Family Therapy

The accusation hung in the air like a physical presence. Four pairs of eyes fixed on Emma, expressions ranging from shock to disbelief to something harder to read.

"That's quite an allegation," Diana said finally, her researcher's detachment slipping. "What evidence do you have?"

Emma opened her bag and removed a clear plastic evidence bag containing a mobile phone. "This is my mother's phone. I found it this morning when I went to her flat after she didn't answer my calls." Her voice remained steady, but her knuckles were white around the bag. "She was supposed to meet me for dinner last night. She never showed up."

"That doesn't mean she's dead," Peter said, though his tone lacked conviction.

"There was blood in her study," Emma continued. "Not a lot, but enough. And signs of a struggle. Her laptop is missing. So are her patient files."

Jonathan leaned forward. "Did you call the police?"

"Yes. They're treating it as a missing persons case for now. They think she might have staged it herself." Emma's laugh was brittle. "Apparently therapists have mental breakdowns too."

"But you don't believe that," Aisha observed.

"My mother has been investigating something for months. Something connected to this group." Emma held up the notebook Rebecca had brought. "This isn't her only research. She has a whole file at home—encrypted notes, newspaper clippings, financial records. She thought one of you was in serious danger."

"Or was dangerous," Peter muttered.

Emma nodded. "That too. She believed someone was using this group for purposes beyond therapy."

Diana shifted uncomfortably. "As some of us have admitted to doing."

"But not for sinister reasons," Aisha protested. "Research and professional preparation aren't motives for murder."

"What about protecting financial secrets worth billions?" Jonathan asked quietly. "That's certainly a motive."

Emma looked at him directly. "My mother had been looking into Harrington Global for months. She believed they were connected to several suspicious deaths, all ruled accidents or suicides."

Peter sat up straighter. "What deaths?"

"A financial journalist named Samira Patel. A bank compliance officer called Richard Mercer. A data analyst at the Financial Conduct Authority whose name I don't remember."

"David Chen," Jonathan supplied, his face ashen. "The data analyst was David Chen. He was my friend, the colleague I mentioned who disappeared."

Diana had gone very still. "And Richard Mercer was my brother."

The revelation sent another shock wave through the group.

"Your brother?" Emma asked. "You never mentioned—"

"Of course I didn't," Diana snapped, her composed facade cracking. "I've spent the last year trying to prove his death wasn't a suicide. The police wouldn't listen. The coroner wouldn't listen. No one would listen."

"Except my mother," Emma said softly.

Diana nodded, a quick jerky movement. "Dr. Marsh contacted me six months ago. She was connecting dots between several deaths and Harrington Global. She'd found my academic papers on deception and thought I might help her understand some of the psychological patterns she was seeing."

"So you joined this group at her request?" Jonathan asked.

"Not exactly. I was already attending a different support group—for family members of suicide victims. She suggested I might find this group... educational. I didn't realize she was placing me here deliberately."

Peter was pacing again. "This is insane. Are you suggesting Dr. Marsh engineered this entire group? Brought us all together because of our connections to Harrington Global?"

Emma hesitated. "I don't know. She didn't tell me everything. But I do know she was building a case. She wanted to take it to someone she trusted at the Serious Fraud Office, but she needed more concrete evidence."

"Evidence that one of us might have," Aisha concluded.

"Yes. She believed one of you had information that could expose whatever Harrington is hiding. Information worth killing for."

Jonathan's hands were trembling again. "The files I copied. They contain transaction records, client codes, account numbers. But they're encrypted. Without the key, they're useless."

"Where are these files now?" Aisha asked.

"Hidden. I have them on an encrypted drive in a storage locker in Croydon."

Peter had stopped pacing and was staring at Jonathan. "You've been sitting on evidence of financial crimes for eighteen months without doing anything with it?"

"I was trying to stay alive," Jonathan retorted. "Unlike my colleague who asked too many questions."

"What about you, Peter?" Emma asked. "You said you were investigating Harrington too. What did you find?"

Peter ran a hand through his hair. "Names. Connections. A pattern of property purchases through shell companies that all lead back to the same source. But nothing concrete enough to publish. Nothing that would stand up in court."

"And you, Aisha?" Diana pressed. "You said you're building a case against financial institutions. Is Harrington your primary target?"

Aisha's professional composure wavered slightly. "I can't discuss—"

"My mother is dead," Emma interrupted, her voice cracking for the first time. "If it's connected to your case, I deserve to know."

