Chapter 7 - The Notebook
Tessa did not sleep in the staff apartment.
Technically, she spent the night there.
Sleep was another matter.
At two in the morning, she sat at the small kitchen table with a cup of tea she never drank and the photocopy of her employee card burned into her mind.
Eli and Noah slept in the bedroom.
She had taken the sofa.
The apartment was warmer than their home.
Cleaner.
Quieter.
That somehow made everything worse.
Comfort felt dangerous when you did not know whether you would still have it the next night.
At two fourteen, someone knocked softly.
Tessa stood immediately.
She grabbed the heavy flashlight from the counter.
“Who is it?”
“Marco.”
She opened the door two inches.
The chef stood outside holding a plate covered with foil.
“I am not hungry.”
“I did not ask.”
He held the plate out.
“Eat.”
“I said I am not hungry.”
“You almost collapsed today.”
“That story traveled fast.”
“Zo called me from the car and shouted that you needed food.”
Tessa stared at him.
“He shouted?”
“Zo believes volume is a substitute for emotional vocabulary.”
Despite herself, she smiled.
Marco pushed the plate through the gap.
“Turkey sandwich.”
“Nothing fancy.”
“If you do not eat it, I will stand here and describe it until you do.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It is.”
She opened the door wider.
“Fine.”
Marco glanced past her toward the sleeping boys.
Then lowered his voice.
“You are not what they are saying.”
Her smile vanished.
“What are they saying now?”
He regretted the sentence immediately.
“That was not helpful.”
“What are they saying?”
“Some staff heard about the invoices.”
“How?”
“I do not know.”
“Victor?”
“He is suspended.”
“That does not remove people’s phones.”
Marco sighed.
“They are saying the police will come.”
Tessa looked at the sleeping room.
Her hand tightened around the plate.
“And if they do?”
“Then Zo’s lawyers will explain the forgery.”
“Zo’s lawyers.”
She repeated the phrase with no humor.
“Exactly.”
Marco understood.
“You need your own lawyer.”
“I need rent.”
“You need both.”
“I have neither.”
He leaned against the doorframe.
“Let him help.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because every time he solves something with money, I owe him more.”
“He does not think that.”
“That does not mean I do not feel it.”
Marco nodded slowly.
“Fair.”
Then he pointed at the sandwich.
“But you owe me nothing for turkey.”
She looked down.
“Eat.”
He left.
Tessa sat again.
She took one bite.
Then another.
Across the estate, I was awake too.
I had the forensic accountant’s preliminary report open on my laptop.
North Meridian had billed my household $286,410 over eighteen months.
Of that, at least $173,000 had no matching inventory record.
The rest was uncertain.
The money moved through three intermediary accounts.
One account belonged to a company called Halcyon Facility Consulting.
Registered owner: Dana Price.
Victor’s assistant.
The woman supposedly in Florida.
I called Lena.
She answered sounding fully awake.
“You found Dana.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I found her too.”
“Where?”
“Not Florida.”
“Where?”
“Chicago.”
I sat up.
“Her credit card was used at a gas station in Berwyn yesterday.”
“Maybe stolen.”
“Maybe.”
“Her personal phone is off.”
“Her travel reservation to Fort Lauderdale was canceled three days ago.”
“By her?”
“Yes.”
“Did she tell anyone?”
“No.”
I thought about the empty archive boxes.
The anonymous call.
The forged signature.
“We need police now.”
“I already made the call.”
That surprised me.
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“You are finally learning that hiring me means I sometimes do my job before you order it.”
“Do not get sentimental.”
“Go to sleep.”
I did not.
At six thirty, I walked to the staff apartment.
I told myself I was checking on the boys.
That was only partly true.
Tessa opened the door wearing yesterday’s clothes.
She looked at me like I was an invoice she did not want to pay.
“What?”
“I have information.”
“That sounds promising.”
“Dana Price is connected to one of the accounts receiving North Meridian money.”
Tessa blinked.
“Victor’s assistant?”
“Yes.”
“She is not in Florida.”
“Where is she?”
“We do not know.”
“Then how is that better?”
“It means the trail is moving away from you.”
Her expression did not soften.
“It was never supposed to be near me.”
Again, she was right.
I had an increasing list of things I wished she were wrong about.
“Police are coming today.”
She looked toward the bedroom.
“You called them?”
“Lena did.”
“Do they need to talk to me?”
“Probably.”
Her face tightened.
“I want a lawyer.”
“Good.”
“I cannot afford yours.”
“Then I will find an independent one and pay the fee anonymously.”
“No.”
I exhaled.
“Tessa.”
“No.”
“You do not get to tell me that accepting legal protection is charity when someone forged your name into a six-figure fraud.”
“I absolutely get to tell you what I accept.”
I stopped.
The old version of me would have kept going until the other person surrendered from exhaustion.
The new version was still learning that winning an argument could be another form of taking someone’s bag.
“You are right.”
She looked surprised.
“I can give you names.”
“You choose.”
“You hire them.”
“If you cannot pay now, ask for a payment plan.”
“If they refuse, choose another.”
