Chapter 4 - THE NOTEBOOK
Richard did not speak for almost a full minute.
He stared at the table.
Then at me.
Then at his phone.
"That doesn't make sense."
I said nothing.
"My mother wouldn't steal your notebook."
I still said nothing.
He looked at me as though my silence were an accusation.
"She wouldn't."
"Then why was it in her bag?"
His chair scraped backward.
"I'm going home."
I stood too.
"So am I."
Martin spoke through the phone immediately.
"Helen, no."
"It's my house."
"And it is currently an evidence scene."
"Not a crime scene."
"Do not make me regret teaching you terminology."
Under any other circumstances, I might have laughed.
Instead, I grabbed my coat.
"Martin, my notebook was in Margaret's bag."
"Tyler is missing."
"Someone is attempting to move hundreds of thousands of dollars."
"I am done sitting in a hotel room."
He exhaled.
"Then I am meeting you there."
"Fine."
Richard reached for the door.
I stopped him.
"We drive separately."
He turned.
"Seriously?"
"Yes."
"My son is missing and my mother is apparently being accused of theft."
"And yesterday you told me I needed permission to leave the house."
"We're past that."
"I am."
His face hardened.
"You really want to destroy us over one stupid argument?"
There it was again.
One stupid argument.
Not seven years of excuses.
Not Tyler's entitlement.
Not the missing money.
Not the tracking.
Not the broken crystal.
One stupid argument.
I opened the conference room door.
"That argument did not destroy us, Richard."
"It introduced me to what we had already become."
I left before he could answer.
By the time I reached the house, two unfamiliar vehicles were parked in my driveway.
A third belonged to Martin.
Margaret stood on the front porch with her arms crossed.
She looked furious.
Not frightened.
Not embarrassed.
Furious.
The moment she saw me, she marched down the steps.
"How dare you."
I stopped near the walkway.
"Good morning to you too."
"You sent strangers into my son's home."
"My home."
Her lips tightened.
"This is exactly your problem."
"Everything is yours."
"Your house."
"Your money."
"Your rules."
"You have spent seven years making Richard feel like a guest in his own life."
I looked at her.
"Is that why my notebook was in your bag?"
She stopped.
The pause was tiny.
But it was there.
Richard arrived behind me.
His car door slammed.
"Mom."
Margaret turned toward him.
Her expression softened instantly.
"Richard, thank God."
"Tell these people to leave."
He walked toward her.
"Why was Helen's notebook in your bag?"
The softness disappeared.
"I was protecting it."
I almost laughed.
"From what?"
"From you."
She pointed at me.
"You were running away in the middle of the night."
"You were taking documents."
"I didn't know what you planned to do."
Richard looked confused.
"How did you even know the notebook existed?"
Margaret's eyes moved toward him.
"I have seen it before."
"Where?"
"In her office."
I stepped closer.
"My locked drawer?"
"It was not locked."
"When did you see inside it?"
"I don't remember."
"Try."
Her face flushed.
"Do not interrogate me."
Martin appeared in the doorway.
"Actually, Mrs. Cole, I recommend that nobody answer further questions until the facts are documented properly."
Margaret spun toward him.
"You have no authority over me."
"Correct."
"But Helen has retained counsel, and evidence connected to her financial accounts has now been found in your possession."
"So I suggest you speak carefully."
Margaret stared at him.
Then she looked toward Richard.
"Are you going to let them speak to me like this?"
Richard rubbed his forehead.
"Mom, just tell me the truth."
She looked wounded.
"I am telling you the truth."
"Then why did the trust request get withdrawn from this house after Tyler left?"
Margaret froze.
I watched her face.
Richard saw it too.
"What?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"The forty-thousand-dollar request."
"Someone withdrew it using the house internet."
"You were here."
"So were you."
That hit him.
"Are you saying I did it?"
"I'm saying you don't get to accuse your mother because your wife is angry."
"This has nothing to do with her being angry!"
Richard's shout echoed across the driveway.
The evidence technician inside looked toward the door.
Margaret stared at her son.
She was not used to him raising his voice at her.
Neither was I.
"Tyler is gone," Richard continued.
"Money is missing."
"Helen's notebook was in your bag."
"What am I supposed to think?"
Margaret's eyes filled with tears so quickly that I almost admired the efficiency.
"You are supposed to know me."
Richard's shoulders sagged.
There it was.
The old hook.
Family loyalty.
Guilt.
You are supposed to know me.
I had watched Margaret use variations of it for years.
Whenever Richard challenged Tyler, she reminded him that fathers support their sons.
Whenever Richard disagreed with her, she reminded him that mothers sacrifice everything.
Whenever I set a boundary, she called it division.
And every time, Richard folded.
This time, he looked at the notebook in the evidence bag Martin was holding.
He did not fold.
