Chapter 5: The Accountant's Email
The email was four paragraphs long.
Megan read it twice, standing in the middle of the mall walkway while the security officer waited and Grant watched her from six feet away.
R.
Ashworth was an accountant.
He had been hired — not by Grant, not by Megan — but by the executor of her mother's estate, a family attorney named Delores Marsh, to conduct a routine review before the estate was formally closed.
The review had found something that wasn't routine.
The estate had settled for forty-four thousand, two hundred dollars.
A wire transfer had been initiated from the estate account eleven days after the funeral.
The receiving account was registered to Aldren Capital Group.
The full amount.
All of it.
Gone in a single transfer.
The authorization signature on the wire request belonged to Grant Blake, listed on the estate documents as Megan's authorized representative.
Megan lowered the phone.
"Delores Marsh," she said aloud.
Grant's chin lifted slightly.
"You had me sign a power of attorney after Mom went into the hospital.
You said it was so you could help manage her care bills if I was too overwhelmed." She looked at him.
"I signed it.
I trusted you."
"That document was entirely legal."
"Did you use it to authorize a wire transfer of my mother's entire estate to a shell company you control?"
"Aldren is not a shell company.
It's a legitimate—"
"Did you use it, Grant?"
The officer had stopped pretending not to listen.
Grant's jaw tightened.
"I invested those funds on behalf of our household.
I had legal authority to do so."
"She wasn't your mother.
That wasn't your money to invest."
"We were married.
What's mine is yours, what's yours is—"
"Don't." The word came out quiet and final.
"Don't say that to me right now."
Diane had moved to sit on a nearby bench.
She had her own phone out now, and she wasn't looking at Grant.
Megan forwarded the accountant's email to Carol, then typed a single line: *Call Delores Marsh today.
Tell her I need to speak with her urgently.*
She hit send.
Then she looked back at Grant.
"How long have you been planning this?"
"You're being dramatic."
"The power of attorney.
The forged separation agreement.
The property transfer.
The wire from Mom's estate." She counted them off, one finger at a time.
"This didn't happen in a week, Grant.
Someone planned this carefully."
"You're constructing a story."
"The accountant's email is not a story.
The notary stamp dated the morning of my mother's funeral is not a story." She took one step toward him.
"The engagement ring you bought for another woman using my mother's money is not a story."
The woman with the phone near the store entrance had not lowered it.
Grant looked at her — the bystander — and something shifted in his face.
The calculation came back.
He turned to Megan, and his voice changed entirely.
Softer.
Almost gentle.
"Megan.
I know this looks bad.
I know you're hurting.
But you are not thinking clearly right now, and I am genuinely worried about you." He glanced at the officer.
"She lost her mother two months ago.
She's been struggling.
I've been trying to get her to see someone."
The officer looked at Megan.
Megan looked back at the officer.
"I have an email from an independent accountant documenting an unauthorized wire transfer from my mother's estate.
I have a separation agreement with a forged signature, dated the morning of my mother's funeral.
I have photos of a property transfer filing that I was never informed of." She paused.
"I am not confused.
I am very, very clear."
Grant's gentle expression held for exactly three more seconds.
Then it dropped.
"Fine," he said quietly.
"You want to do this the hard way."
He took a step back.
Straightened his jacket again.
And said the one thing Megan had not expected.
May you like
"Talk to your daughter before you do anything else.
She knows more about this than you think."
