Chapter 5: What My Sister Said
Carol picked up on the second ring.
She's three years older than me, lives forty minutes away, and has worked in corporate accounting for twenty-two years.
When I told her what I'd found, she went quiet in a way that told me she understood exactly what I was describing.
"Read me the letter again," she said.
"Slowly."
I read it.
When I finished, she didn't say anything for a moment.
"The accounts it mentions — did it give any account numbers or just descriptions?"
"Descriptions.
It said 'the holding accounts' and 'the offshore structure.' Those exact words."
"And the four-thirty figure — was that described as a transfer or a balance?"
"A transfer.
It said 'what we moved.'"
Another silence.
"Okay," Carol said.
"I need you to listen to me carefully.
Don't touch that letter again.
Don't photograph it.
Don't move it.
Don't tell Brian you found it."
"Carol—"
"I'm serious.
If what's described in that letter is what I think it is, that piece of paper is either evidence or it's bait, and right now you don't know which."
"What do you think it is?"
"I think your husband and his business partner have been moving money somewhere it isn't supposed to be.
I don't know if it's tax fraud, embezzlement, or something worse.
But four hundred thousand dollars doesn't get hidden in a wall because everything is fine."
I sat at the kitchen table.
The breakfast dishes were still out.
The morning felt completely ordinary and completely wrong at the same time.
"What do I do?"
"You act normal today.
You don't confront Brian.
You don't ask questions.
You go about your day, and tonight when he's home, you watch how he behaves.
Does he check the wall?
Does he make calls?
Does he seem like a man who thinks he's still in control, or a man who's starting to panic?"
"And then?"
"And then you call me tonight and we figure out the next step together."
I exhaled.
"Do you think he's in danger?"
Carol paused.
"I think you might be," she said.
"If someone is looking for what's in that wall, and they know Brian has it, they may not stop at asking nicely."
After I hung up, I sat at the table for a long time.
Then I got up, washed the breakfast dishes, and went to work.
Brian texted me at eleven-fifteen.
*Going to be late tonight.
Don't wait up.*
I stared at the message.
He had never once in fourteen years told me not to wait up.
I typed back: *Okay.*
Then I put my phone face-down on my desk and tried to concentrate on the spreadsheet in front of me.
At three-forty, my office phone rang.
The receptionist said there was someone in the lobby asking for me.
Not a client.
He hadn't given a name.
"What does he look like?"
"Older.
Maybe sixty.
Nice suit.
He said he's a friend of your husband's."
My hand tightened on the receiver.
May you like
"Tell him I'm in a meeting."
"He said to tell you it's about the renovation."
