Chương 9
I looked.
“Contributor.”
“And the next column?”
“Commitment.”
My pulse began to climb.
“Tony, it looks like he listed me as someone contributing thirty-eight thousand dollars to something.”
“Save a copy immediately.”
I did.
Then I exported the sheet as a PDF.
My phone rang while the file downloaded.
Bruno again.
I answered.
His voice was quieter this time.
“I sent you everything I have.”
“I saw it.”
“There’s something else.”
I looked at my mother.
“What?”
“Barron didn’t just help me.”
“I know about Dominic.”
Bruno went silent.
“You know?”
“Your mother talks when she’s upset.”
“Great.”
“What is the money for?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Bruno.”
“I’m serious.”
He lowered his voice.
“Barron and Dominic have been talking about some investment for months.”
“What kind?”
“Property, I think.”
“You think?”
“Dominic had access to a deal.”
“What deal?”
“I don’t know.”
My frustration sharpened.
“You took twenty thousand dollars from Barron and never asked why he suddenly had money available?”
“I was trying not to lose my business.”
That answer stopped me.
Not because it excused him.
Because it was human enough to be believable.
“When you’re drowning,” Bruno said, “you don’t ask the guy throwing you a rope where he bought it.”
My mother sat on the other bed.
I asked, “Did Barron say I was involved in the investment?”
Bruno hesitated.
“Yes.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“What did he say?”
“That you were putting in thirty-eight.”
There it was.
The number from the spreadsheet.
“Did you ever hear me say that?”
“No.”
“Did you see anything from me?”
“No.”
“Then why did you believe him?”
“Because you’re married.”
The answer was simple.
Brutal.
Reasonable.
I looked at the line with my initials.
The lie had worked because marriage itself had been the evidence.
“Who else heard him say it?”
“Dominic.”
“Anyone else?”
“Maybe Marissa.”
“Think.”
“Celina might have.”
“Bruno, I need you to send me a message stating exactly what Barron told you.”
He exhaled.
“He’ll know I’m helping you.”
“I’m not asking you to choose between us.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No.”
I stared at the spreadsheet.
“He already chose for you when he used my name.”
Bruno did not respond.
Then he said, “There’s one more thing.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“That twelve hundred dollars he accused your mother of taking.”
My mother stood.
Bruno continued.
“He had it last night.”
I stopped breathing.
“How do you know?”
“Because he gave it to me this morning.”
For several seconds, I heard nothing except Bruno breathing.
My mother stood beside the bed with both hands flat against the mattress.
“Say that again.”
Bruno hesitated.
“He gave me twelve hundred dollars this morning.”
“Cash?”
“Yes.”
“In what?”
“What do you mean?”
“Envelope, wallet, loose bills?”
“Envelope.”
My mother closed her eyes.
“What color?”
I looked at her.
Bruno sounded confused.
“White.”
“Was there writing on it?”
“No.”
My mother opened her eyes.
“The money in Barron’s desk was in a white envelope.”
A chill moved over my arms.
I asked Bruno, “Why did he give it to you?”
“He said it would help with payroll until I could move some things around.”
“You told me he already gave you twenty thousand.”
“That money went straight toward the tax problem.”
“So this was extra.”
“Yes.”
“When did he give it to you?”
“About seven-thirty.”
“Where?”
“My house.”
“Did he say where it came from?”
“No.”
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
I shut my eyes.
Of course he had not asked.
Bruno had spent the morning receiving money from his brother while I was discovering that our savings had been stripped down to three thousand dollars.
“Do you still have it?”
“Most of it.”
“What does most mean?”
“I bought gas.”
My mother made a sound that was almost a laugh.
Bruno said, “I didn’t know any of this.”
“I believe you.”
The words surprised me.
He went quiet.
“Take a photograph of the envelope and whatever cash remains,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because Barron accused my mother of stealing that exact amount.”
Bruno cursed.
“He knew I was coming over.”
“What?”
“Last night.”
I sat straighter.
“Explain.”
“He called me around five.”
Before the slap.
Before I got home.
“What did he say?”
“That he might have some cash for me in the morning.”
My mother stared at me.
“So the money was already intended for you.”
“I guess.”
“Did he say how much?”
“Twelve hundred.”
The room seemed to narrow.
The accusation had not begun with missing money.
The money had not been missing.
Barron had known exactly where it was going.
Tony spoke through my phone, and I realized I had never ended our call.
“Bruno, this is Tony Morgan.”
Bruno groaned.
“Wonderful.”
“I need you to preserve the envelope and the remaining bills.”
“For what?”
“Potential evidence.”
“I’m not getting dragged into court.”
“You may already be relevant.”
“That is not what I want to hear.”
“I’m not here to make you comfortable.”
My mother whispered, “He really isn’t.”
Tony continued.
“Do not return the cash to Barron.”
Bruno said nothing.
“Do not destroy the envelope.”
Still nothing.
“And do not discuss this call with him until you’ve spoken with your own counsel if you believe you need one.”
“My own lawyer?”
“You’re not accused of anything by me.”
“That sentence did not help.”
“It wasn’t designed to.”
Bruno exhaled.
“Fine.”
Then he said my name.
“Yeah?”
“I really did think you knew about the twenty thousand.”
I looked at the spreadsheet on my laptop.
“I know.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“No.”
“Do you hate me?”
The question was so childish that it hurt.
“No.”
My mother looked at me, perhaps surprised by how quickly I answered.
“I’m angry with you.”
“That I understand.”
“But I don’t hate you.”
Bruno was quiet.
Then he said, “He told me you were becoming difficult about money.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“When?”
“A few months ago.”
“What did difficult mean?”
“I don’t know.”
May you like
“Bruno.”
“He said you were asking questions about spending.”
