Chương 12
“Two years ago.”
“Who owns it?”
“Same registered-agent service.”
Ernesto sat back.
“That has to be Rogelio.”
“Does it?”
“Yes.”
“Why hide it?”
“Tax reasons?”
Mariana looked at him.
“That is what people say when they don’t know anything about taxes.”
“I was offering a theory.”
I took out my phone.
“I’m calling him.”
Mariana touched my arm.
“Wait.”
“Why?”
“If RDS is his, ask him directly whether he owns property under another company.”
“That is what I’m going to do.”
“No.”
She looked at me carefully.
“Ask him whether he ever bought the equipment yard.”
I understood.
If we named RDS first, we would give him information.
The realization left a sour taste in my mouth.
I hated that I had begun thinking about conversations with my father like interrogations.
I called.
He answered before the first ring finished.
“Where are you?”
“Did you buy the yard near the old Halpern warehouse?”
Silence.
“Daniel.”
“Did you?”
“I was trying to.”
“Did you form another company to buy it?”
Another pause.
Then my father said, “Come home.”
“Answer me.”
“This is not a phone conversation.”
“That usually means yes.”
“Come home.”
“Does RDS Development belong to you?”
Mariana closed her eyes.
I had ignored her strategy within thirty seconds.
My father said nothing.
“Dad.”
“No.”
The answer came slowly.
Too slowly.
“Then whose is it?”
“I don’t know.”
I looked at Ernesto.
He shook his head.
“You spent years trying to buy land beside a company called RDS Development, and you never wondered what the initials stood for?”
“I said I don’t know.”
“Who owns Northline?”
Silence again.
My pulse began to climb.
“Dad.”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Claudia?”
“What?”
“Did Claudia own it?”
“No.”
“You sound sure.”
“Because she couldn’t.”
“Why?”
My father exhaled.
“Because Claudia didn’t have that kind of money.”
“Maybe she had yours.”
“Daniel.”
“Whose company is Northline?”
“I told you.”
“No, you told me you don’t know.”
“I don’t.”
“But you know Claudia couldn’t own it.”
“Because I know her finances.”
That sentence contained more intimacy than I wanted to hear.
“How well?”
He did not answer.
I looked at the cashier’s check.
Then at the message from the bank investigation number Mariana had written down.
“Dad, did you give Claudia money to buy property?”
“No.”
“Did you lend her money?”
“No.”
“Did you ever sign anything connected to Northline?”
Another silence.
This one lasted long enough that Mariana slowly turned toward me.
“What did you sign?”
My father’s voice dropped.
“A purchase option.”
“For what?”
“The warehouse and adjoining lot.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
“In whose name?”
“Sterling Equipment.”
“Then how did Northline buy it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who represented the seller?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Dad.”
“Claudia handled the paperwork.”
Nobody at our table moved.
I looked at Mariana.
Her expression had gone flat.
“When did she tell you the deal fell through?”
I asked.
“January.”
“Why?”
“She said the seller accepted another offer.”
“And you never checked?”
“She showed me an email.”
“From who?”
“The broker.”
“Name?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Forward it.”
“Daniel.”
“Forward it.”
He swore softly.
Then he said, “Fine.”
The call ended.
A minute later, an email appeared.
Mariana opened it on my phone.
The broker’s message said another buyer had submitted a stronger cash offer.
She enlarged the signature.
“Search the name,” I said.
“I am.”
The broker existed.
He worked for a commercial real-estate firm in Syracuse.
For several seconds, that felt like good news.
Then Mariana frowned.
“What?”
“The email domain.”
“What about it?”
“This message says northcountry-commercial.com.”
“So?”
“The brokerage website is northcountrycommercial.com.”
No hyphen.
Ernesto stared at the screen.
“That could be an old domain.”
“Maybe.”
Mariana searched.
Then she shook her head.
“The hyphenated domain was registered fourteen months ago.”
“By who?”
“The registration information is private.”
I stared at the fake-looking email.
My father had not lost the warehouse to another buyer.
Someone had convinced him he had.
Someone with access to his business, his banking habits, his plans, and enough confidence to fabricate a commercial transaction.
“Claudia,” Ernesto said.
Mariana did not answer.
I called my father again.
This time he did not pick up.
I called a second time.
Voicemail.
Then Ernesto’s phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
“Rogelio.”
“Answer.”
He did.
“What?”
My father was shouting loudly enough that I could hear him without speakerphone.
Ernesto’s face changed.
“What do you mean?”
He stood.
“Rogelio, slow down.”
Mariana and I stood too.
“What happened?” I asked.
Ernesto raised one finger.
Then his eyes moved toward me.
“Your workshop?”
A pause.
“How?”
Another pause.
Ernesto went pale.
“What?”
I grabbed his arm.
“What happened?”
He lowered the phone.
“Your father went into the office.”
“So?”
“He checked the equipment titles.”
My stomach tightened.
“What about them?”
Ernesto swallowed.
“Three machines are gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Not physically.”
He shook his head.
“The titles.”
Mariana understood before I did.
“They were transferred?”
Ernesto nodded.
“To Northline.”
My father said the transfers had been filed months earlier.
I heard him through Ernesto’s phone because my uncle had finally put the call on speaker.
“What do you mean filed?” Mariana asked.
Rogelio answered her instead of me.
“Lien releases and title assignments.”
“Who signed them?”
“Me.”
Nobody spoke.
My father swore under his breath.
“I signed blank transfer packets for Claudia.”
I stared at the table.
“You signed blank title transfers.”
“I signed document sets.”
“That is not better.”
“She said the lender required originals ready in case we refinanced.”
Mariana pressed her fingers against her forehead.
“Rogelio, how many blank documents did you sign?”
“I don’t know.”
“How do you not know?”
“I trusted her.”
My uncle looked at me.
The sentence had finally reached its simplest form.
My father had trusted the wrong person while distrusting everyone who might have stopped him.
“What machines?” I asked.
“A Deere loader, the Cat excavator, and the Komatsu skidder.”
May you like
I knew all three.
I had repaired the loader myself two winters earlier after a hydraulic pump failure.
