Chương 8
“That could be anyone in the building.”
“Not quite.”
She paused.
“The login was made at 2:13 in the morning.”
Vanessa frowned.
I put the call on speaker.
“Who was in the building?”
“We are checking access records.”
My father looked at me.
“Martin used to work nights.”
Eleanor heard him.
“Thomas?”
“I’m here.”
“When did that stop?”
“After my stroke.”
Patricia looked suddenly ill.
“What?”
Dad turned to her.
“What is it?”
She stared at the shredded paper.
“Martin came here one night.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“March?”
“Maybe April.”
“Why?”
“He said there was an emergency with payroll.”
I felt something click into place, not a conclusion but a direction.
“Did he go into the study?”
“Yes.”
“Was he alone?”
Patricia nodded.
“How long?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Where was the stamp?”
“In the desk.”
Vanessa whispered, “Jesus.”
Eleanor’s voice came through the phone.
“Nobody call Martin.”
My father looked toward the driveway.
As if summoned by the sentence, tires rolled slowly over the gravel outside.
Vanessa moved to the window.
A black sedan stopped near the front steps.
Her face drained.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
I crossed the room.
Martin Kell climbed out of the driver’s seat carrying a leather portfolio.
He looked exactly as he always did at family functions.
Gray suit.
Blue tie.
Carefully polished shoes.
He glanced toward the house and gave a small wave when he saw Vanessa in the window.
Eleanor heard me say his name.
“Daniel, do not confront him alone.”
“He’s already here.”
My father rose from the chair.
I stepped in front of him.
“No.”
“This is my house.”
“And you can talk to him sitting down.”
The doorbell rang.
Nobody moved.
It rang again.
Then Martin called through the front door.
“Thomas?”
His voice sounded worried.
“Patricia called me.”
Every head in the study turned toward my mother.
She looked genuinely confused.
“I didn’t.”
Martin knocked.
“Thomas, I know about the audit.”
My father’s face hardened.
The hallway felt suddenly too narrow.
I walked to the front door but did not open it.
“Martin.”
Silence outside.
Then, “Daniel?”
“Why are you here?”
“I need to speak to your father.”
“About what?”
Another pause.
“The money.”
Behind me, nobody breathed loudly enough to hear.
I looked through the narrow glass beside the door.
Martin was staring straight ahead.
He did not look panicked.
He looked resigned.
“What money?”
I asked.
He closed his eyes briefly.
Then he opened them.
“The money I moved after Patricia started using Thomas’s signature stamp.”
My mother made a small sound behind me.
Martin continued before I could answer.
“And before you decide what you think happened, Daniel, you should know I moved some of it because I was trying to put back what was already gone.”
I opened the door.
Martin did not step inside.
He looked past me toward my father, then at Patricia, then at Vanessa.
Whatever he had expected to find, the four of us gathered around the study doorway clearly was not it.
“You should come in,” I said.
He hesitated.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether this is a conversation or an ambush.”
My father answered from behind me.
“You’ve known me thirty years, Martin.”
“Nine.”
“Feels longer.”
Martin gave the smallest possible smile.
It disappeared immediately.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
Eleanor was still on speaker.
“Martin,” she said.
He froze.
“Eleanor.”
“Before you say anything else, I’m advising everyone in that house to preserve records and avoid destroying, altering, or removing documents.”
Martin looked toward the study.
He saw the shredded paper.
His expression changed.
“Who did that?”
My mother lifted her chin.
“I did.”
“Jesus Christ, Patricia.”
“Don’t.”
“No, you don’t get to ‘don’t’ me after that.”
My father eased himself back into the chair.
“Sit down, Martin.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“Suit yourself.”
Martin opened his leather portfolio but did not remove anything.
I noticed his hands were shaking.
That mattered more than his tone.
“You said you moved money to replace what was gone,” I said.
“Yes.”
“What was gone?”
Martin looked at Patricia.
She stared at the carpet.
“How much did you move?”
He answered without looking at me.
“Eventually, about three hundred and ten thousand.”
Vanessa swore under her breath.
My father’s face remained still.
“Eventually?”
I asked.
Martin nodded.
“The first problem was smaller.”
“How small?”
“Seventy-five thousand.”
Patricia looked up.
My stomach tightened.
The transfers Marcus had found to her totaled seventy-six thousand.
“Her account,” I said.
Martin nodded.
“Initially.”
Patricia stood.
“No.”
Martin finally looked at her.
“Yes.”
“That money was for household expenses.”
“Some of it.”
“You told me it was fine.”
“I told you I could clean up the accounting if Thomas had actually approved the transfers.”
“He had.”
My father’s voice cut across the room.
“I did not.”
Patricia turned toward him.
“You said to take care of the family.”
“I also tell people to drive safely.”
He pointed weakly toward the desk.
“That does not give them permission to steal my car.”
Vanessa looked at the floor.
Martin rubbed his forehead.
“This is exactly why I didn’t want this conversation happening like this.”
“Then start at the beginning,” I said.
Martin exhaled.
“Patricia called me in February.”
My mother shook her head.
“I called because payroll reports were wrong.”
“You called about three things.”
“Don’t twist it.”
“I’m not.”
He looked at me.
“She told me your father had verbally approved transferring money through Property Management to cover temporary family expenses.”
“What family expenses?”
“Your sister’s house.”
Vanessa closed her eyes.
“Great.”
Martin continued.
“I told Patricia we needed written authorization.”
“And then she produced stamped forms.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know the signature was stamped?”
“Not at first.”
My father leaned forward.
“When did you find out?”
“The second transfer.”
“How?”
“The ink was too uniform.”
Martin’s mouth tightened.
“I’ve seen your signature thousands of times.”
“So you stopped it.”
“No.”
The word landed hard.
May you like
My father stared at him.
Martin looked away.
