Chapter 8: Seven Thirty in the Morning
Detective Reyes was younger than I expected.
Mid-forties, quiet manner, a gray jacket that had seen better days.
He came with a younger officer who carried a evidence bag and said almost nothing.
Martin arrived two minutes later.
They sat at my kitchen table — the same table where Greg had sl@mmed his hand four days ago, the same table where Greg and I had talked the night before.
It was becoming the most important piece of furniture I owned.
I walked Detective Reyes through everything.
The boutique account.
The referral fees.
The supplier switch.
The linked savings account.
The forty-one transfers.
The anonymous text.
He asked clear, specific questions.
He didn't react dramatically to anything.
He wrote in a small notebook and occasionally looked at the laptop screen when Martin pointed something out.
When I finished, he looked at me.
"Mrs.
Beth, I want to be straightforward with you.
What you've described, if the documentation supports it, covers multiple charges.
Unauthorized account access.
Fraudulent transfers.
The referral scheme at the boutique adds a separate layer." He tapped his pen on the notebook.
"This was not impulsive.
This was planned."
"I know," I said.
"Do you know where Sarah Calloway is currently staying?"
"I believe she and my son are at a hotel.
I don't know which one."
"We'll locate them." He closed the notebook.
"I'd like to take the laptop today.
We'll image the drive and return it to you within forty-eight hours."
"That's fine."
"Is there anything else you want to tell me?
Anything that didn't make it into the documentation?"
I thought for a moment.
"There's an employee named Donna," I said.
"She's the one who found the referral agreement.
She came to me three weeks ago.
She should be interviewed separately — she may know more than what's on the drive."
He wrote down Donna's name.
Martin walked Detective Reyes and his colleague to the door.
I stayed at the table.
Clara came in from the living room, still in yesterday's clothes, holding a mug of coffee she had made herself.
She sat down.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"Strange," I said.
"Like I've been holding something very heavy for a long time and I've just set it down, but my arms still remember the weight."
Clara nodded.
My phone rang.
Greg.
I looked at Martin, who had just come back into the kitchen.
"Answer it," he said.
"But don't tell him about this morning yet.
Let the detective make contact first."
I answered.
"Mom." Greg's voice was rough.
He hadn't slept.
"I talked to Sarah last night."
"I know you did."
"She admitted to the supplier arrangement.
The referral fees." A pause.
"She said she was going to tell me.
She said she'd been meaning to tell me for months."
"Greg—"
"I know how that sounds." His voice broke slightly at the edge.
"I know.
I'm not defending it.
I just — I need to know what you're going to do."
"I need you to listen to me very carefully," I said.
"Something came to light last night after you left.
Something beyond the boutique."
Silence.
"What do you mean?"
"I need you to stay where you are.
Don't go anywhere.
A detective will be in contact with you this morning."
"A detective." His voice had gone very flat.
"Mom.
What did she do."
"Stay where you are, Greg."
"Mom.
Tell me what she did."
I looked at Clara.
She gave me the smallest nod.
"She opened a linked account in my banking system," I said.
"In her maiden name.
She's been transferring money from my personal savings for fourteen months."
The silence that followed was the longest of the entire conversation.
"How much?" he said finally.
"Twenty-six thousand dollars."
I heard him exhale.
A long, slow sound, like something leaving a body.
"Greg," I said.
"I need to ask you one more time.
And I need the truth."
"I didn't know," he said.
Before I could finish the question.
"Mom, I swear to you.
I didn't know."
His voice had the quality of a man standing at the edge of something he couldn't walk back from.
"I believe you," I said.
Another silence.
"What happens now?" he asked.
"The detective will explain that when he reaches you." I paused.
"Greg.
Whatever happens next — I need you to let it happen.
Don't protect her from the consequences.
Do you understand me?"
A long pause.
"Yes," he said.
"I love you," I said.
"That hasn't changed."
He didn't answer right away.
"I know," he said finally.
"I know it hasn't."
He ended the call.
Martin was watching me.
"You did well," he said.
"I told my son his wife is about to be arrested."
"You told your son the truth," Martin said.
"That's different."
Clara refilled my coffee without asking.
Outside, the morning was bright and cold and completely ordinary.
Somewhere across town, in a hotel room I had never seen, Sarah Calloway was about to have a very different kind of morning.
May you like
I wrapped both hands around my mug.
And waited.
