Chương 8
“You brought me to the something.”
They approached together.
Inside, drawers had been pulled from cabinets and emptied across the floor. A mattress leaned against the wall, sliced along one side. Papers floated in water beneath a broken window.
Julian took out his phone.
“No service.”
Nora stepped around a shattered lamp.
A metal stove in the corner was still warm.
“Someone was here recently.”
“Or whoever searched it lit a fire.”
“Why?”
“To burn something.”
They both looked at the stove.
Julian opened it with a poker. Ash shifted inside. Beneath the gray flakes lay the blackened edge of a leather-bound ledger.
Nora found a dish towel and lifted it out.
Most of the pages had burned, but moisture had preserved a section near the spine. Columns of dates and numbers remained visible. Beside several entries were initials: M.V.
“Malcolm Vane,” Julian said.
“Maybe.”
“Who else?”
“Your mother.”
“Celeste Vale doesn’t start with M.”
“Neither does Arthur.”
He looked irritated, then embarrassed.
A floorboard creaked behind them.
Owen Mercer stood in the doorway holding a splitting maul.
He was the man from the photograph. Without Arthur beside him, he seemed older. His canvas jacket was stained with mud, and a bruise darkened one cheek.
“Put the book down.”
Nora lowered it carefully.
Julian raised both hands. “Mr. Mercer, I’m Julian Vale.”
“I know who you are.”
“My father is alive.”
Owen’s grip shifted on the handle.
“What?”
“He was found alive inside his casket yesterday.”
Owen looked from Julian to Nora, searching for some sign of cruelty.
“That’s not funny.”
“No.”
“The news said medical emergency.”
“The news was being polite.”
Owen stepped into the room. “Who found him?”
Nora raised a hand slightly.
His eyes moved over her freckles, her plain blouse, the practical coat she had bought on clearance two winters before.
“The girl from the video.”
“I’m twenty-eight.”
“Congratulations.”
He lowered the maul but did not release it.
Julian said, “My father met you six days ago.”
Owen glanced at the burned ledger.
“He came because I asked him to.”
“Why?”
“To show him what his lawyer had been doing.”
Julian’s mouth tightened. “Malcolm?”
“Malcolm, your mother, half the family office. Pick a door.”
“What were they doing?”
Owen leaned the maul against the wall. “You truly don’t know.”
“No.”
“That must be restful.”
Julian stepped toward him.
Nora moved between them before either man could make the moment worse.
“Arthur had a document case,” she said. “There was a black drive inside. Do you know what was on it?”
Owen studied her.
“Copies of internal transfers. Audio files. Draft deeds. Records from three shell companies Malcolm used to move money out of the conservation trust.”
Julian shook his head. “The trust is audited.”
“By a firm Malcolm hires.”
“My mother sits on the board.”
“I’m aware.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means her signature is on two authorizations.”
Julian’s face lost color.
Owen crossed the room and lifted the mattress away from the wall. Behind it, a narrow wooden panel had been removed. The cavity was empty.
“They took my backup,” he said.
“Who?” Nora asked.
“Two men came last night. One had worked estate security. They said Malcolm wanted to talk. I left through the back.”
“Why didn’t you go to the police?”
“I did, two months ago. I had incomplete records and a ten-year-old conviction for tax fraud. Guess which part they cared about.”
Julian stared. “You were convicted?”
“I signed returns I knew were false. Vale Marine’s returns. Your father fired me publicly and paid the penalties privately. I went to prison. He kept the company.”
“My father wouldn’t—”
Owen laughed. “There it is.”
Julian stopped.
Owen looked at Nora. “He always do that?”
“I’ve known him a day.”
“Feels longer.”
Julian ignored them. “Why would my father meet you after sending you to prison?”
“Because he discovered Malcolm had used the same system again, only this time the money came from land your father promised never to sell.”
“The northern preserve?”
Owen nodded. “Malcolm arranged options through a development company. If Arthur died before revoking them, the sale could proceed under the existing trust authority.”
“And my mother?”
“She knew there was a sale. I don’t know if she knew how Malcolm created it.”
Julian looked toward the broken window. “Dad opposed selling the preserve.”
“Not always. Five years ago he considered it. Malcolm kept the old approvals alive, altered dates, and moved the first payments through consulting accounts.”
Nora thought of the papers in the case, the maps Julian had mentioned.
“Arthur found out,” she said.
“Three weeks ago. He contacted me because I knew how Malcolm hid transactions. We met at the Vale boathouse. I gave him the drive.”
“The photograph?”
“My daughter took it from the trees. Arthur wanted proof of the meeting in case Malcolm claimed his emails were fabricated.”
“Where is your daughter?” Julian asked.
Owen’s face closed.
“Safe.”
“Does she have a copy?”
“If she did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
Nora picked up the burned ledger again.
“What does M.V. mean?”
Owen’s gaze moved to the initials.
“Management verification. Malcolm’s private approval mark.”
Julian exhaled.
Owen took the ledger from Nora. “This proves almost nothing without the other books.”
“It proves someone tried to burn it,” she said.
“That proves someone dislikes clutter.”
A car door slammed outside.
Owen grabbed the maul.
Julian looked through the window. “Police.”
Detective Singh entered with two uniformed officers. Her expression when she saw Nora was calm enough to be frightening.
“I told you not to contact Owen Mercer.”
“You told me not to contact Dr. Baird.”
Singh paused.
“That is technically true,” she said. “It is also an excellent way to lose my patience.”
Owen raised his hands.
The officers searched him, then the camp. Julian began explaining. Singh cut him off and asked Nora whether she had touched anything.
“Almost everything important.”
May you like
“Of course.”
The burned ledger went into an evidence bag. Owen was taken outside for questioning.
