Chapter 4: The Accountant's Other Clients
Roy Cafferty's office was on the fourth floor of a building downtown that smelled like old carpet and recycled air.
I had been there once, years ago, during the early years of Daniel's business.
Back then Roy had seemed like a steady, unremarkable man — the kind of accountant who wore the same style of shoes every day and remembered your children's names.
I called his office the morning after I met with Caroline.
His assistant told me he was fully booked.
I said I only needed fifteen minutes and that it was about Daniel Marsh's estate.
There was a pause.
"Let me check with Mr.
Cafferty," she said.
He saw me the next day.
Roy was older than I remembered.
Heavier.
He stood when I came in and shook my hand with both of his, which struck me as the gesture of a man who had been expecting this visit for some time.
"I'm glad you came," he said.
"Please sit down."
I sat.
I placed the letter on his desk, facing him.
He looked at it but didn't touch it.
"I assume Caroline gave you that," he said.
"She did."
"I wrote it because Daniel asked me to.
And because it was the truth." He finally picked it up, glanced at it, set it back down.
"I want you to know I've thought about this for a long time."
"How long did you know the numbers were wrong?"
"From the day I adjusted them."
I kept my voice level.
"And you said nothing during the mediation."
"No."
"Or after."
"No."
"Why not?"
Roy looked at the window.
"Because Daniel was my client.
Because I told myself he would make it right.
Because it was easier to believe that than to accept what I'd actually done." He looked back at me.
"None of those are good reasons.
I know that."
"I walked away from that mediation thinking the business was barely breaking even," I said.
"I had two children.
I was trying to be reasonable.
I thought I was being fair."
"You were being fair.
Daniel wasn't."
The room was very quiet.
"I need to understand the full picture," I said.
"Not just what's in that letter.
All of it.
What the real numbers looked like.
What I should have received."
Roy opened a desk drawer and removed a folder.
Thicker than I expected.
"I prepared this after Daniel died," he said, sliding it across.
"I've been waiting for someone to ask for it."
I opened it.
The first page was a summary — a clean, clearly labeled comparison between the figures presented at mediation and the actual financials from the same period.
The difference was not small.
My hands were steady this time.
I had already done most of my shaking.
"This is what I should have been shown," I said.
"Yes."
"And you're prepared to confirm this in writing.
Beyond the letter."
Roy nodded slowly.
"I've already spoken to an attorney.
My own, not Daniel's estate.
I intend to provide a full written statement." He paused.
"I'm not doing this to protect myself.
There's no protecting myself at this point.
I'm doing it because it's what should have been done six years ago."
I closed the folder.
"There's something else," Roy said.
I looked up.
"Daniel wasn't the only client I did this for." He said it quietly, like he'd been holding it at the back of his throat for a long time.
"I need you to understand the scope of what I'm disclosing.
Because once I start, it doesn't stop with Daniel."
I set the folder on my lap.
"How many others?" I said.
May you like
Roy looked at his hands.
"Enough that you'll want a different kind of attorney than the one you used for your divorce."
