Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN WHO KNEW WHERE MY MONEY WENT
“Ellen helped me investigate the money Michael stole.”
Daniel Mercer looked at the hotel photograph.
“That's why we wanted to speak with you before drawing conclusions.”
I studied the image again.
Ellen Park.
The woman who had known my mother.
The woman who always remembered my birthday when I visited the bank.
The woman who had looked me in the eyes and expressed sympathy about the fire.
She'd been meeting my husband the night before it happened.
“Was she having an affair with him too?” Rebecca asked.
Mercer shook his head.
“We have no evidence of that.”
“Then why was she there?”
“That's what we're investigating.”
I stared at Ellen's cream-colored coat.
Something about the image bothered me.
She wasn't smiling.
She wasn't leaning toward Michael.
She stood several feet behind him, clutching a leather portfolio.
She looked uncomfortable.
Afraid, perhaps.
“I want to talk to her,” I said.
Mercer shook his head.
“Please don't approach anyone connected to the investigation without coordinating with us.”
“Then ask her why.”
“We intend to.”
On the drive home, Rebecca kept glancing at me.
“You're quiet.”
“I'm thinking.”
“About Ellen?”
“About how many people knew pieces of my life I didn't.”
That evening, I went through the financial records Samuel had gathered.
Something had bothered me since the bank visit.
Ellen had identified the sixteen-thousand-dollar transfer quickly.
Too quickly, perhaps.
But she'd also opened a fraud review without hesitation.
I tried to remember her exact expression.
Concern.
Surprise.
Or recognition?
I couldn't tell.
The next morning, Samuel called.
He had found another discrepancy.
The sixteen-thousand-dollar transfer from my savings had been initiated through an online banking credential associated with an old household device.
Michael had used that device for years.
But the bank's records also showed an attempted second transfer.
That one had failed.
“Why?” I asked.
“Additional verification was required.”
“Who stopped it?”
“We can't establish that yet. The bank is investigating its authorization controls.”
I thought about Ellen.
If she'd been helping Michael, why let me discover the missing money?
Unless she hadn't expected me to survive.
Unless she was protecting herself.
At eleven, Helen asked me to come to her office.
Sophie was there.
So was a woman I'd never met.
A younger attorney named Nadia Brooks.
Sophie's attorney.
Sophie looked pale.
But she held a thick folder.
“I brought what I could lawfully access,” she said.
Nadia placed the folder on the table.
“These records have also been provided to investigators through the appropriate process.”
Helen nodded.
Sophie turned toward me.
“Claire, I need to tell you something before you look at them.”
I waited.
“I knew Michael wanted your shares.”
“You told me that.”
“No. I knew he wanted to take them without paying you.”
Silence.
She swallowed.
“I helped prepare the restructuring documents.”
Rebecca stared at her.
“You knew he was stealing from my sister?”
Sophie flinched.
“I knew he was trying to avoid a buyout.”
“And you didn't care?” Rebecca demanded.
“I told myself Claire had already been compensated.”
I looked at Sophie.
“That was convenient.”
“Yes.”
She didn't argue.
“I wanted the company. I wanted Michael. I convinced myself that after all those years, I deserved something.”
“And I deserved nothing?”
Her eyes filled.
“I was wrong.”
I looked at the folder.
“What changed?”
“The fire.”
“Because you thought you'd be caught?”
“Partly.”
At least she wasn't pretending to be noble.
She continued.
“But also because I heard him tell the police you weren't home.”
My breath caught.
“He said it so easily, Claire. He didn't hesitate.”
I remembered Patricia's question at the hospital.
Why did you tell the firefighters your wife wasn't home?
Sophie looked down.
“I realized he could do the same thing to me one day.”
Helen opened the folder.
Inside were emails.
Corporate resolutions.
Draft agreements.
And several pages of handwritten notes.
One document contained a schedule of anticipated insurance proceeds.
Another showed the planned transfer of my ownership interest.
The figures were horrifying.
The two-million-dollar policy.
The company's development properties.
The disputed twenty-five percent shares.
Together, the financial benefit to Michael and the entities under his control could exceed five million dollars.
But the most important document was a draft of a private settlement agreement.
It described me as voluntarily withdrawing from the company after a marital separation.
My signature was already inserted.
A signature I had never given.
Sophie pointed to it.
“He planned to use this if you survived.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“If you survived the fire, he'd tell everyone you'd suffered a breakdown. He'd say you couldn't manage your affairs. He planned to pressure you to sign everything away.”
A chill passed through me.
The fire had been only one part of his plan.
My survival hadn't necessarily ruined everything for him.
He believed he could still control me.
Helen closed the folder.
“This needs to go to the investigators.”
Nadia nodded.
“We've already arranged that.”
I looked at Sophie.
“Why are you helping now?”
She touched the diamond bracelet on her wrist.
The one from the Space Needle.
“He told me this meant I was finally the woman he chose.”
She unclasped it.
Placed it on the table.
“I thought he carried me out because he loved me.”
Her voice broke.
“But I think he carried me out because he needed someone to confirm his story.”
I said nothing.
She pushed the bracelet toward me.
“I don't want it.”
“Neither do I.”
For a long moment, neither of us moved.
Then Sophie said, “There's one more thing.”
She reached into her purse.
A small black memory card rested in her palm.
“Michael gave me this after we left the building. He said to keep it safe until October thirty-first.”
Helen leaned forward.
“Do you know what's on it?”
“No.”
“Why didn't you give it to investigators immediately?”
Sophie looked ashamed.
“Because I was afraid of what it would prove.”
Nadia placed the card into an evidence envelope.
“We haven't examined it. We wanted it preserved properly.”
Daniel Mercer arrived later that afternoon to collect it.
Before leaving, he looked at me.
“Mrs. Bennett, we also spoke with Ellen Park.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did she say?”
Mercer hesitated.
“She said Michael met her at the hotel because he believed she could make a problem disappear.”
“What problem?”
He looked directly at me.
“Your ownership records.”
I stared at him.
Then he added, “But Ellen says she didn't agree to help him.”
“Why should I believe her?”
Mercer placed a photocopy on the table.
It was a letter.
Dated October 19.
Addressed to Michael Bennett.
It warned that the bank had identified suspicious authorization activity and would preserve records.
Ellen's signature appeared at the bottom.
Mercer said, “She went to the hotel to deliver this warning after Michael insisted on a meeting.”
I looked at the letter.
For the first time, I wondered whether Ellen had been trying to protect me.
Then Mercer turned the page.
“There's something else she gave us.”
It was a photograph taken inside the hotel room.
Michael stood beside the black metal case.
Behind him, a wall mirror reflected another person.
Someone partially hidden near the doorway.
I leaned closer.
The reflection showed a familiar face.
Arthur Bell.
The retired accountant.
May you like
The man who had told me he hadn't seen Michael in three years.
And suddenly I realized that someone had been lying from the beginning.