“I will stay out of it.”
Tessa watched me carefully.
“Thank you.”
This time she said it to me.
It felt strangely significant.
Noah appeared behind her with his hair sticking up.
“Do you have cereal?”
I looked at him.
“I own a kitchen.”
“That was not my question.”
Tessa covered her face.
I almost laughed.
“Yes.”
“We have cereal.”
“What kind?”
“I have no idea.”
Noah looked disappointed.
“How can you be rich and not know your cereal?”
“That is a fair criticism.”
Eli came out holding a notebook.
“Can we go home today?”
Tessa’s face changed.
“I am working on it.”
“The landlord took Mom’s picture.”
The room went quiet.
Tessa turned.
“What?”
Eli opened the notebook.
A folded photograph was tucked between the pages.
He held it up.
It showed Tessa, Eli, Noah, and their mother standing beside a lake years earlier.
Their mother’s arm was around both boys.
Tessa was laughing at something outside the frame.
“The picture was on the shelf by her urn,” Eli said.
“When Noah and I looked through the window yesterday, it was gone.”
Tessa went completely still.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Her face hardened.
“That was not the landlord.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Pritchard never goes inside apartments himself.”
“He sends maintenance.”
“Who has a key?”
“Maintenance.”
“Property manager.”
“Me.”
She thought.
“Ray has an emergency copy.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
Eli flipped through the notebook.
“I wrote down the maintenance guy’s van plate.”
Tessa looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because he parked in the fire lane last month and you said people who break small rules usually break bigger ones.”
I looked at her.
Tessa looked away.
Apparently suspicion ran in the family.
Eli showed Lena the number when she arrived ten minutes later.
She searched it through a contact.
The van belonged to Pritchard Property Services.
No surprise.
Then Eli said something else.
“That is not the van that was there yesterday.”
Lena looked at him.
“What van?”
“A white cargo van.”
“No logo.”
“I saw it when I got home.”
“Plate?”
Eli shook his head.
“Only the first three.”
He turned another page.
He had written them down.
7K4.
Lena smiled slightly.
“You really do write everything down.”
Eli shrugged.
“Tessa makes us keep track of things.”
“Money.”
“Homework.”
“Bus times.”
“Food.”
My attention caught on the last word.
“Food?”
Tessa closed her eyes.
“Eli.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I looked between them.
“What do you track about food?”
Eli held up the notebook.
“What she brings home.”
“Why?”
Tessa spoke before he could.
“Because after Friday I wanted a record.”
I stared at her.
“A record of what?”
“Every container I took.”
“Every day.”
“What was inside.”
“Who ate it.”
“In case someone accused me again.”
The words hurt more than I expected.
Not because she was trying to wound me.
Because she had built paperwork around my distrust.
Eli handed me the notebook.
Pages of neat entries filled it.
Saturday.
Six containers.
Three for home.
Three for Ellis family.
Sunday.
Four containers.
Three for home.
One soup for Mrs. Ellis.
Monday.
None.
Tuesday.
None.
She had stopped taking food after the gossip.
I turned back further.
Before the new policy, there were smaller notes.
Half sandwich.
One apple.
Bread roll.
Chicken portion from lunch.
The record went back weeks.
Then something on one page caught my eye.
A date six weeks earlier.
The same date as the forged North Meridian invoice.
Beside it, Eli had written a note unrelated to food.
TESSA HOME LATE - BUS 76 DELAYED - SAID DELIVERY TRUCK BLOCKED STAFF EXIT 37 MINUTES.
I looked up.
“Do you remember this?”
Tessa read the line.
“Yes.”
“What truck?”
“I do not know.”
“White truck.”
“Big.”
“Driver and Victor were arguing.”
My pulse quickened.
“Did it have a logo?”
She frowned.
“I think so.”
“What?”
“Blue compass.”
Lena and I looked at each other.
North Meridian’s invoice header carried a blue compass logo.
The vendor might be fake on paper.
But at least one real truck had come to my estate using its name.
“Did they unload anything?” Lena asked.
Tessa shook her head slowly.
“I do not think so.”
“Why?”
“Because I was waiting to leave.”
“The truck sat there.”
“Victor kept checking his phone.”
“Then the driver left.”
“Empty?”
“I could not see inside.”
I looked at Eli’s note again.
Thirty-seven minutes.
A fake delivery parked at my loading dock long enough to create camera footage showing it had arrived.
No unloading required.
Then paperwork could say anything.
Lena’s phone buzzed.
She read the message.
Her expression changed.
“What?” I asked.
“The partial plate Eli wrote down from yesterday’s white van.”
“Police found a match near Tessa’s building.”
“Registered to whom?”
Lena looked at Tessa.
“Halcyon Facility Consulting.”
Dana Price’s company.
The room went silent.
Then Noah walked in holding the cereal box.
He looked at all of us.
“Why does everyone look like somebody died?”
No one answered.
Because for the first time, we knew the person who had entered Tessa’s locked apartment was connected directly to the money trail.
And they had not stolen a television.
May you like
They had taken a family photograph.
