Chapter 8 - THE ACCOUNT WITH MY NAME
The police did not arrest Garrick that evening.
I wanted them to.
That is the childish version of justice no one admits wanting.
A door closes.
Handcuffs click.
A bad person is removed from the room.
Everyone else exhales.
Real life was slower.
Messier.
And much more expensive.
The officers took statements.
They documented Lily's allegation that Mom had prevented her from leaving.
Because Lily had entered voluntarily and had not been physically harmed, the immediate result was a report, not an arrest.
I hated that too.
But I was learning the difference between what hurt and what could be proven.
The next morning, Evelyn played Lily's recording in her office.
We heard everything.
Mom's voice first.
"Your mother is destroying this family."
Lily answered.
"Mom didn't leave us out."
A pause.
"You don't understand adult matters."
"Then why are you talking to me about them?"
Evelyn stopped the recording.
"Your daughter is terrifying."
"I know."
She pressed play again.
Garrick entered seventeen minutes later.
At first, he tried to sound gentle.
"Hey, Lil."
"Don't call me that."
"Come on."
"You ignored me yesterday."
"Adults make mistakes."
"You gave me a tablet after Mom found out about the money."
Silence.
Then Garrick's voice changed.
"Who told you about money?"
"Nobody."
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not."
Mom interrupted.
"Clara talks in front of them."
"I heard people whispering."
"Same difference," Mom said.
Then came the exchange Lily had repeated.
Garrick told Mom she should have kept her mouth shut twenty-one years ago.
Mom snapped back.
"I did what Peter couldn't."
Garrick said, "Peter wasn't supposed to find the account."
The room on the recording went silent.
Then Mom hissed his name.
"Garrick."
He answered with one sentence.
"It doesn't matter anymore."
Evelyn paused the audio.
"It matters now."
Daniel nodded.
"We need the account records."
Leonard had given us the old authorization form.
The bank named on it had been acquired twice since Grandfather's death.
Evelyn subpoenaed its successor.
While we waited, the court granted a broader freeze on the Bellamy Trust.
Four point eight million dollars remained trapped before it could follow the rest offshore.
Six point six million was still missing.
Garrick's lawyers immediately filed a motion accusing me of fabricating the original trust.
They claimed Grandfather's signature might be forged.
They claimed the video could be edited.
They claimed Jonathan Breen was colluding with me for financial gain.
Then they claimed Lily's recording was illegally obtained.
That part made Evelyn laugh.
"Why is that funny?"
"Because your state is one-party consent."
"Meaning?"
"Lily was part of the conversation."
"So it's legal?"
"Very likely."
I smiled for the first time that morning.
"Please don't tell her."
"Why?"
"She'll start carrying a microphone to Thanksgiving."
Evelyn laughed.
The laugh ended when her assistant entered with a courier envelope.
Inside were preliminary records from the old custodial account in my name.
The balance history made no sense at first.
At age eighteen, the account held seventy-three thousand dollars.
At nineteen, eighty-one thousand.
At twenty, ninety-four thousand.
Then, during the year Grandfather died, deposits began appearing.
Two hundred thousand.
Three hundred twenty thousand.
One hundred fifty thousand.
They came from Bellamy Manufacturing operating accounts.
Within days, nearly identical amounts moved out.
The destination was listed only as Larkspur Holdings.
"Who owns Larkspur?"
Daniel searched corporate records.
"Dissolved company."
"Owner?"
"Nominee service."
"Meaning?"
"Someone paid to keep the real owner off public paperwork."
Evelyn pointed to the dates.
"Look at this."
One transfer stood apart from the rest.
Nine hundred thousand dollars entered my account two days before Grandfather died.
It remained there for ten days.
Then it moved to Larkspur.
"Why leave it sitting there?" I asked.
Daniel answered.
"So if the account was discovered during that window, it looked like you had the money."
I stared at the number.
Nine hundred thousand dollars.
At twenty-one, I had been counting coins for laundry.
Mom knew that.
Dad knew that.
Garrick knew that.
Meanwhile, someone had parked almost a million dollars under my name.
"Dad found it during those ten days."
Leonard nodded.
"That's what he told me."
"Then Mom panicked."
"Likely."
"Grandfather confronted them."
"Yes."
"He died."
No one answered.
I looked at the Larkspur transfers.
"Find the owner."
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
"Corporate layers from twenty-one years ago are not quick."
"I don't care."
"I know."
Three hours later, he had a lead.
Larkspur Holdings used the same registered agent as five other entities.
One of them was active.
A real estate LLC called Wexler Capital Partners.
Colin Wexler.
"He was involved back then?"
Evelyn frowned.
"He would have been twenty-seven."
Daniel found an archived employment record.
At twenty-seven, Colin worked as a junior wealth manager for the bank holding my custodial account.
My skin went cold.
"He had access."
"Yes."
"Mom didn't just introduce Garrick to him a few years ago."
"No."
"She has known him for decades."
Daniel's phone buzzed.
He read the message.
"Longer than that."
He turned his screen toward me.
A scanned society-page photograph from twenty-four years earlier showed a charity gala.
Mom stood beside Grandfather.
Dad stood on her other side.
And behind them, smiling directly at the camera, stood Colin Wexler.
The caption identified him as a financial associate of Bellamy Manufacturing.
I stared at Mom's hand.
It rested on Colin's arm.
Not Grandfather's.
Not Dad's.
Colin's.
"They look close."
Leonard leaned nearer.
His face changed.
"I remember him."
"From the case?"
"No."
"Where?"
"Peter's funeral."
My father died eight years ago.
Colin had attended.
I did not remember him.
Leonard did.
"He stood in the back the whole time."
"Why would Mom's financial adviser attend Dad's funeral?"
No one answered.
Then Evelyn's assistant entered again.
"Clara, there's someone in reception asking for you."
"Who?"
"She won't give her name."
Daniel stood immediately.
"Description?"
"Woman, late sixties."
My heart jumped.
"Marjorie."
We went to the reception area.
It was her.
She looked smaller than I remembered.
No makeup.
Gray hair tucked under a knit cap.
She clutched a grocery bag against her chest.
When she saw me, she started crying.
"I'm sorry."
I stopped six feet away.
"For what part?"
She flinched.
I hated myself for asking it that way.
Then I remembered my forged signature.
I let the question stand.
"All of it," she whispered.
Daniel checked the hallway behind her.
"Did anyone follow you?"
"I don't think so."
"Where have you been?"
"Driving."
"For two days?"
"I didn't know where else to go."
She looked at me.
"Margaret knows I talked."
"How?"
"Garrick called me."
"What did he say?"
"He asked whether I wanted my grandchildren to know what kind of woman I am."
Her hands shook.
"Then he sent me photographs of their school."
Daniel's expression hardened.
"Do you still have them?"
She nodded.
"Good."
Marjorie clutched the grocery bag tighter.
"I brought what Peter gave me."
I stared at the bag.
"My father?"
"A week before he died."
"Eight years ago?"
"He made me promise not to give it to you unless your mother came after the trust again."
My throat tightened.
"Dad knew this would happen?"
"He feared it."
She handed me the bag.
Inside was a small metal cash box.
The key was taped to the bottom.
I opened it.
There were letters.
Bank statements.
A flash drive.
And a photograph of Mom and Colin Wexler kissing in a parking garage.
I stared at it.
The date printed in the corner was twenty-three years ago.
Two years before Grandfather died.
Marjorie whispered behind me.
"Your mother wasn't just working with Colin."
I looked up.
She wiped her eyes.
"She was having an affair with him."
The room went silent.
Then she added the part that made my stomach drop.
May you like
"And Clara, your father found out."
