Chapter 9 - MAYA’S LETTER
Maya wrote to me from prison eighteen months later.
I left the letter unopened for two weeks.
Then Dad asked about her.
So I read.
Alex,
I know you hate me.
I didn’t.
That surprised me.
I hated what she did.
Hated the manipulation.
The money.
Dad.
Lucy.
But Maya was still the little girl who used to sleep outside my bedroom during thunderstorms.
Human beings make morality inconvenient by refusing to become only their worst act.
She wrote:
Raymond introduced me to the vendor scheme when I was twenty-three.
He told me everyone in family businesses takes something.
At first, I believed him.
Then I liked the money.
No excuse.
Good.
When Lucy started asking questions, I panicked.
The affair story was my idea.
I stopped.
She admitted it.
Maya had taken a harmless café meeting and paid a photographer to capture entrances and exits.
Derek created the fake email.
Raymond approved.
Then:
I knew if you believed Lucy cheated, you would never examine the financial accusation carefully.
My own sister knew my weakness perfectly.
Pride.
She continued.
Dad scared me more than you did because he listened.
That sentence hurt.
When he found the warehouse deal, Raymond said we needed time.
I changed the medication request.
Raymond put the sedative in the tea.
I froze.
There.
More direct than court had proven.
She admitted participation.
Not necessarily stroke causation.
But intentional drugging.
I copied the letter for prosecutors through proper channels.
Then continued.
After Dad got sick, I kept telling myself I was already too far in.
The fake facility was supposed to last a month.
Then another.
Then another.
Every payment you sent made it easier to keep lying.
The cruelest line:
You never visited, Alex.
I stared.
She was not blaming me for her crimes.
But it was true.
My absence made fraud easier.
Then:
Lucy ruined everything by finding him.
I laughed bitterly.
Even in confession, old resentment lingered.
But later:
Actually, no.
Lucy saved him.
I’m not ready to be grateful to her.
Maybe someday.
The final paragraph:
Dad always said money shows you what you already are.
I thought money made me important.
Mostly it made me afraid of losing what I stole.
I’m sorry.
I folded the letter.
I visited Maya once.
Supervised prison visiting room.
She cried when she saw me.
“So?”
Her voice shook.
“Do you hate me?”
“No.”
She started crying harder.
“That’s worse.”
“Maybe.”
We talked.
No promises.
No instant sibling reunion.
I asked one question.
“Why Lucy?”
Maya wiped her face.
“Because you loved her more than me.”
I stared.
“You thought that?”
“Everyone did.”
“That wasn’t a competition.”
“To you.”
There it was.
Jealousy.
Family hierarchy.
Raymond’s manipulation.
Money.
None excused her.
But they explained the shape.
Before I left, Maya asked:
“Does Dad ever talk about me?”
“Yes.”
She covered her face.
“He still loves you.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s your father.”
She sobbed.
“And he still gave evidence.”
Maya looked up.
I continued.
“Love didn’t make him lie for you.”
She nodded slowly.
May you like
Maybe she needed to hear that most.
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