Chapter 6: The Second Transfer
"The account belongs to Daniel," Patricia said.
I had sent her the filing reference twenty minutes earlier.
She had called back in fifteen.
"Personally?" I asked.
"Not through the company?"
"Personal account.
Opened eighteen months ago at a bank he doesn't use for any of your joint finances.
The sixty thousand moved there eleven months ago from the same Mercer Development Holdings account that received your four-eighty."
I was standing in the hotel corridor outside my room.
I didn't remember walking out there.
"So he wasn't just following his mother's orders," I said.
"He had his own account waiting before the transfer happened.
That takes planning, Emma.
That's not a son doing what he's told."
I leaned against the wall.
"He sat at that table last night," I said.
"He watched me find the missing money.
He watched me figure out the forgery.
He said my name like I was the one causing damage."
"People do that," Patricia said.
"When they're cornered."
"What do I do with this?"
"Nothing yet.
I'm filing a motion this afternoon to freeze the Mercer Development Holdings account pending fraud investigation.
Once that's in place, we move on the personal account.
But I need you to do something first."
"What?"
"Daniel is going to contact you today.
Probably soon.
He'll want to meet, talk privately, explain.
He may offer to return the money informally to make this go away."
"And if he does?"
"Record it.
Your state is one-party consent.
You can legally record any conversation you're a party to.
If he offers restitution or admits fault in any form, I want that recording."
I looked at the empty corridor.
"You want me to meet with my husband and record him."
"I want you to let him talk," Patricia said.
"He will say more than he means to.
People always do when they think they're managing the situation."
Daniel called forty minutes later.
We met in the hotel lobby at two o'clock.
He came alone, no Vivian, no lawyer.
He was wearing the same shirt from the night before, collar open, the kind of tired that doesn't come from one bad night.
I sat across from him at a corner table.
My phone was in my jacket pocket, recording.
"I need you to understand something," he started.
"Then explain it."
"The company was in trouble.
Real trouble.
Not the kind Mother talks about at dinner — actual insolvency.
We were six weeks from losing the Hargrove property, which would have triggered a cascade on everything else.
I had no options."
"You had one option," I said.
"You could have told me."
He looked at his hands.
"Mother said you'd leave."
"She was right that I'd have questions.
She was wrong about what I'd do." I kept my voice level.
"How long has she been planning the loan document?"
He looked up.
"What?"
"The document her attorney filed this morning.
The fake loan agreement.
Notarized by Raymond Chu fourteen months ago.
How long has she been building that?"
Something moved across his face.
Surprise, or the performance of it.
"I didn't know about that document," he said.
"Daniel."
"I didn't.
I knew about the transfer.
I knew about the condo pledge.
I did not know she had built a loan document as cover.
That was—" He stopped.
"That was what?"
"That was further than I thought she'd gone."
I watched him.
"The sixty thousand in your personal account," I said.
"Was that further than you thought too?"
His jaw tightened.
He didn't answer.
"That account was opened eighteen months ago," I said.
"Before any of this.
Before the Hargrove crisis.
Before the transfer.
You opened it and waited."
"Emma—"
"What were you waiting for, Daniel?"
He was quiet for a long time.
Outside the lobby windows, a bus moved slowly past.
"She told me it would be clean," he finally said.
"She told me you'd never find it.
That by the time the condo was processed, we'd have refinanced everything and you'd see the numbers improve and think it had worked out."
"She told you I'd never find it," I repeated.
"Yes."
"And you believed her."
He looked at me then.
Really looked at me.
And I think he saw something in my face that told him the conversation was already over, even if neither of us had said so yet.
"I'm sorry, Emma."
"I know you are," I said.
"That's the saddest part."
May you like
I stood up, picked up my bag, and walked to the elevator.
Patricia had what she needed.
