, creaking in the wind.
Inside, it smelled of old hay and decay. My flashlight beam cut through the darkness, finding empty stalls, broken equipment, and shadows.
“Where would she hide it?” Danny asked.
I thought about Rachel Morrison, a young woman who’d helped destroy her own grandmother, who’d learned to be ruthless and calculating. “Where would someone like that hide her insurance?”
“Somewhere personal,” I said. “Somewhere that meant something.”
“Danny, you said Rachel and her grandmother were close before the betrayal?”
“According to the articles, yes. Martha raised Rachel after her parents died.”
I moved deeper into the barn, searching. There, in the back corner, was a horse stall with a name carved into the wood: Starlight.
“That was Rachel’s horse,” Danny said, checking his phone. “There’s a photo in one of the articles. Rachel riding a gray mare named Starlight.”
I knelt down, running my hands along the stall boards. One was loose.
Behind it, wrapped in waterproof plastic, was a small metal box. Inside the box was another thumb drive and a handwritten note.
If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead. Vanessa Foster killed my grandmother and made me help her. I’ve been collecting evidence ever since, waiting for the right moment. This drive contains everything: unedited recordings, original documents, proof of every crime. The password is Starlight1997. Use it to stop her. – Rachel
“1997,” Danny whispered. “The year Rachel was born.”
We had it. Real evidence, unencrypted. Everything we needed.
And then we heard the sound of cars approaching. Multiple cars, fast.
“They followed us,” Robert said, looking out the barn door. “Vanessa must have had someone watching us.”
Three vehicles pulled up outside, their headlights blinding. Doors opened, and figures emerged.
Vanessa stood in the center, flanked by Peter Mitchell and two men I didn’t recognize. They were large men, not lawyers.
“Alexia!” Her voice echoed in the night. “You’re trespassing on private property! That’s illegal! Whatever you found in there belongs to the estate!”
“This estate belongs to Rachel Morrison!” I called back. “And she left instructions!”
“Rachel is dead! I’m the executor of her estate now! Hand over whatever you found!”
“I don’t think so.”
Mitchell stepped forward. “Mrs. Foster, we can have you arrested right now. Sheriff Brennan’s patrol car is gone. We sent them on a false emergency call 20 miles from here.”
“You’re alone, you’re outnumbered, and you’re holding stolen property.”
I looked at the metal box in my hands, at the thumb drive that could end Vanessa’s empire, and I smiled. “You’re right about one thing, Mr. Mitchell. Sheriff Brennan’s patrol car is gone. But you’re wrong about me being alone.”
I pulled out my phone and hit “send” on the video I’d been streaming live for the past 10 minutes. It was streaming directly to Tom’s phone, to the state police, and to three local news stations.
“I’ve been broadcasting everything,” I said calmly. “Every word you’ve said, every threat you’ve made. And now thousands of people are watching you, Vanessa.”
“Watching you admit to being executor of Rachel’s estate, an estate you shouldn’t have any connection to if you’re innocent. Watching you threaten us on this property. Watching you bring muscle to intimidate an elderly woman.”
Vanessa’s face went white in the headlights. “You can take this thumb drive from me,” I continued, “but it won’t matter.”
“Because in exactly five minutes, my grandson is uploading the complete contents to cloud storage, with copies going to the FBI, state police, and every news outlet in Montana. It’s over, Vanessa. You lost.”