The room fell silent except for the hum of the fluorescent lights. Aisha seemed to be waging an internal battle between professional ethics and the situation at hand.

"Yes," she said finally. "Harrington Global is the primary focus of our investigation. We believe they've been laundering money for criminal organizations and corrupt regimes for decades. But proving it has been nearly impossible. They're too careful, too connected."

"What about a whistleblower?" Diana asked. "Surely someone inside the organization has talked."

"The last internal whistleblower was found dead in his car three years ago. Carbon monoxide poisoning. Ruled a suicide." Aisha's voice was flat. "No one has come forward since."

All eyes turned to Jonathan, who looked increasingly uncomfortable.

"I'm not a whistleblower," he said defensively. "I'm just someone who wanted insurance to stay alive."

"But you have evidence," Emma insisted. "Evidence that could help prove what they've done."

"Evidence that could get us all killed," Peter countered. "If what we're suggesting is true—if Harrington Global is eliminating people who threaten to expose them—then we're all in danger just sitting here having this conversation."

"We're in danger regardless," Diana said. "If Dr. Marsh connected us to her investigation and she's been..." she glanced at Emma apologetically, "...harmed because of it, then whoever did it knows about us too."

A heavy silence fell over the group as the implications sank in.

"I still don't understand something," Jonathan said finally, turning to Emma. "If you're Dr. Marsh's daughter, why have you been pretending to be a patient in this group? Why the disguises, the different stories every week?"

Emma's expression tightened. "My mother and I... we weren't close. Not for years. I'm a true crime writer—I specialize in financial crimes and corruption. She disapproved of my methods, thought I was exploiting tragedy for profit." A bitter smile crossed her face. "The irony is, we were investigating the same people without realizing it."

"Until recently?" Aisha prompted.

Emma nodded. "She contacted me about two months ago. Said she needed my help with something important but couldn't explain over the phone. When we met, she told me about her suspicions regarding Harrington Global and the deaths connected to them. She'd been using her position as a therapist to gather information."

"By treating patients connected to the case," Diana concluded.

"Yes. She asked me to join this group under a false identity. She wanted an extra pair of eyes, someone who could observe the dynamics without being known as her daughter."

"So you've been spying on us," Peter said flatly.

"I've been trying to help my mother find the truth," Emma corrected. "And now she's dead because of it."

The accusation hung in the air again.

"You still haven't explained why you think one of us killed her," Jonathan said quietly.

Emma removed a folded piece of paper from her pocket and smoothed it open. "This was in her desk at home. It's a list of everyone in this group, with notes beside each name." She placed it on her lap, visible to the others.

Jonathan/Thomas - Has evidence but afraid to use it. Genuine risk aversion or playing a longer game?

Diana - Personal vendetta re: brother's death. Researcher or something more?

Peter/Michael - Journalist or agent provocateur? Patterns of fabrication too consistent for typical pathology.

Aisha - Professional interest or personal involvement? Family connections to Kazmi Holdings require further investigation.

Rebecca/Emma - My own daughter. Can I trust her after everything?

The last note sent a visible shock through Emma, her composure cracking further.

"She didn't trust me," she whispered. "Even at the end."

"What's Kazmi Holdings?" Jonathan asked, looking at Aisha.

Aisha's face had gone carefully blank. "A family investment company. It has nothing to do with this."

"Clearly your mother thought otherwise," Diana observed.

"My family's business dealings are legitimate," Aisha said firmly. "If Dr. Marsh was investigating them, she was mistaken."

"Or she found something you didn't want revealed," Peter suggested.

Aisha's eyes flashed. "I am building a case against Harrington Global. Why would I harm someone helping to expose them?"

"To protect your family?" Jonathan suggested.

"Or because you're working for Harrington, not against them," Diana added. "A double agent of sorts."

The accusations were flying now, the fragile trust that had been building disintegrating rapidly.

"Stop it," Emma said, her voice cutting through the rising tension. "This is exactly what they would want—us turning on each other instead of focusing on the real threat."

"Which is what, exactly?" Peter demanded. "Harrington Global? Some shadowy conspiracy of financial criminals? We have no proof of anything except that your mother is missing and she kept cryptic notes about all of us."

"And that three people connected to investigations of Harrington Global have died under suspicious circumstances," Jonathan added quietly.

"Four, if Dr. Marsh is dead," Diana corrected.

Emma stood suddenly, the movement so abrupt that everyone fell silent.