"I thought I knew everyone in this house."
Margaret's tears stopped.
Not slowly.
Immediately.
That frightened me more than the crying had.
Martin gestured for me to come inside.
"There's something you need to see."
I followed him to my office.
The room looked normal at first.
Desk.
Bookshelves.
Printer.
Lamp.
Then I saw small numbered evidence markers beside the desktop, drawer, and wastebasket.
A technician stood near the computer.
"Ms. Harrison?"
"Yes."
"I'm Aaron Pike."
"We have completed a preliminary device image."
"Your attorney asked us not to alter anything beyond preservation."
"Thank you."
He pointed toward the screen.
"There is an issue you should know about."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"Remote access software."
I looked at Martin.
"I don't use remote access software."
Aaron nodded.
"That was our assumption."
"It appears to have been installed approximately fourteen months ago."
"Fourteen?"
"Yes."
"And configured to launch invisibly at startup."
Richard had followed us into the office.
"What does that mean?"
Aaron answered.
"It means someone with the proper credentials could view or control this computer from another device."
A chill moved up my arms.
"Could they access saved sessions?"
"Potentially."
"Could they submit financial requests?"
"If the browser session remained authenticated or if credentials were stored, yes."
Richard leaned against the doorframe.
"Jesus."
I looked toward my desk.
Fourteen months.
For fourteen months, someone might have been inside my computer without me knowing.
"Can you tell who installed it?"
"Not yet."
"Can you tell who connected?"
"We have connection logs."
"We are preserving them now."
Martin stepped forward.
"Any external identifiers?"
Aaron hesitated.
"One repeated device name appears in the logs."
Richard straightened.
"What name?"
Aaron looked at me first.
"TC-LAPTOP."
No one spoke.
Tyler Cole.
Tyler's laptop.
Richard closed his eyes.
I felt no satisfaction.
Only a deep, exhausted sadness.
"How often?"
I asked.
Aaron checked his notes.
"At least thirty-two connections over the preserved period."
"The earliest we can verify is eleven months ago."
"The most recent was last night."
My head snapped up.
"What time?"
"Approximately 10:56 p.m."
I thought back.
At 10:56, I had been upstairs.
Packing.
Richard and his family were downstairs.
Tyler was in the house.
My trust request had already been submitted.
And someone had remotely connected to my computer.
"What did he access?"
"We cannot say yet without deeper analysis."
Aaron hesitated.
"But there is more."
I almost laughed at the phrase.
There is more.
Every hour now had more.
"Tell me."
He pointed toward a small external drive on the desk.
"We found this connected behind the tower."
"Do you recognize it?"
I shook my head.
"No."
"It contains encrypted files."
"We have not opened them."
Martin looked at me.
"Could it belong to Richard?"
I turned.
Richard shook his head immediately.
"I've never seen it."
Aaron held up a clear evidence sleeve.
The drive was tiny.
Black.
No label.
Except one strip of white tape along the side.
Three handwritten letters were visible.
M.C.F.
Richard stared at them.
His face changed.
I noticed.
"What?"
He did not answer.
"Richard."
His eyes stayed on the drive.
"M.C.F."
"What does it mean?"
He swallowed.
"Margaret Cole Family."
Martin frowned.
"What is that?"
Richard looked toward the hallway where his mother stood out of sight.
"A family account."
"My father created it before he died."
I had never heard of it.
Not once in seven years.
"What kind of family account?"
Richard's face had gone pale.
"A private investment partnership."
"My mother manages it."
My stomach tightened.
"Tyler has access?"
Richard's answer came slowly.
"Yes."
Martin looked from him to me.
"How much money is in it?"
Richard did not respond.
"Richard."
He looked at Martin.
"I don't know anymore."
"Last time I checked, maybe three million."
I stared at him.
"Your mother manages three million dollars and Tyler has access to it, but he came to me demanding forty thousand?"
Richard closed his eyes.
That question hurt because there was no reasonable answer.
Aaron cleared his throat.
"There is one more thing."
We all looked at him.
He held up a second evidence sleeve.
Inside was a small key.
A safe-deposit key.
I recognized the bank logo stamped into the metal tag.
Hawthorne Private Bank.
My bank.
"Where did you find that?"
Aaron pointed toward the wastebasket.
"Under shredded paper."
I stepped closer.
"That's not mine."
Martin looked at Richard.
"Yours?"
He shook his head.
Then a voice came from the office doorway.
"It's mine."
We turned.
Margaret stood there.
Her face was no longer angry.
It was empty.
Richard stared at her.
"Mom?"
She looked at the key.
Then at me.
"That key opens a box your husband was never supposed to know existed."
Richard's face went white.
"What box?"
Margaret looked at him.
For the first time all morning, she seemed afraid.
May you like
"The one your father left for Tyler."
