Chapter 2 - THE CHRISTMAS DINNER BETRAYAL
Erin looked at Carl Murray as though the sixty-six-year-old attorney had just reached across the terrace and struck her.
“A residence in Connecticut?”
Carl lowered his eyes.
“Matthew believes it would be more comfortable for you after the baby arrives.”
“Comfortable,” Erin repeated.
Snow collected along the stone railing.
“My husband wants to move his pregnant wife out of our home so his mistress can move into her place, and you're calling it comfortable?”
“I didn't say I agreed with him.”
“But you knew.”
Carl said nothing.
That silence told Erin more about her marriage than eight years of Christmas photographs ever could.
She pressed her palm against her stomach.
Thirty weeks pregnant.
Eight years married.
And her husband had apparently decided she was an inconvenience that could be relocated.
“Does Alexis know about me?”
“Yes.”
“Does she know I'm pregnant?”
Carl hesitated.
“Yes.”
Erin closed her eyes.
For a moment, she remembered the first Christmas after their wedding.
Matthew had carried her across the threshold of the Oyster Bay estate because she'd twisted her ankle hanging decorations.
He'd laughed as she protested.
“You're my family now, Erin. I'm never letting you go.”
She had believed him.
Now she understood that he had meant something very different.
“Tell me about the business arrangement,” she said.
Carl straightened.
“Erin—”
“I'm not asking as his wife. I'm asking as the woman who balanced his books for seven years.”
That changed his expression.
Matthew's father, Joseph Harrison, had trusted Erin with the family finances long before Matthew trusted her with anything important.
Joseph had built his fortune through trucking, waterfront warehouses, and businesses that operated in places respectable people preferred not to discuss.
But he had also created the Harbor Families Fund after a devastating warehouse fire in 2019.
Three workers had died.
Fourteen others had been seriously injured.
Joseph had contributed his own money, and eleven associates had helped establish a reserve worth more than six million dollars.
The fund was supposed to support those families for years.
After Joseph's death, Matthew had taken control of the operation.
Erin continued preparing the monthly reconciliations.
Until last summer.
“Matthew removed my access to the fund's supporting records in July,” she told Carl.
“Why?”
“He said the accountants were reorganizing everything.”
Carl's expression tightened.
“Did you believe him?”
“I believed my husband.”
She hated how foolish those words sounded.
For several months, Erin had kept copies of every reconciliation she prepared.
Not because she suspected an affair.
Because numbers were supposed to tell the truth.
And lately, Matthew's numbers had stopped doing that.
“Carl, how much money is missing?”
He looked toward the dark windows.
“I don't know.”
“But you know something is wrong.”
“Yes.”
Erin nodded slowly.
“Then I need you to make a choice.”
“Between you and Matthew?”
“Between helping him deceive people and telling the truth.”
Carl watched her for several seconds.
“What are you planning?”
“Christmas dinner.”
On December 25, Erin did everything her husband expected.
She arranged the table.
She inspected the silver.
She instructed the kitchen staff to prepare Stephen Perry's favorite roasted potatoes without rosemary.
She even placed the sprig of holly beside her own plate.
Matthew kissed her forehead that afternoon.
“You've done a beautiful job, sweetheart.”
Erin looked at him.
“Will Alexis be joining us?”
His smile barely changed.
“Donald insisted.”
“And where will she sit?”
“We'll figure it out.”
He touched her stomach.
“Try not to make tonight difficult.”
Erin stepped away from his hand.
That was the last time he touched her.
At six thirty, she went upstairs.
Inside her dressing room hung a dark green maternity gown Matthew had chosen for Christmas.
Beside it stood a small suitcase.
Erin put on a plain wool dress instead.
She opened an old cedar box containing Joseph Harrison's silver pocket watch.
He had given it to her during her first Christmas with the family.
The watch no longer kept perfect time, but an inscription remained visible inside the case.
Keep your own count.
Erin closed her fingers around it.
Then she collected the suitcase.
Rosa Vega, the estate's longtime housekeeper, waited near the service entrance.
“Mrs. Harrison, are you sure?”
Erin smiled sadly.
“Rosa, you've called me Erin for eight years. Don't stop now.”
Rosa embraced her.
“You have somewhere warm to go?”
“Yes.”
“And somebody expecting you?”
Erin touched the folded address in her coat pocket.
“Yes.”
Rosa stepped aside.
Erin walked into the snow without looking back.
At 8:15 that evening, twelve cream-colored envelopes arrived at the Christmas dining table.
Eleven were placed before Matthew's associates.
The twelfth went to Matthew himself.
Rosa had arranged their delivery exactly as Erin requested.
Matthew frowned.
“What is this?”
“A Christmas message from Mrs. Harrison,” Rosa answered.
Stephen Perry opened his envelope first.
Inside were nine pages.
Bank reconciliation summaries.
Disbursement reports.
Copies of invoices.
And a handwritten note.
Before you vote on the Berry transportation partnership tonight, I believe you deserve to see what happened to the money Joseph Harrison entrusted to all of us.
I am not asking you to believe me.
I am asking you to count.
Stephen turned to page two.
His face changed.
“Matthew.”
Matthew was already reading.
“What?”
“Why does the Harbor Families Fund show three million one hundred thousand dollars transferred to Northline Equipment?”
Donald Berry stopped eating.
Alexis lowered her champagne glass.
Matthew glanced toward his father-in-law's prospective business partner.
“Northline is a legitimate contractor.”
Stephen pointed at the next line.
“Then why were its invoices charged against the relief fund?”
Nobody spoke.
Another associate, Frank Delaney, examined his packet.
“These payments were supposed to go to injured workers.”
“They did,” Matthew said.
“Then where are the receipts?”
Matthew's jaw tightened.
Stephen opened the next page.
“Erin has been asking that question since September.”
Matthew pushed back his chair.
“My wife has been under considerable strain. The pregnancy—”
“Don't do that,” Stephen interrupted.
The elderly man's voice was quiet.
But every man at the table heard him.
“Don't explain away a financial discrepancy by discussing your wife's pregnancy.”
Alexis shifted uncomfortably.
Donald reached for the packet.
“Perhaps we should postpone this discussion.”
“No,” Stephen answered. “We're having it now.”
Matthew looked toward the empty chair.
For the first time that evening, his confidence faltered.
Then he remembered something.
He walked to the sideboard, unlocked a leather briefcase, and removed a document.
“You want to know where the money went?”
He laid the paper in front of Stephen.
“Ask Erin.”
Stephen studied the page.
It carried the fund's official authorization number.
A transfer date from September.
And beneath the approval line was a familiar signature.
Erin Fisher Harrison.
Matthew looked around the table.
“My wife has been stealing from this family for months.”
May you like
He tapped the paper.
“And I have her signature on every missing dollar.”
