Chapter 5 - THE MONEY PAID TO A WOMAN WHO NEVER RECEIVED IT
“All contact through Courtney.”
I read the words aloud.
Martin didn't move.
Courtney's eyes flickered toward the letter.
“That was an ordinary administrative arrangement,” Martin said.
“Then why was it written on the back of an order supposedly issued by me?”
“Your staff needed a procedure.”
“A procedure for stopping my pregnant ex-wife from contacting me?”
He looked toward the door Natalie had just walked through.
“At the time, you considered her a threat to the business.”
I hated how much truth there was in that sentence.
Five years ago, I had been furious.
I'd believed she was unfaithful.
I'd believed she had sold company information.
I had told Martin to remove her access and protect our accounts.
But I had never authorized anyone to impersonate me.
“Get me the original of this letter,” I said.
Martin folded his arms.
“Records from that period may no longer exist.”
“Then get whatever does.”
Courtney stepped forward.
“Grant, you're letting your guilt rewrite history.”
I looked at her.
“Maybe. Or maybe guilt is finally making me look at it.”
She turned away.
I asked the security director to retrieve the archived administrative forms, then called Rosa to make sure Natalie and the boys had reached the hotel entrance safely.
Rosa answered from the front desk.
“They're still here, Mr. Holloway. Owen left his bear in the sitting room. I'm looking for it.”
“What's the bear's name?”
“Captain, I believe.”
I remembered the little boy holding it like something precious.
“I'll help.”
The bear was wedged behind the sofa.
One button eye.
One carefully stitched replacement.
I picked it up.
Near its neck was a patch of blue thread, sewn in an uneven little cross.
Natalie used to mend things that way.
She always said a crooked stitch that held was worth more than a perfect one that didn't.
I carried Captain toward the entrance.
Owen spotted me immediately.
“Captain!”
I crouched and held out the bear.
“Found him.”
Owen took it carefully.
“His eye falls out sometimes.”
“Looks like somebody fixes him.”
“Mommy does.”
Ben stood beside him.
“Are you gonna fire Mommy?”
The question stunned me.
“No.”
“Good. She works really hard.”
“I know.”
Ben looked unconvinced.
“You don't look like you know.”
I couldn't argue.
Natalie took Owen's hand.
“Come on, boys.”
I wanted to ask whether I could see them again.
Instead, I spoke to her.
“I'm stopping the Willow House sale until I understand what's happening.”
She studied my face.
“Don't make a promise because you feel guilty, Grant.”
“I'm making it because it's the right thing.”
“Then make sure you can keep it.”
After they left, I returned upstairs.
The security director had located an archived image of the original no-contact instruction.
There were two versions.
One was a basic employee-access termination form bearing my genuine signature.
The other contained the additional restrictions preventing correspondence from reaching me.
The position of my signature was identical down to a tiny ink mark beside the final letter.
Someone had copied it onto the expanded version.
I remembered signing the first form.
I had never seen the second.
Martin studied the copies without expression.
“That doesn't necessarily establish wrongdoing.”
“No,” I said. “But it establishes someone altered my instructions.”
I turned back to the financial records.
“Now let's discuss the Founders' Fund.”
For nearly an hour, I examined the account summaries.
The Fund had once held more than four million dollars in protected reserves.
Now the available balance was dangerously low.
There were legitimate payments for maintenance and employee assistance.
But there were also recurring withdrawals.
Large ones.
All categorized under a company account I'd never heard of.
N. Holloway Family Services.
The earliest payment appeared shortly after the twins were born.
I clicked into the details.
The company had received monthly transfers for years.
The total was almost four hundred and thirty thousand dollars.
“Who owns this company?” I asked.
Martin's eyes narrowed.
“It's an approved beneficiary-service contractor.”
“What services?”
“Family support. Housing assistance. Related administrative expenses.”
“Which families?”
He said nothing.
I scrolled farther.
A notation appeared beside one payment.
DEPENDENT SUPPORT — HOLLOWAY FAMILY.
My blood ran cold.
“Courtney.”
She turned.
“Did you know Natalie had children?”
“Grant, I—”
“Answer me.”
“I knew she'd been pregnant. I didn't know anything about twins.”
I stared at her.
“You knew she was pregnant?”
She looked down.
“She called the office once. I told her you didn't want to speak to her.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“You knew,” I repeated.
Courtney's eyes filled with tears.
“You were finally getting your life back. I thought she was trying to pull you into another fight.”
I looked at the account again.
Four hundred and thirty thousand dollars.
Withdrawn from money meant to support our employees.
Paid to a company bearing Natalie's name.
And not one cent, according to Natalie, had reached her.
Then I noticed the destination address.
I recognized it immediately.
It wasn't Natalie's address.
It was the address of the Holloway Grand's former executive administration office.
The office where Courtney had once worked.
May you like
I turned the screen toward her.
“Courtney,” I asked, “why was money supposedly meant for my children being sent to your old office?”
