Chapter 10: The Record
The public record wasn't hard to find.
It took David twenty minutes, a court records database, and one archived news article from a regional paper in Portland dated eleven years ago.
The headline read: *Financial Advisor Repays Clients After Fraud Investigation, Avoids Prosecution.*
Aaliyah read it twice.
Marcus Webb had operated a small investment advisory firm.
Over four years, he had misrepresented returns to clients, moving money between accounts in a way that masked losses.
Fourteen clients.
Combined losses of just over two hundred thousand dollars.
He had cooperated fully with investigators, liquidated personal assets, and repaid approximately sixty percent of the total.
The district attorney had declined to prosecute, citing full cooperation and partial restitution.
The article named no individual victims.
"Sandra's mother would have been one of the fourteen," David said.
"Yes."
"Sixty percent restitution means forty percent of whatever she lost was never returned."
"Yes."
Aaliyah sat back in her chair.
The laptop screen was bright in the dimming kitchen.
"He's not in prison," she said.
"He cooperated.
He paid back what he could."
"That doesn't undo the harm."
"No.
It doesn't." She looked at the article again.
"But it's also not the same as someone who ran and hid and never faced it."
David was quiet.
"I'm not excusing it," she said.
"I want to be clear about that.
What he did was wrong.
People trusted him and he let them down and one of those people was Sandra's mother and she suffered for it." She paused.
"But I also think — I think he's been living with it.
The way he talked today.
The way he said he'd been watching from a distance because he didn't feel he had the right to intrude."
"That could be performance."
"It could be." She looked at her father.
"Or it could be a man who did something genuinely wrong, faced the consequences, and has been trying to figure out how to live with himself since."
David looked at her for a long moment.
"When did you get this wise?"
"I had a good teacher."
He made a sound that was almost a laugh.
Almost.
She closed the laptop.
"I'm going to call him," she said.
"Not tonight.
Next week.
And I'm going to tell him I know about the fraud.
I'm going to let him explain it in his own words."
"And then?"
"And then I'll decide."
David nodded slowly.
"That's fair."
"Are you sure you're okay with this?"
"Aaliyah." He turned to face her fully.
"I have been your father for twenty-two years.
I have been at every school play, every emergency room visit, every 3 a.m.
phone call when you were scared.
I drove you to that boutique today and watched you walk across a stage in a green dress and I have never been more proud of anything in my life." He held her gaze.
"A conversation with Marcus Webb does not change any of that.
Not one word of it."
She felt the tightness in her chest loosen, just slightly.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay," he said back.
Her phone buzzed one more time.
Not Sandra.
Kezia.
*I heard something happened today.
I'm outside.
Can I come in?*
Aaliyah looked at the message.
Then at David.
"Go," he said.
"I'll make more tea."
She went to the front door and opened it.
Kezia was standing on the step in her graduation gown, cap still on, holding a small paper bag from the bakery two blocks away.
"I brought croissants," Kezia said.
"Because I didn't know what else to do and croissants fix approximately forty percent of all problems."
Aaliyah looked at her best friend.
At the paper bag.
At the completely earnest expression on Kezia's face.
She started laughing.
It came out slightly broken, slightly wet at the edges, but it was real.
"Get in here," she said.
Kezia stepped inside, looked around, and said quietly, "Are you okay?
Actually okay?"
"Not yet," Aaliyah said honestly.
"But I think I'm going to be."
Kezia put her arm around her.
They walked into the kitchen together.
David looked up from the kettle and said, "Kezia.
Good timing.
May you like
Sit down."
And for the first time all day, the house felt like itself again.
