Chương 4
Eleanor held out her hand.
“Give me the phone.”
“No.”
“Daniel.”
“He says my mother started it.”
“He says something designed to make you call him.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s false.”
“It doesn’t mean it’s true either.”
Marcus was already gathering the transfer records into a neat stack.
“Save screenshots,” he said.
“I thought you told me not to touch anything.”
“Preserving what you received is different from deleting or altering it.”
I took screenshots and forwarded them to Eleanor.
Blake called before I finished.
The phone vibrated against my palm.
I declined it.
He called again.
Then Vanessa called.
Then my mother.
All three names appeared within forty seconds, as if someone had set off an alarm in the family and nobody knew which room was burning.
Eleanor looked at the screen.
“Go see your father.”
“I thought you wanted me not to confront anyone.”
“Your father isn’t anyone.”
“He’s also sick.”
“Yes.”
Her voice softened.
“That is why you need to be careful with him too.”
Marcus slid one photocopy into a separate folder.
“Before you leave, I need one thing.”
“What?”
“Think about everyone who could access your father’s home office between January and May.”
“That’s half the family.”
“Start with the half.”
I sat again.
“My mother lives there.”
“Obviously.”
“Vanessa practically lived there after Dad’s stroke.”
“Blake?”
“Often.”
“Housekeeping?”
“Two women rotate, but neither handles paperwork.”
“Executive staff?”
“Sometimes our CFO, Martin Kell, brought documents over.”
Marcus wrote the name.
“Anyone else?”
“My father’s assistant, Denise.”
“How long has she worked for him?”
“Twenty-six years.”
“Access to signatures?”
“She prepared documents for him constantly.”
“Financial authority?”
“Limited.”
“Limited meaning?”
“I don’t know.”
He gave me the same patient look as before.
I hated that look.
“I run operations,” I said.
“I’m not supposed to know every administrative permission.”
“But you are trustee now.”
The words landed without accusation and felt like one anyway.
“I know.”
Marcus nodded.
“That means you’re going to learn.”
I left Eleanor’s office with my father’s laptop in one hand and a folder of copies in the other.
Blake called again in the elevator.
I let it ring.
By the time I reached the lobby, he had sent an address.
A coffee shop in Brookline.
Then a message.
Twenty minutes.
Come alone.
I stopped beside the revolving door.
Eleanor had told me to see Dad.
My father had told me to listen to Eleanor.
Every sensible part of me knew exactly what to do.
I ordered a rideshare to Brookline.
The coffee shop was one of those narrow places with exposed brick, tiny tables, and eight people working on laptops as if rent in Boston could be defeated by buying one twelve-ounce coffee.
Blake sat in the back corner.
He had changed since dinner.
Dark sweater, jeans, hair still damp.
He looked ordinary.
That annoyed me too.
I wanted everyone involved in this mess to look guilty.
Blake raised a hand when he saw me.
“You came.”
“Against professional advice.”
“Whose?”
“Does it matter?”
“Eleanor’s?”
I stopped beside the table.
“How do you know Eleanor is involved?”
His face tightened.
“Vanessa told me.”
“She spoke to her office.”
“Exactly.”
I sat down.
“Say what you wanted to say.”
Blake looked toward the counter.
“You want coffee?”
“No.”
“I do.”
“You already have one.”
“It’s cold.”
“Blake.”
“All right.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I need you to understand that Vanessa is going to blame me.”
“Should she?”
“Probably for some of it.”
That answer surprised me enough that I said nothing.
He leaned forward.
“The Wellesley renovation got out of control.”
“How far out?”
“Bad.”
“That isn’t a number.”
“About four hundred thousand over budget.”
I stared at him.
“How do you accidentally go four hundred thousand over budget?”
“You don’t.”
“Good.”
He looked embarrassed.
“It started with the foundation.”
“Foundations usually do.”
“Can you not?”
“Fine.”
“We found water intrusion, then structural problems, then Vanessa wanted to redesign the kitchen because the walls were already open, then she changed contractors.”
“That still doesn’t explain four hundred thousand dollars.”
“No.”
“Did Dad pay it?”
Blake looked down at the table.
“Some.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I stopped looking.”
“You stopped looking at hundreds of thousands of dollars?”
“I stopped opening statements.”
For a moment, I almost admired the stupidity of the confession.
He gave a short, humorless laugh.
“I know how that sounds.”
“It sounds like something a child does with report cards.”
“Yeah.”
He folded the cardboard sleeve around his coffee.
“Pretty much.”
“So Vanessa took money from Dad.”
“She asked your mother for help.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“She did not start moving money.”
“Who did?”
Blake looked at me.
“Patricia.”
I heard the espresso machine hiss behind him.
Someone at the next table sneezed and apologized to nobody in particular.
“Explain.”
“Your mother knew the house was costing more than we could cover.”
“Why would she care?”
“Because Vanessa told her.”
“That still doesn’t make it Mom’s problem.”
Blake’s jaw tightened.
“You don’t live there.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You don’t hear what your mother hears all day.”
“What does she hear?”
“Your dad worrying.”
I leaned back.
“About what?”
“About dying.”
The answer took the anger out of me for a second.
Blake stared into his coffee.
“He thought if he died before Vanessa’s house was finished, she’d lose it.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It made sense to him at the time.”
“Dad is not an idiot.”
“I didn’t say he was.”
“Then why route money through company accounts?”
“He didn’t.”
I looked at him.
Blake lowered his voice.
“Patricia did.”
“You’re saying my mother stole company money to finish your house.”
“No.”
“That is exactly what you’re saying.”
“I’m saying she moved money she believed Thomas had already agreed to give Vanessa.”
“From where?”
“I don’t know all of it.”
May you like
“You seem to know plenty.”
“Because I was there for the beginning.”
