Chương 6
Mercer Residential occupied a converted warehouse behind a plumbing supply company. His father had bought the building when Ethan was thirteen and spent four weekends making both boys scrape old paint from the office walls.
Ethan could still hear Daniel Mercer saying, You don’t get to own something you won’t work on.
Ryan had repeated that sentence at their father’s funeral.
The office door was locked.
Ethan used his key.
Donna’s desk sat empty beneath a corkboard covered in vendor cards. Ryan’s office door was open.
The first thing Ethan noticed was the coffee mug.
WORLD’S OKAYEST BROTHER.
Claire had given it to Ryan two Christmases ago.
He had laughed so hard he nearly dropped it.
Ethan stood in the doorway staring at the stupid mug until anger returned hot enough to make his face flush.
He wanted to break it.
Instead he turned away.
The business account portal showed balances that looked normal at first glance.
That frightened him more.
He opened the accounting program.
Donna had taught him enough to find basic reports, but not enough to understand every code Claire had mentioned.
He searched one of the vendor names from memory.
Northline Site Services.
Three payments appeared.
Then five.
Then eleven.
Amounts varied between $6,800 and $14,200.
Ethan sat down.
He opened the attached documents.
Some had invoices.
Some did not.
The ones that did were vague: site preparation, specialty labor, disposal coordination.
He knew every major subcontractor they used.
He had never heard of Northline.
His phone rang.
Margaret.
He stared at her name.
She had been released overnight.
Ryan had not.
He let it ring out.
A text appeared.
Please call me. This is worse than you understand.
Ethan almost laughed.
Then another.
Your father would not want you handling this through police.
He deleted neither message.
Claire had taught him that much.
He took screenshots.
At nine, he called Donna.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Ethan? Is something wrong?”
He looked around the office.
“How much do you know about Northline Site Services?”
Silence.
Not long.
But long enough.
“Why?”
“Donna.”
She sighed.
“I’m in a hospital waiting room with my sister.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Then don’t make me do twenty questions.”
“Did you authorize payments to Northline?”
“No.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“Did Ryan?”
“I assumed you both knew.”
“Why?”
“Because he told me you did.”
The office seemed suddenly too small.
“How long?”
“I don’t know. A year? Maybe more.”
“You never asked me?”
“I did.”
Ethan sat straighter.
“When?”
“Last fall. You remember that vendor mess with the Brookfield renovation?”
He remembered arguing with Donna about missing lien waivers.
“You asked if I trusted Ryan’s vendor process.”
“Yes.”
“I said yes.”
“You said, ‘Ryan handles his side, I handle mine.’”
Ethan rubbed his face.
Donna continued.
“I wasn’t hiding anything from you. Northline had a tax form in the system. Insurance certificate. Banking information. Ryan approved the invoices.”
“Who owns it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you find out?”
“Ethan, what is happening?”
He looked at the mug on Ryan’s desk.
“Claire found the payments.”
Another silence.
Donna knew Claire well enough to know she would not casually accuse anyone.
“What did Ryan say?”
“He hit her.”
Donna stopped breathing.
Ethan heard hospital announcements through her phone.
“What?”
“He hit her yesterday and again last night.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s home.”
“Oh my God.”
“My mother tried to force prescription pills into her mouth.”
“Ethan.”
“I need to know what Ryan was doing with company money.”
Donna spoke carefully.
“You need an accountant and probably an attorney.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean before you touch anything else. Don’t start deleting access or moving money because you’re angry.”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
He almost snapped back.
Then stopped.
Donna had worked for his father twelve years and for Ethan and Ryan three more. If she sounded frightened, he should listen.
“Sorry.”
“Take pictures of what’s on the screen if you need to preserve what you’re seeing. Then call the CPA.”
“You think Ryan stole from us.”
“I think I don’t know enough to say that.”
“Donna.”
“I’m not giving you a sentence you can repeat to police like it came from me.”
That irritated him.
Then he realized it was exactly what Alvarez had said in different words.
Good evidence usually is.
“Okay.”
Donna’s voice softened.
“How’s Owen?”
Ethan looked toward the warehouse.
“He saw it.”
“Oh.”
That one syllable carried more genuine horror than anything his mother had said.
Ethan went home at eleven.
Claire was at the table with a legal pad.
She had drawn four columns.
Date.
Amount.
Vendor.
Source.
Ethan stood behind her.
“You’re working?”
“I’m remembering.”
“You were at the hospital eight hours ago.”
“And my phone is with police.”
“Claire.”
She put the pen down.
“What?”
“You need to rest.”
“I have been sitting in this chair for forty minutes.”
“That’s not rest.”
She looked at him.
“What would count?”
“I don’t know. Bed.”
“I don’t want to be in bed.”
“Couch?”
“I don’t want to lie down.”
He exhaled.
She picked up the pen again.
He pulled out the chair opposite her.
“I found eleven Northline payments.”
The pen stopped.
“How much?”
“I didn’t total them.”
“I did.”
She turned the pad.
$104,760.
Ethan stared.
“That’s only what I saw,” she said. “There may be older ones.”
“Donna said Ryan told her I approved them.”
Claire looked at him.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“I know.”
“You asked.”
“I needed to hear it.”
He leaned back.
“Mom texted me.”
Claire’s shoulders tightened.
He placed his phone on the table.
She did not touch it.
“What did she say?”
“That Dad wouldn’t want me handling this through police.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“He always gets one more vote.”
“What?”
“Your father.”
She looked at Ethan.
“He’s been dead three years and your mother still gives him a vote whenever she needs to win.”
Ethan wanted to defend him.
Not Margaret.
May you like
Him.
His father had not sent the message.
