Chapter 9 - THE ACCOUNTANT WHO CALLED AT MIDNIGHT
At 12:14 a.m., my phone rang from a blocked number.
I almost ignored it.
Then it rang again.
I was still awake at the hotel desk, reading financial records I barely understood before Priya annotated them.
I answered.
"Daryl Mercer?"
The man's voice was low.
"Who is this?"
"My name is Simon Kessler."
The name meant nothing to me.
"You don't know me."
"Then why are you calling after midnight?"
"Because Mark Halpern knows I know you now have lawyers involved."
I sat up.
"How do you know Mark?"
"I was his outside accountant."
Was.
That word mattered.
"Call my attorney in the morning."
"I may not have until morning."
"What does that mean?"
He exhaled.
"It means Mark told me tonight to destroy client workpapers."
Every remaining trace of sleep disappeared.
"Did you?"
"No."
"Then call the police."
"I called a criminal attorney first."
"Good."
"She told me not to delete anything and not to meet Mark."
"Also good."
"She also told me I should contact the person whose property appears in several files."
My grip tightened.
"What files?"
"I need protection before I explain."
"I cannot give you protection."
"Your lawyer can tell investigators I cooperated."
"If you actually cooperate."
A pause.
"You sound like Mark said you would."
"And how is that?"
"Cold."
I nearly ended the call.
Then Simon added, "He also said cold people are predictable."
That kept me on the line.
"What does he think I will do?"
"Pay."
"He was wrong."
"He knows that now."
I turned on the desk lamp.
"What files?"
Simon hesitated.
"Mark's company has been insolvent for more than a year."
"I know about the judgments."
"Those are the visible debts."
"How much is not visible?"
"At least six hundred eighty thousand."
That matched my father's estimate.
"To whom?"
"Private lenders. Suppliers. Two former partners."
"And Shoreline?"
"Shoreline was supposed to solve everything."
"By using my cottage."
"Yes."
I heard the shame in his voice.
"Did you help them?"
"I prepared business projections for Mercer Coast Retreats."
"Using false ownership information."
"Mark told me title was being transferred by family agreement."
"Did you verify it?"
"No."
"Then you helped them."
He was silent.
"Yes."
I appreciated the answer more than an excuse.
"What else?"
"There are spreadsheets showing how the investor money was going to be distributed."
"Distributed where?"
"Most of it never had anything to do with renovating the cottage."
"How much?"
"The first two hundred seventy-five thousand was assigned before it arrived."
"To whom?"
"Ninety thousand to a bridge lender. Sixty-two thousand to tax arrears. Forty thousand to a supplier. Twenty-five thousand to your sister's personal credit cards."
"And the rest?"
"Fees, commissions, and cash reserve."
I stared at the dark window.
"Did my father know?"
"I don't know."
"His name is on a personal guarantee."
"I saw that."
"Did he attend meetings?"
"One."
"What happened?"
Simon lowered his voice further.
"Mark told Shoreline that your father was the family patriarch and had authority to approve the venture."
I felt a bitter smile form.
My father would have loved that phrase.
Family patriarch.
It sounded much better than accessory to fraud.
"What did my father say?"
"Mostly that the property had always been intended for the entire family."
"Did he say I agreed?"
"Yes."
I closed my eyes.
"Anything else?"
"He said you were difficult but would come around once the project was too far along to reverse."
That sentence hurt more than I expected.
My father had not merely lied about my consent.
He had described my eventual surrender as a business assumption.
"Send everything to Camille Ross."
"I need her secure address."
I texted it.
"Simon."
"Yes?"
"Why now?"
He was quiet for several seconds.
"Because Mark called me tonight and said if this collapses, he is going to tell everyone the financials were my idea."
"So you are protecting yourself."
"Yes."
Again, no excuse.
"Fine."
"There is one file you should see first."
"What?"
"A family funding schedule."
I frowned.
"Explain."
"Mark tracked every source of money he believed could be accessed if Shoreline delayed funding."
"Including my cottage."
"Including more than your cottage."
A file arrived by encrypted link.
I called Camille before opening it.
She answered on the third ring sounding fully awake, which made me wonder whether lawyers slept differently from surgeons.
"Simon Kessler called me."
"Who?"
I explained.
"Do not open anything until I send you a secure upload link," she said.
"Already learned that lesson."
"Good."
Twenty minutes later, she called back with Priya on the line.
They had reviewed the first spreadsheet.
Priya sounded grim.
"Daryl, your parents transferred one hundred ninety thousand dollars to Mark and Jenna over the last eighteen months."
I sat very still.
"That cannot be right."
"It is."
"My father told me they invested thirty-eight thousand in the cottage."
"That was separate."
"Where did the one ninety come from?"
"Retirement accounts and a home equity line on their Pasadena house."
My stomach dropped.
"They borrowed against their house?"
"Seventy-five thousand."
"Did they know Mark's business was failing?"
"Your father appears to have known some of it."
"My mother?"
"Unknown."
I rubbed my face.
"What does Mark's spreadsheet say?"
Priya hesitated.
"There is a column labeled remaining family capacity."
I felt something cold move through me.
"What is under my name?"
"The cottage equity, your brokerage estimate, and a projected physician line of credit."
"He listed my personal brokerage account?"
"An estimate."
"How would he know the balance?"
"He may not."
"What about my parents?"
"Their house, retirement balance, and life insurance cash value."
I stood.
"He listed their life insurance?"
"Yes."
The room seemed suddenly too small.
"And Jenna?"
Priya was quiet.
"There is no remaining asset listed under Jenna."
Of course there wasn't.
Everyone else's life had become her financial reserve.
Camille spoke.
"There is one more thing."
"What?"
"A note attached to your parents' house."
"The home equity line?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"Mark appears to have drafted a power of attorney for your father six months ago."
I stared at the screen.
"Why?"
"We do not know yet."
"Is it signed?"
"Yes."
"By Dad?"
"It looks like it."
"Notarized?"
"Yes."
I already knew the next question.
"Leonard?"
"No."
That surprised me.
"Who?"
"A mobile notary in Ventura."
Priya cut in.
"And Daryl, there is a second lien application on your parents' house dated four days ago."
I stopped breathing.
"How much?"
"Three hundred twenty thousand dollars."
"Did my parents apply?"
"Your father's power of attorney was used."
"By whom?"
Priya answered.
May you like
"Mark."
The cottage was not the only house he was trying to take.
