Chapter 6: Vanessa's Offer
Patricia Osei called me the next morning at eight-fifteen.
Her voice was brisk and precise, the kind of voice that had no patience for anything that wasn't the point.
"Ray briefed me last night," she said.
"I need the full account number for Nia's savings account, your name and hers as listed on the account, and the date of the last transaction.
Can you get to the bank this morning?"
"I can be there by nine."
"Good.
Get a full transaction history printed on bank letterhead.
Get the destination account's last four digits confirmed in writing.
Then bring everything to my office at eleven."
I was at the bank by eight-fifty.
The branch manager, a quiet man named Gerald who had helped Diane open the account three years ago, recognized me when I walked in.
He remembered the account.
He remembered Diane.
He pulled the records himself.
The destination account belonged to a business.
The business name on the transfer record was three letters I didn't recognize: VJT LLC.
I wrote it down.
Gerald printed everything on letterhead, signed and stamped it, and slid it across the desk.
"I'm sorry, Marcus," he said.
"I'm sorry this is what brought you back in."
I thanked him and drove to Patricia's office.
She was already at her desk when I arrived.
She read through the bank documents without speaking.
She wrote VJT LLC on a yellow notepad and underlined it twice.
"I can have a research firm pull the LLC registration by this afternoon," she said.
"If it's registered in this state, we'll have the owner's name within hours."
"And if it's in another state?"
"Forty-eight hours.
Maybe less." She looked up.
"Has your wife said anything else since yesterday?"
"She came to our bedroom last night.
She said she wanted to talk."
"What did she say?"
I had been awake for most of the night thinking about it.
Vanessa had sat on the edge of the bed.
She hadn't turned on the lamp.
She spoke in the dark, in the careful voice she used when she was managing something.
"She said the money wasn't gone.
She said she had invested it.
She said she was going to tell me, but she wanted to show me the returns first.
She said she did it because she thought I was being careless with Nia's future."
Patricia's pen stopped moving.
"She admitted to accessing the account?"
"She said she had the login information because she found it in Diane's paperwork when she was organizing the house."
"And she used it."
"She said she was protecting the money."
Patricia set her pen down.
"She transferred eleven thousand dollars from your daughter's account into an LLC and she's calling it protection."
"Yes."
"Did she say what the LLC is?"
"No.
She said it was a private investment vehicle.
She said she could have the money back within thirty days if I gave her time."
Patricia looked at me steadily.
"Marcus, I need you to understand something.
What she's describing — accessing a minor's account without authorization and moving the funds — that is not a civil matter.
That is potentially a crjminal one."
The word sat between us.
"She's my wife," I said.
"I understand that." Patricia's voice didn't soften, but it slowed slightly.
"I'm not telling you what decision to make.
I'm telling you what the law says about what she did.
What you do with that is yours."
I looked at the bank documents on her desk.
Diane's name was on the account header.
Her careful, looping signature on the original account opening form.
"She also said," I continued, "that if I pursued this, she would make sure the divorce was very expensive.
She said she had documentation of financial decisions I'd made during the marriage that could be characterized as reckless.
She said a judge would look at both of us."
Patricia picked her pen back up.
"There it is," she said quietly.
"She's threatening me."
"She's trying to make the cost of accountability feel higher than the cost of silence." Patricia wrote something on her notepad.
"That's what people do when they know they've lost the moral argument."
She tore the top sheet off the notepad and slid it across the desk.
It had a single name written on it.
A forensic accountant.
"Call him today," she said.
"I want a full picture of your household finances for the last three years before we go any further."
I folded the paper and put it in my pocket.
"What about Nia?" I asked.
Patricia looked at me.
"What about her?"
"She's twelve.
She's in that house.
She knows something is wrong.
I don't know how much to tell her."
Patricia was quiet for a moment.
"Tell her the truth is being handled," she said.
"Tell her she did the right thing by showing you that letter.
Tell her you are not going to let it go."
I stood up and picked up my jacket.
"One more thing," Patricia said.
"The box.
The one with Diane's ring and letters.
If Vanessa donated it, there may be a record.
Charity organizations log donations.
If she sold it, there may be a transaction.
Either way, I want to know."
I hadn't thought about the box since the bank call.
"I'll look into it," I said.
May you like
"Do it today," Patricia said.
"Before anything else disappears."
