Chương 10
I almost laughed.
I had not been asking questions.
That was the strange part.
Barron had handled most of the household budgeting because he enjoyed it.
I checked account balances occasionally, paid my credit card, and transferred money into savings automatically after each paycheck.
He had trained me, gently and over years, to experience his financial attention as competence.
“What else did he say?”
“That you might pull back from helping the family.”
My mother sat down.
I looked at her.
“Did he say why?”
“He said you were stressed because your mom was moving in.”
My mouth went dry.
Mom’s face changed.
It was small, but I saw it.
The accusation had already spread backward through time.
Before she entered our home, Barron had been telling people she was affecting me.
Setting a reason.
Building an explanation.
Tony said, “Bruno, send Adela everything you can remember in writing.”
“I’m not writing a statement.”
“You can send her a text.”
“That feels like a statement.”
“It is less formal, not less real.”
“I hate this.”
“So does everyone.”
Bruno disconnected a few seconds later.
My mother remained sitting.
I stared at the hidden spreadsheet.
“Mom.”
She did not answer.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Go quiet.”
“I am thinking.”
“You think with your whole face.”
She looked at me.
“I was wondering whether Barron wanted me in that apartment.”
“He invited you.”
“That was not the question.”
I turned away from the laptop.
“When Dad died, Barron was the one who said you shouldn’t be alone.”
“Yes.”
“He helped us move you.”
“Yes.”
“He cleared the guest room.”
“Yes.”
“He told you it was your home.”
“Yes.”
My mother rubbed her thumb against the edge of her wedding ring.
She still wore it.
“He was very kind.”
I waited.
“And?”
“And perhaps he was kind because he expected something.”
The sentence made me uncomfortable.
“What could he expect from you?”
She looked toward the window.
“My money.”
I stared at her.
“You already told him you weren’t investing it.”
“Not directly.”
“What does that mean?”
“He asked questions.”
“What questions?”
“About the house sale.”
I sat down across from her.
“How much did you tell him?”
“Not much.”
“Mom.”
“I told both of you roughly what I received.”
“You told me.”
“He was standing there.”
That was true.
The cottage had sold for considerably more than my parents originally paid for it, though after the remaining mortgage, closing costs, and taxes, my mother had placed a little over two hundred thousand dollars into conservative accounts.
My father had also left retirement funds and a modest life insurance payment.
She was not wealthy.
She was secure.
“What did Barron ask?”
“He wanted to know whether I planned to leave it in cash.”
“When?”
“Maybe my second week with you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because married people ask each other financial questions.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
She sighed.
“He said I was losing money to inflation.”
That sounded exactly like Barron.
“He suggested funds?”
“Something with property.”
My chest tightened.
“What kind of property?”
“I stopped listening.”
“Mom.”
“He said his cousin had access to investments ordinary people did not.”
Dominic.
I stood so quickly that the chair legs scraped the carpet.
“He talked to you about Dominic?”
“Yes.”
“How much did he want?”
“He did not say.”
“Did he ask you to invest?”
“Not in those exact words.”
“What exact words did he use?”
She frowned, searching.
“He said, ‘If you ever want that money to actually work for you, Dominic has opportunities.’”
“When did he say that?”
“The second or third week.”
That would have been late May.
Before the first external account was added.
Before the transfers.
Before Barron began complaining openly about her presence.
I called Tony back even though he had only been off the line for two minutes.
He answered with, “What now?”
I told him.
His response was immediate.
“Did Adela transfer any money to Barron, Dominic, or anyone connected to either of them?”
“No,” my mother said loudly.
“Did she sign anything?”
“No.”
“Did she provide account numbers?”
“No.”
“Did Barron ever have access to her financial documents?”
My mother and I looked at each other.
She had kept a folder in the guest room.
Bank statements.
The closing papers from the cottage.
Insurance documents.
Barron knew where it was because he had helped carry her file box upstairs.
“Possibly.”
Tony did not speak for a moment.
Then he said, “Change every password on her accounts now.”
My mother stiffened.
“He does not know my passwords.”
“Good.”
“Tony.”
“Change them anyway.”
She looked irritated.
Then fear reached her face.
It was subtle.
A little widening around the eyes.
The first real sign that she was beginning to see herself not merely as someone Barron had slapped but as someone whose private life might have been examined.
“I’ll do it.”
“Also check for unfamiliar authorized users, linked accounts, contact information changes, or recent requests.”
“You think he stole from me?”
“I think we verify first.”
My mother nodded slowly.
We spent the next hour doing exactly that.
Her accounts showed no missing money.
No new linked banks.
No changed contact details.
No strange withdrawals.
The relief was immediate but incomplete.
Nothing had been taken.
That did not mean nothing had been attempted.
At two-thirty, Tony called again.
“I found Dominic.”
I put him on speaker.
“What did you find?”
“Public records first.”
My mother sat beside me.
“His real estate license is active.”
“That sounds normal.”
“It is.”
“Then why do you sound like that?”
“Because there’s an LLC registered to him called Easton Ridge Development.”
I looked at the spreadsheet.
“Private investment.”
“Possibly.”
“There’s that word.”
“You’ll survive.”
“What is Easton Ridge?”
“According to public filings, it was formed eight months ago.”
“For what?”
“The stated purpose is broad.”
“Does it own property?”
“I found one transaction.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where?”
“Rhode Island.”
“Dominic lives there.”
“Yes.”
May you like
“What property?”
“A small commercial parcel outside Pawtucket.”
