Chapter 3 - THE MONEY CLARA TOOK
“No.”
Lena said it too quickly.
Rhett did not argue.
Boyd had already left the gate after security informed him the police had been contacted regarding the disturbance.
But his words remained.
Start with your mother.
Lena stood over the ledger.
Nine years of payments.
Some were small.
Others were enormous.
Ten thousand.
Twenty thousand.
Thirty-eight thousand.
Her mother’s initials appeared beside all of them.
“This could be fake too.”
“It could.”
“But you don’t think it is.”
Rhett examined the pages.
“My father’s accountant used these codes.”
Lena looked up.
“You recognize them?”
“I grew up around his businesses.”
“Did you know this existed?”
“No.”
That answer came without hesitation.
She believed him.
She did not like that she believed him.
Rhett turned several pages.
“At some point, payments that should have gone directly to Thomas Wells’s estate were moved into a reserve.”
“Why?”
“There’s no explanation here.”
“And then my mother started taking money.”
“Receiving money.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“Not necessarily.”
Lena laughed once, bitterly.
“You don’t have to protect her.”
“I’m not.”
“Then stop making it sound better.”
Rhett closed the ledger.
“What do you want to do?”
“Go home.”
“To Boyd?”
“To my mother.”
Rhett picked up his coat.
“I’ll drive.”
“I have a car.”
“You have a bruise from your wrist to your elbow and Boyd knows where you live.”
“I’ve lived with that for years.”
Rhett stopped.
“That doesn’t make it normal.”
The words landed harder than anger would have.
Twenty minutes later, Rhett’s car turned onto Lena’s street.
Clara was sitting at the kitchen table when they entered.
She had changed clothes.
A swollen mark darkened one side of her face.
When she saw Rhett, she stood.
“Mr. Moretti.”
Then she saw the folder in Lena’s hands.
Clara sat down again.
“Oh.”
One word.
That was all Lena needed.
“You knew.”
Clara looked at her daughter.
“Lena—”
“You knew Dad owned property.”
“Yes.”
“You knew there was money.”
Clara closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Lena put the ledger on the table.
“And you took it.”
Clara looked down.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Rhett remained near the doorway.
Not interfering.
Not leaving.
Finally Clara touched one of the entries.
“I received some of it.”
“Some?”
“Not what that ledger makes it look like.”
Lena’s voice broke.
“We used coupons for canned soup.”
“I know.”
“I skipped a semester because we couldn’t pay tuition.”
“I know.”
“You cried when the furnace broke.”
“I remember.”
“Then tell me where thirty thousand dollars went.”
Clara’s hand trembled.
“To Boyd’s debts.”
Lena stared.
“What?”
“Not because I wanted to pay them.”
Clara stood slowly and opened a kitchen drawer.
From beneath dish towels, she removed a stack of old collection notices.
Every one carried Lena’s name.
Credit cards.
Loans.
A line of credit.
Lena had never seen any of them.
“I was sixteen.”
“I know.”
“How could I owe forty thousand dollars at sixteen?”
“You didn’t.”
Rhett stepped closer.
“Identity theft.”
Clara nodded.
“Boyd used her Social Security number. First for small accounts. Then bigger ones.”
Lena sank into a chair.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because when I found out, he promised to ruin your credit before you turned eighteen. He said no landlord would rent to you, no bank would lend to you, no college would help you.”
“And you paid him?”
“I paid the accounts.”
“With my father’s money.”
“With money that was supposed to protect you.”
Lena stared at her.
“You protected me by hiding everything from me.”
Clara’s eyes filled.
“I was trying to give you a life that didn’t belong to Boyd.”
“But it did belong to him. Every day.”
Clara flinched.
The truth of it hurt them both.
Rhett quietly turned another page in the ledger.
“These withdrawals don’t match the debts.”
Clara looked at him.
“I know.”
“There’s over four hundred thousand dollars unaccounted for.”
“I never received that.”
“Then who did?”
Clara looked toward the hallway.
At first Lena thought she was frightened Boyd had returned.
Instead Clara walked into her bedroom.
She came back carrying an old rosary.
Dark wooden beads.
A small silver cross.
Lena recognized it.
Her mother had owned it forever.
Clara twisted the bottom of the cross.
A tiny compartment opened.
Inside was a narrow brass key.
Rhett stared at it.
“What does that open?”
Clara hesitated.
“Something Eleanor Moretti told me never to open unless Boyd found out about Ashland.”
Rhett’s voice lowered.
“My mother gave you that?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Twelve years ago.”
The year Clara started cleaning the mansion.
Lena looked between them.
“So you didn’t get that job by accident.”
“No.”
“Why were you really there?”
Clara sat down.
“Because Eleanor knew your father.”
Rhett’s jaw tightened.
“My mother never mentioned Thomas Wells.”
“She was protecting you too.”
“From what?”
Clara looked at him with genuine sadness.
“From your father.”
Silence filled the kitchen.
Rhett appeared almost offended.
“My father has been dead six years.”
“I know.”
“And you’re saying he stole Lena’s inheritance?”
“I’m saying Vincent Moretti was afraid of what Thomas left behind.”
Lena leaned forward.
“What did Dad leave?”
Clara looked at the brass key.
“Proof.”
“Of what?”
Clara did not answer immediately.
Instead she looked at Lena.
“Your father died in a construction accident.”
“I know.”
“That’s what they told you.”
Lena’s skin went cold.
“Mom.”
Clara’s voice weakened.
“Thomas had been arguing with Boyd for weeks before it happened.”
“About what?”
“A truck.”
Rhett frowned.
“What truck?”
Clara rubbed the rosary beads between her fingers.
“The one Thomas died beside.”
Lena could barely breathe.
Rhett held out his hand for the key.
“Where is the lock?”
Clara looked at him.
“In your mother’s old room.”
May you like
Then she whispered something even worse.
“And Boyd has spent twelve years trying to find it.”
