Chương 11
Another email three weeks later was harsher.
Your delay has put the entire project in jeopardy.
A handwritten note in Dad’s pen filled the margin.
Need 5k by Monday.
My chest tightened.
The five thousand dollars.
I touched the note with one finger.
Mom watched me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Emily.”
“I gave him this.”
Her expression changed.
“What do you mean?”
“Two months before he died, Dad asked me for five thousand.”
Mom’s face drained.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“He never told me that.”
“I know.”
“What did he say it was for?”
“To cover something before you saw it.”
She looked away.
For some reason, that hurt more than the money.
Not because Dad had lied to her.
Because he had made me part of the lie without telling me.
Ryan leaned closer to the email.
“Did your five thousand go to Victor?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you check?”
“Four years of bank records ago.”
“Six.”
“Right.”
I took out my phone.
“I can request statements.”
Mom said, “Don’t.”
I looked up.
“Why?”
“I don’t want you chasing every old payment.”
“That is exactly what I’m going to do.”
“You’ll drive yourself crazy.”
“Maybe.”
“You can’t change what happened.”
“No.”
I looked at the box.
“But I can find out whether my name is attached to anything else.”
That silenced her.
Ryan pulled out another folder.
Inside were copies of wire transfer forms.
The first was dated nine days after Dad’s funeral.
Amount: $89,640.
Beneficiary bank: Atlantic Crescent Bank.
Account name line: Emily Lawson.
I stared at it.
Four years before I married Daniel, I had still been Emily Whitmore.
“This is wrong.”
Ryan noticed immediately.
“What?”
“My name.”
Mom looked confused.
“It says Emily Lawson.”
“I wasn’t Lawson then.”
Her face went blank.
I turned the document toward her.
“You said you put my name on the transfer.”
“I did.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.”
“I wasn’t Emily Lawson when Dad died.”
Mom stared at the paper.
The room seemed to shrink.
Ryan took the form from me.
“Daniel and Emily got married three years after Dad died.”
“I know when they got married.”
“Then how is her married name on a transfer dated nine days after the funeral?”
Mom did not answer.
I looked closer.
The document itself was a copy.
No original signatures.
No bank stamp.
Nothing that proved the date printed at the top was the date the form had actually been created.
A cold feeling spread through my arms.
“Where did you get this?”
Mom stood too quickly.
“I don’t remember.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No.”
“Did Victor give it to you?”
“I said I don’t remember.”
Ryan held up the page.
“This form is fake.”
“We don’t know that.”
“Emily wasn’t Lawson.”
“I can see that.”
“Then somebody changed it later.”
Mom started walking toward the kitchen.
I followed.
“Who?”
She turned.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Then stop lying.”
Her eyes flashed.
“You have no idea what those years were like.”
“You’re right.”
My voice shook now.
“Because every time I tried to help, you gave me only enough truth to keep me useful.”
She flinched.
Ryan came into the kitchen behind me.
“Mom, did Victor ever contact you after Emily got married?”
Mom gripped the counter.
Her knuckles whitened.
“Once.”
I felt the room drop away again.
“When?”
“About six months after the wedding.”
“What did he want?”
“He said there were still problems with the old debt.”
Ryan closed his eyes.
“Of course there were.”
“What problems?”
Mom looked at me.
“He said someone had started asking questions about the redevelopment project.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did that have to do with you?”
“He wanted copies of the old transfer paperwork.”
“And you gave them to him?”
“Yes.”
“Did he return them?”
She nodded toward the living room.
“That copy came later.”
My pulse hammered.
“So Victor created a new version with my married name.”
“I don’t know who created it.”
“But you noticed.”
She did not answer.
“Mom.”
“Yes.”
“Why keep it?”
“Because he told me it proved the payment had gone where it was supposed to go.”
“To me?”
“He said the name didn’t matter.”
I laughed once in disbelief.
“The name was the only thing that mattered.”
“I know that now.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You knew enough four years ago to ask Carl whether the transfer could be reversed.”
Her eyes filled again.
“Because Victor called me.”
“When?”
“The same week.”
“What did he say?”
Mom’s voice dropped to almost nothing.
“He said if I tried to undo anything, he would tell everyone you had received your father’s money.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
The kitchen clock ticked loud enough to be irritating.
Ryan looked at Mom, then at me.
“He threatened to frame Emily.”
Mom shook her head quickly.
“He didn’t say frame.”
“What would you call it?”
“He said the paperwork would speak for itself.”
“That is somehow worse.”
I pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat because standing suddenly felt performative.
“What exactly did he say?”
Mom leaned against the counter.
“It was a phone call.”
“I know.”
“I don’t remember every word.”
“Then remember the parts that scared you.”
She looked toward the living room.
“I had called Carl that morning.”
“About reversing the transfer.”
“Yes.”
“Why then?”
Mom rubbed the side of her thumb with one fingernail.
“Because after you got married, I started thinking about paperwork.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It did to me.”
“How?”
“Your name changed.”
I stared at her.
“And?”
“And that old transfer had your maiden name in some places.”
“Some places?”
She winced.
Ryan said, “There are more forms.”
Mom nodded.
My stomach tightened again.
“Where?”
“Some might be in the box.”
“Some?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mom.”
“I don’t know.”
She raised her voice, then immediately lowered it.
“I had papers from the bank, papers from Victor, papers from Carl, copies of copies.”
“And the versions didn’t match.”
May you like
“Not always.”
Ryan muttered, “That seems important.”
