Chapter 4: Eleven Transfers
I sat up slowly.
"How much total?"
Patricia set a printed summary on the bed beside me.
"Just over two point three million dollars."
The number didn't feel real.
I picked up the page and read the column of figures, each one dated, each one routed to the same account.
Celeste Morgan.
Celeste Morgan.
Celeste Morgan.
"They were structured to stay below federal reporting thresholds," Patricia said.
"Whoever set this up knew exactly what they were doing."
"Vivian," I said.
"Possibly.
But structuring at this level usually requires the account holder's cooperation.
Daniel would have had to at minimum look away very deliberately."
"Or he asked her to do it so he could claim he didn't know."
"That's what we'll argue." Patricia sat down.
"The business is registered as a partnership between Daniel and Vivian.
That means both signatures are required for major disbursements.
But these transfers were processed under a secondary authorization protocol — a clause buried in the original partnership agreement that allows either partner to act alone in quote, time-sensitive investment situations."
"Who wrote that clause?"
"Gerald Foss drafted the original agreement."
I set the page down.
"Of course he did."
"We've already flagged Foss for a separate inquiry.
But right now the more immediate question is the house." Patricia folded her hands.
"Daniel's name is on the deed.
Yours is not."
"I know."
"He could move to have you removed."
"He won't," I said.
"Not yet.
He doesn't know what we have."
"He will soon.
His plane landed last night.
He'll have seen Vivian by now."
I thought about Daniel walking through our front door with his shopping bags and his sunburn, calling out about beaches.
I thought about the empty nursery.
I thought about Noah, two floors above me, still connected to monitors, still fighting.
"Let him talk to Vivian," I said.
"Let them compare stories.
The more they talk, the more their stories will have to match, and right now their stories can't possibly match because the truth is too complicated to keep straight."
Patricia almost smiled.
"That's why Robert wanted you on this."
My phone buzzed on the bedside table.
I looked at the screen.
It was Daniel.
Patricia saw my face.
"Do you want to take it?"
"No." I set the phone face-down.
"Not yet."
It buzzed twice more, then stopped.
Thirty seconds later, a text appeared.
I turned the phone over and read it.
*Grace, we need to talk.
I know you're upset.
Please don't do anything you'll regret.
I can explain everything.*
I showed it to Patricia without a word.
She read it, then looked up.
"He's scared."
"He should be."
"Grace." Her voice shifted slightly.
"Before we go further — are you prepared for what this will cost?
Not financially.
Personally.
He's going to fight, and when he fights, he's going to use Noah."
The room went very quiet.
"What do you mean?"
"He'll claim you're unstable.
That the birth was traumatic and affected your judgment.
That you're misreading documents, misinterpreting photographs.
He'll find a doctor willing to say you're not in a fit state to make decisions." She held my gaze.
"I've seen it before.
It's the move men like Daniel make when everything else is failing."
I looked at the phone.
Then at the wire transfer page.
Then at the coming-home outfit still folded in my bag.
"Then we move faster than he does," I said.
Patricia nodded once.
She reached into the briefcase and produced a second document.
"Robert had this drafted this morning.
It's an emergency motion to freeze the joint business accounts pending fraud investigation." She set it in front of me.
"If you sign it now, we file before noon."
I picked up the pen.
May you like
The door opened.
Daniel walked in.
