Chương 7
“He understands money.”
“That doesn’t make him a lawyer.”
Daniel said, “She’s right.”
Theresa made an unhappy sound.
“I hate lawyers.”
“Most people don’t hire them recreationally,” I said.
Daniel gave a small, surprised laugh.
Theresa did not.
“Will you come with me?” she asked.
I knew she meant me.
My first instinct was no.
My second was guilt.
I let both pass.
“I’ll send Daniel the documents Robert found.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“I know.”
There was a long silence.
Then Theresa said, much more quietly, “I’m scared.”
The admission unsettled me.
Theresa preferred anger because anger kept her above everyone else.
Fear put her in the same room with us.
“I believe you,” I said.
“That doesn’t mean I can step back into paying for everything.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“You were screaming about the mortgage this morning.”
“I know.”
She sounded tired now.
Older.
“I shouldn’t have.”
Daniel said nothing.
Neither did I.
Then Theresa added, “I also shouldn’t have done what I did at dinner.”
My fingers tightened around the edge of the counter.
She did not say empty plate.
She did not say Lauren.
She did not say humiliation.
But she had gotten closer to the truth than I expected.
“No,” I said.
“You shouldn’t have.”
“I was angry.”
“At me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The answer took too long.
Finally, Theresa said, “Because Lauren told me you were trying to take control of the house.”
Daniel spoke first.
“What?”
“She said Mariana wanted her name added to the deed because she was paying the mortgage.”
I stared at the phone.
“I never asked for that.”
“I know that now.”
“How?”
“Because I asked Daniel.”
There was another silence.
I looked at the screen as if I could see him through it.
“When did you ask him?”
“Yesterday.”
Daniel made a frustrated sound.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“You didn’t tell me that was why you were asking.”
“What did she ask?” I said.
Daniel sighed.
“She asked whether you ever talked about ownership.”
“And you said?”
“That you hadn’t.”
Theresa spoke quickly.
“Lauren said you complained that you were throwing money into a house you didn’t own.”
I felt something cold move through me.
I had said those exact words once.
Not to Lauren.
To Daniel.
Almost a year earlier.
We had been in bed.
I had been half asleep and angry about another increase in Theresa’s expenses.
No one else had been there.
I looked at the accordion folder on my counter.
“Daniel.”
“I know.”
“Did you tell Lauren?”
“No.”
“Did you tell Aaron?”
“No.”
“Your mother?”
“No.”
My pulse began beating harder.
“Then how did Lauren know I said it?”
Daniel did not answer.
Theresa whispered, “What?”
I reached for the blue folder and flipped through the reimbursement packet.
Nineteen pages of invoices.
Emails.
Attachments.
Documents Daniel had sent me and I had forwarded without reading.
“Daniel, does Lauren have access to your email?”
“No.”
Then he stopped.
“Wait.”
I heard him move.
A drawer opened at Theresa’s house.
“What?”
“Last year my laptop died.”
“So?”
“I used Aaron’s for two weeks.”
My hand froze over the papers.
“Did you save your password?”
“I don’t know.”
“Daniel.”
“I might have.”
Theresa said, “Why would Lauren read your email?”
I found another highlighted transaction.
Then another.
Each followed private conversations Daniel and I had about how much I could afford to contribute.
Amounts that had never been discussed in front of Theresa.
Amounts that somehow matched requests arriving days later.
I said, “Because somebody knew exactly how much money to ask me for.”
This time, nobody on the phone said a word.
Daniel was the first to break the silence.
“I need to check something.”
“What?”
“My old laptop backups.”
“You said the laptop died.”
“It did.”
“I kept the hard drive.”
“Where?”
“At Mom’s.”
Theresa made a sound of surprise.
“You did?”
“In the hall closet with the tax stuff.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course it’s in the hall closet.”
Daniel ignored that.
“Mom, don’t touch anything.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“I mean don’t let anybody use that computer or the drive.”
“I don’t even know what it looks like.”
“That’s fine.”
He moved again, and I heard a closet door open through the phone.
Boxes shifted.
Something fell.
Theresa complained that he had knocked over wrapping paper.
It was absurdly domestic for a conversation about possible fraud.
I sat on the edge of my couch and listened to them dig through years of accumulated paper, cables, Christmas bows, and dead electronics.
Finally Daniel said, “Found it.”
“What can it tell us?”
“Maybe nothing.”
“That would be refreshing.”
He didn’t laugh.
“My email might still be cached.”
“Can you access it?”
“Not tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not an idiot.”
I waited.
He exhaled.
“Okay, historically I have been an idiot, but I’m not plugging it into Mom’s computer and contaminating whatever’s on it.”
That was the first sensible thing he had said all evening.
“Good.”
“I’ll take it to someone tomorrow.”
“Someone who does digital forensics, not your friend who fixes phones.”
“I know.”
Theresa said, “This is getting ridiculous.”
“No, Mom,” Daniel replied.
“This was ridiculous before we knew about it.”
She went quiet.
I looked at the handwritten page again.
“Ask your mother about the ninety-six four.”
“I’m here,” Theresa said.
“Then answer me directly.”
“I told you I don’t know what it means.”
“Did you write the page?”
“Yes.”
“What were the numbers?”
“Amounts.”
“Amounts of what?”
She hesitated.
“Debts.”
“Whose?”
“Aaron’s and Lauren’s mostly.”
“Then why are Daniel’s initials there?”
“Because he paid some of them.”
Daniel swore softly.
I leaned forward.
“You knew he was paying Aaron’s debts?”
“Some.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“You wrote down exact numbers.”
“I wrote down what they told me.”
“Who is they?”
“Lauren.”
The room seemed to narrow around that name.
“What exactly did Lauren tell you?”
“That Aaron had made mistakes.”
“What kind of mistakes?”
“Business loans.”
May you like
“Credit cards.”
“Overdue accounts.”
