Chapter 6 - THE PRICE OF ONE LIE
“You forged Arthur's authorization?”
Gideon didn't raise his voice.
That made the question worse.
Thomas stood beside the desk, clutching the leather notebook.
“Yes, sir.”
For nearly forty years, Thomas Reed had worked for the Croft family.
He had served Gideon's father.
He had attended Gideon's mother's funeral.
He had taught Gideon to drive.
And after the ambush, when Gideon couldn't bear the humiliation of needing assistance, Thomas had been the one person who never made him feel helpless.
Now that man was admitting he had falsified a security pass connected to the worst night of Gideon's life.
“Why?”
Thomas wiped his eyes.
“Declan told me Arthur needed records moved quietly. He said there was a financial investigation and that announcing the transfer could frighten the employees.”
“So you put Arthur's name on the pass.”
“Yes.”
“Without asking Arthur.”
“Yes.”
Gideon turned away.
“Russell died because that truck reached the road.”
Thomas's voice broke.
“I know.”
“No. You know he died. You don't know what it's like to wake up every morning and remember a man gave his life so you could have another one.”
Thomas looked down.
Gideon regretted the cruelty immediately.
But he couldn't take the words back.
Thomas carefully placed the notebook on the desk.
“I should have told you six months ago. I was ashamed. Then Declan found out I'd approved the truck without following procedure.”
“He threatened you?”
“He said if I exposed the pass, every investigator would believe I helped organize the ambush.”
Gideon studied him.
“And you believed that?”
Thomas nodded.
“I was afraid you'd believe it too.”
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then Gideon said, “Leave the notebook.”
Thomas obeyed.
At the doorway, he stopped.
“Sir, Arthur knew I approved the pass. He told me I'd made a terrible mistake.”
“Did he forgive you?”
Thomas shook his head.
“He told me forgiveness wouldn't change what happened. He said the only useful thing I could do was help him put it right.”
That evening, Neta returned to the estate after dropping Laith at the home of her neighbor, Mrs. Delaney.
The elderly woman had watched him often since he was a baby.
He was safe, happily building a cardboard rocket with her grandson.
Neta brought her laptop, a folder of blank labels, and a grocery bag containing two sandwiches.
She placed one beside Gideon.
“You look like you forgot dinner.”
“I wasn't hungry.”
“That wasn't the question.”
He opened the wrapper.
Turkey.
Cheddar.
Mustard.
“Thank you.”
“Don't thank me until you've tried it.”
They worked for an hour.
Neta organized the envelopes by recipient, date, and payment amount.
Gideon checked the original relief-fund rules against Arthur's surviving correspondence.
The fund had been established years earlier.
Its purpose was simple.
If employees or their families suffered hardship related to the business, they could request assistance.
Medical expenses.
Funeral costs.
Lost wages.
Emergency housing.
Gideon had approved the fund himself.
But after the ambush, Declan controlled its administration.
Neta added the unpaid amounts.
Her expression changed.
“Gideon.”
He looked up.
“These aren't small mistakes.”
“How much?”
“Nearly four hundred thousand dollars in rejected requests.”
He stared at the number.
“And that's only what Arthur found,” she added.
Gideon looked toward the dining room.
“Thirty-nine people.”
“Thirty-nine households,” she corrected.
He understood the difference.
Some envelopes listed children.
Elderly parents.
Spouses with medical bills.
People whose lives had been affected by his company's failures.
Gideon thought about the forty untouched place settings.
He had believed nobody wanted to celebrate with a man in a wheelchair.
Now he understood something more painful.
Those people had been suffering while he mourned their absence.
Near midnight, they found an envelope that didn't match the others.
Number one.
It contained no rejection notice.
Only a single folded sheet of cream-colored stationery.
Arthur's handwriting.
Gideon recognized it immediately.
The letters were slightly tilted.
The capital G was always unusually large.
On the outside, Arthur had written:
For Gideon, when you're ready to learn why I failed you.
Gideon held the paper without opening it.
Neta remained quiet.
Finally, he said, “I was sixteen when my father sent me away for three months.”
“Why?”
“An argument. I refused to do something he wanted.”
“What did Arthur do?”
“He drove six hours to find me. Brought a sandwich and told me I was still allowed to come home.”
Gideon smiled sadly.
“He was the closest thing to a father I ever had.”
Neta lowered her eyes.
“Then whatever that letter says, it doesn't erase forty years.”
Gideon opened it.
The first paragraph described the relief fund.
The second mentioned Declan's financial troubles.
Then came a sentence that made Gideon's fingers tighten.
I authorized the transfer of money from the relief fund because Declan convinced me one hundred ten employees would otherwise lose their wages.
Gideon stopped reading.
Neta looked at him.
“What is it?”
He continued.
I believed the money would return within thirty days. I was wrong.
A second page fell onto the desk.
It contained a handwritten list of payments.
The largest was marked with a red circle.
$386,000 — HARBORLINE RECOVERY.
Gideon stared at the name.
The company whose truck had helped block his convoy.
The company that had emptied Arthur's storage unit.
And now the company that had received money intended for suffering families.
Below the amount, Arthur had written five words.
I APPROVED THE FIRST TRANSFER.
Gideon slowly lowered the paper.
Arthur hadn't merely known about the missing money.
He had helped move it.
May you like
And now Gideon understood why his oldest friend had left thirty-nine envelopes beneath thirty-nine empty chairs.
Arthur had been trying to expose a betrayal that began with his own decision.
