Chương 10
“I don’t need a hospital.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
Another metallic sound echoed through the call.
Then I heard a horn in the distance.
Not a car horn.
Longer.
Lower.
A ferry or a freight vessel.
Raymond heard it too.
His eyes shifted toward the windows and then back to me.
Marcus said, “You need to withdraw the fraud report.”
“Why?”
“Because North Harbor will pull everything.”
“Good.”
“No.”
His voice sharpened.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
“If they pull the facility, payroll fails permanently.”
“That is not a reason to use a forged signature.”
“Three hundred people work there.”
“Then you should have protected the company instead of buying a penthouse.”
Silence.
Lydia stared at me.
Marcus said quietly, “Who told you?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.”
“No.”
“You think that money was for me?”
“Wasn’t it?”
He laughed again.
This time there was anger in it.
“You always think you already know the answer.”
I almost snapped back.
Then I stopped.
A familiar accusation from an unfamiliar mouth.
Lydia had said nearly the same thing an hour earlier.
“What was the penthouse for?” I asked.
Marcus hesitated.
“For the company.”
“That answer is absurd.”
“It was collateral.”
“For what?”
“A private agreement.”
“With whom?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Then we’re done.”
“Wait.”
I said nothing.
His breathing came louder through the speaker.
Finally he said, “With Kessler.”
Raymond’s expression changed.
I mouthed, Who?
He shook his head.
Marcus continued.
“North Harbor wasn’t the first bridge.”
“How many were there?”
“Two.”
“Who is Kessler?”
“A private lender.”
“What kind?”
“The kind who doesn’t file everything.”
Tessa mouthed, Careful.
I understood.
Marcus was drifting toward allegations none of us could verify.
“Legal name,” I said.
He gave it.
Adrian Kessler.
Raymond typed it into his phone.
Marcus said, “He gave us five million in February.”
“At what rate?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“High.”
“How high?”
“Enough.”
“And the penthouse?”
“He wanted hard collateral that wasn’t tied to the operating company.”
“Why would he accept property you did not own yet?”
“Because the purchase was structured through an escrow.”
Tessa frowned.
“Who prepared the documents?”
I asked.
Marcus went silent again.
Lydia whispered, “Peter.”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Outside counsel.”
“Name.”
“I’m not giving you every name.”
“Then hang up.”
“Eleanor.”
“You called us.”
“I called Lydia.”
“You reached both of us.”
He swore softly.
Lydia pulled away from me.
“Did you forge Mom’s signature?”
Marcus did not answer.
She asked again.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Do you know who did?”
Another silence.
That was answer enough for her.
Her face changed from fear to something colder.
“Marcus.”
“I didn’t sign her name.”
“Who did?”
“I can’t say.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know exactly.”
“Exactly?”
He made a frustrated sound.
“The filing package came back completed.”
“From whom?”
“Our counsel.”
“Which counsel?”
“Lydia, stop.”
“No.”
Her voice steadied.
“You’ve been telling me to stop for months.”
“Because every time you panic, you make things worse.”
“I’m not panicking.”
“You called your mother.”
“She found out before I called anybody.”
“Because she has people crawling through our records.”
I almost spoke.
Lydia raised one hand toward me without looking away from the phone.
For once, I obeyed.
“You asked for her money,” Lydia said.
“You brought her into this.”
“I asked for help.”
“You asked her to hand over property.”
“We needed leverage.”
“You threatened to cut her out of our lives.”
Marcus went quiet.
“So did I,” Lydia said.
Her voice softened.
“I said it too.”
“No one forced you.”
“I know.”
That sentence seemed to land harder than blame.
Marcus said, “Then you know this isn’t all on me.”
“I do.”
For a second, I hated her for agreeing with him.
Then I heard what she was actually doing.
She was separating guilt from obedience.
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to keep helping you,” she said.
Marcus breathed out slowly.
“Lyd.”
“No.”
“Listen to me.”
“No.”
“You don’t know what happens if Kessler thinks I’m cooperating with your mother.”
The room went still.
I said, “Is Kessler with you?”
“No.”
“Was he in the van?”
“No.”
“Was Peter?”
Marcus did not answer.
Lydia gripped the table edge.
“Marcus.”
“He came after me.”
“Peter came after you?”
“He followed the van.”
“Why?”
“Because he wanted the files.”
“What files?”
“The subscription agreements.”
“Why would he want them?”
“Because his signature is on some of them.”
Tessa’s pen stopped.
I said, “As CFO?”
“Yes.”
“Did he know the financial statements were inaccurate?”
Marcus snapped, “I didn’t say they were inaccurate.”
“You said he wanted the files.”
“He wanted originals.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
There was that phrase again.
It sounded different from Marcus.
Less like confusion.
More like shelter.
Raymond stepped closer and showed me his phone.
A search result displayed Adrian Kessler’s name attached to a commercial real estate firm and several civil lawsuits.
Nothing that proved what Marcus was implying.
I nodded.
No conclusions.
No fantasies.
Just names.
“Where is Peter now?” Lydia asked.
“I told you, I don’t know.”
“Was he bleeding?”
Marcus inhaled sharply.
Lydia’s eyes filled.
“Was that his blood?”
“He cut his hand.”
“How?”
“He grabbed the door when I was leaving.”
“What door?”
“The van.”
“Were you fighting?”
“No.”
“Marcus.”
“He tried to stop me.”
“How?”
“He got in front of the van.”
“You hit him?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
“He grabbed the passenger door while we were moving.”
Lydia stared at Raymond.
I said, “Who was driving?”
Marcus hesitated.
“The florist.”
“What florist?”
“One of the subcontractors.”
“Name.”
“I don’t know.”
“You climbed into a stranger’s commercial van and told him to drive you away from your own wedding?”
“He owed me.”
That was new.
“For what?”
“Money.”
“How much?”
“A few thousand.”
“Why?”
“Side work.”
“What side work?”
“Eleanor, this is not relevant.”
“It became relevant when his van ended up abandoned with blood inside.”
Marcus’s voice dropped.
“You are making this sound worse than it is.”
May you like
“No.”
I looked at Lydia.