"I didn't come here to accuse any of you," she said. "I came because I think we're all in danger, and because I think collectively we might have enough information to understand what happened to my mother and why."

"And then what?" Aisha asked. "Go to the police? We've established they may not be trustworthy."

"Go public," Emma said. "I'm a writer. I have contacts at several major newspapers. If we can compile enough evidence—Jonathan's files, Peter's research, Aisha's legal case, Diana's analysis, my mother's notes—we might have enough to force an official investigation that can't be quietly closed."

"Or we might all end up like your mother," Peter said bluntly.

A heavy silence fell over the group. The community center's heating system clicked off, leaving the room suddenly, uncomfortably quiet.

"I need to show you something else," Emma said finally, reaching into her bag again. She withdrew a sealed envelope. "My mother left this in her desk. It's addressed to 'The Group.'"

She broke the seal and removed a single sheet of paper. The handwriting matched that in the notebook—Dr. Marsh's precise, measured script.

If you're reading this, something has happened to me. Trust no one outside the group, and even within it, proceed with caution. What Harrington Global is hiding goes beyond money laundering. They are protecting something called "The Continuity Protocol." I don't know what it is, but it connects to offshore accounts designated MONARCH-1 through MONARCH-7. Jonathan has the transaction records. Peter has the names. Aisha has the legal framework. Diana has the psychological profile. Emma has my research. Together, you have everything needed to expose them.

One final warning: There is a sixth member of your group who has never attended a session. Find them before they find you.

—Eleanor

The note seemed to drop into the room like a stone into still water, sending ripples of shock through each person present.

"A sixth member?" Diana was the first to speak, her researcher's mind already cataloging possibilities.

"The Continuity Protocol," Jonathan murmured. "I've seen that phrase in the encrypted files. I thought it was just a code name for a standard money laundering operation."

"And the MONARCH accounts?" Peter asked.

Jonathan nodded slowly. "Those too. High-value transfers, diplomatic-level security protocols. Whatever they're funding, it's not just criminal enterprises."

"What did she mean—I have the names?" Peter looked genuinely confused. "Names of what?"

"And what legal framework do I supposedly have?" Aisha added. "I'm building a money laundering case, not whatever this is suggesting."

Emma folded the note carefully. "I don't know exactly what she meant. But I do know my mother wouldn't have written this unless she was certain. And unless she believed we were in real danger."

"The sixth member," Diana said suddenly. "That's the most immediate concern. If there's someone connected to this group who has never attended—someone watching us—"

"Then they could be anywhere," Jonathan finished. "They could know everything we've discussed today."

As if on cue, the community center's ancient heating system groaned back to life with a metallic clang that made everyone jump. Outside, dusk was falling, the windows reflecting their tense faces back at them.

"We need to go somewhere safe," Emma said. "Somewhere we can talk without being overheard."

"Is there anywhere safe?" Peter asked. "If Harrington has the reach we're suggesting—"

"My flat," Diana interrupted. "I sweep it for surveillance devices weekly. Professional paranoia from my research days."

"How do we know we can trust you?" Aisha asked. "How do we know we can trust any of us?"

Emma looked around the circle, at four people who had admitted to lying about their identities and motivations for months. Four people who might be connected to her mother's disappearance—or death. Four people who might be in as much danger as she was.

"We don't," she said simply. "But right now, we don't have a choice."

The empty chair where Dr. Marsh should have been sitting seemed to grow more significant with each passing moment—a void at the center of their circle that demanded to be filled with truth.

"Before we go anywhere," Jonathan said, "I think we need to address the obvious question." He looked directly at Emma. "If there's a sixth member of this group who never attends sessions, how do we know it isn't you? You claim to be Dr. Marsh's daughter, but you've been lying about your identity from the beginning. Why should we believe anything you're saying now?"

Emma met his gaze steadily. "You shouldn't," she said. "That's the point, isn't it? None of us should believe anything without verification. So verify. Call the police and ask if Eleanor Marsh has been reported missing. Look up my books—Emma Marsh, financial crime writer. Check Diana's academic history, Jonathan's employment record, Peter's journalism career, Aisha's legal credentials."

She stood, gathering her belongings. "But do it quickly. Because if my mother is right, we don't have much time."

As if to punctuate her words, the community center's lights flickered once, twice, and then went out, plunging the room into the gray half-light of a London evening.

In the sudden darkness, someone whispered, "Too late."