Chapter 4 - THE LITTLE GIRL WHO SHOWED ME WHAT MY HUSBAND WAS STEALING
"Forty-two families?" I asked.
June nodded.
"Forty-two homes. Twelve are nearly finished. The others are at different stages of construction."
I looked at Margaret.
"Then we don't have time to argue about my marriage."
We needed to understand what was happening before Daniel destroyed a project that mattered to people who had never even met him.
Margaret agreed to contact the bank through the company's authorized channels.
I drove to Maple Row.
The development sat on the outskirts of our North Carolina town, along a quiet stretch of road lined with oak trees.
My grandmother would have loved it.
She had always said a neighborhood should have sidewalks wide enough for two people to walk together.
There were sidewalks.
Young trees.
Small front porches.
And forty-two houses in various stages of completion.
But there were also abandoned stacks of lumber, unfinished roofs covered with plastic, and workers standing around equipment that wasn't moving.
Owen Morales met me near the entrance.
He was forty-six, broad-shouldered, with gray beginning to show in his beard.
"Mrs. Bennett?"
"Emily, please."
His expression was cautious.
"Daniel said you weren't involved with the company anymore."
I felt another sharp pain.
"Did he?"
"He said you wanted to focus on your health."
I swallowed.
"That's not true."
Owen studied me for a moment.
Then he said, "Come with me."
He walked me past the first row of houses.
The nearly completed homes were beautiful.
Nothing extravagant.
Two bedrooms, bright kitchens, sturdy porches.
Homes where grandparents could grow old and children could feel safe.
But behind them, everything looked different.
One house had no windows.
Another was missing roofing materials.
Several sat exposed to the weather.
"We were supposed to have these sealed before the fall rains," Owen explained. "The supplier stopped delivering."
"Because he hasn't been paid."
Owen nodded.
"Daniel keeps promising another check."
I felt sick.
"How many workers are affected?"
"At least twenty-six directly. More if you count the subcontractors."
We stopped outside a yellow house with a small front porch.
On the steps sat a little girl with brown pigtails, holding a box of colored pencils.
"That's my daughter, Maisie," Owen said.
She was eight.
Her school had a teacher workday, so her grandmother had brought her to the public information area while Owen finished his shift.
Maisie looked up.
"Daddy, is she the lady from the picture?"
Owen gave an embarrassed smile.
"Maybe. Which picture?"
"The one with the old lady who wanted houses."
My throat tightened.
Owen explained that a photograph of my grandmother and me had been displayed at the original groundbreaking ceremony.
Maisie hurried over with a folded piece of paper.
"I drew our house."
She opened it.
There was a yellow house, a tall tree, three smiling people, and a dog.
"We don't have the dog yet," she explained seriously. "Grandma says we need a yard first."
I smiled despite everything.
"What's the dog's name going to be?"
"Pickles."
"That's a wonderful name."
Maisie grinned.
Then she looked at the unfinished houses behind me.
"Are they going to stop building?"
I glanced at Owen.
He looked away.
"We're trying very hard not to," I told her.
Maisie nodded as if that answer made sense.
Then she handed me her drawing.
"You can keep it so you remember."
I took the paper carefully.
"I will."
After Owen's mother took Maisie home, Owen led me into the site office.
He spread a stack of invoices across his desk.
"These are the payments Daniel claims we made."
I recognized the company name.
Mariner Site Services.
One hundred and twenty thousand dollars for material inspection.
Ninety thousand for project coordination.
Seventy-five thousand for safety compliance.
There were more.
"Did these people perform any work?" I asked.
"Not that I can verify."
"Have you reported it?"
"To Vanessa. She told me accounting had everything under control."
Owen hesitated.
"After that, my overtime was cut."
A punishment for asking questions.
I looked through the documents.
Then I noticed something that made me stop breathing.
Several change orders authorized cheaper materials.
Materials that hadn't been included in the original building specifications.
"Did we install these?"
"Some substitutions were proposed. I held the crew off on several others because I wanted written confirmation from engineering."
"Thank God."
Owen pulled another page from the stack.
"That written confirmation is what I've been trying to get."
At the bottom of the page was an electronic approval.
E. BENNETT.
My name again.
I felt heat rise into my face.
"Who submitted this?"
"Vanessa's office sent it."
I looked at the date.
Three weeks earlier.
I had been at a fertility consultation that afternoon.
Daniel knew it.
He had refused to accompany me.
And while I sat alone in a doctor's office, someone had used my name to approve changes to my grandmother's housing project.
I photographed the document.
Then Owen pointed toward the corner of the page.
"There's a verification history attached to every approval. June can pull it from the company system."
I called June.
She checked while we waited.
When she spoke again, her voice was barely audible.
"Emily, the approvals didn't just start three weeks ago."
"How long?"
"Four months."
My mouth went dry.
Four months of transactions.
Four months of false authority.
Four months of Daniel telling everyone that his wife was too emotionally fragile to understand business.
May you like
Then June said something worse.
"And every single approval came from a shareholder account that was supposed to be yours."
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