Chapter 8 - The Letter That Never Came
Richard agreed to meet at Nathan’s attorney’s office.
He brought his own lawyer.
That alone made Nathan feel sick.
His father sat across a polished table, a man who had once taught him to tie a fishing knot and now wouldn’t answer a question without looking sideways first.
“The shoe was in the house,” Richard said.
“What house?”
“Your old house.”
“Why?”
“Claire changed before she left.”
Nathan leaned forward.
“Then why hide it?”
“I wasn’t hiding a shoe. I boxed up a terrible night.”
“Along with Vanessa’s things?”
Richard stared at the table.
His attorney touched his arm.
Nathan’s lawyer waited.
Finally, Richard spoke.
“Vanessa called me. Claire was upset. I went over.”
“You told the police you were home.”
“I was home when they called about the crash.”
“That wasn’t the question they asked.”
Richard rubbed his forehead.
“Claire had found payments.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred and eighty thousand.”
Nathan stopped moving.
The number reached backward through years of overtime.
Loans.
Arguments about whether they could afford another employee.
Claire cutting her own salary to keep the business steady.
“Where did it go?”
Richard’s jaw worked.
“An investment.”
“Whose?”
“Mine.”
“Vanessa helped you take it.”
“She helped move funds. I intended to replace them.”
“With what?”
There was no answer.
Nathan sat back.
“You stole from us.”
“I built that company.”
“Claire kept it alive.”
Richard’s expression changed.
For a second, Nathan saw the anger his daughter had remembered.
“She was going to ruin everything over an accounting problem.”
Nathan rose so quickly his chair scraped the floor.
His attorney stood with him.
Richard looked frightened now.
Good.
Not because Nathan intended to touch him.
Because he had finally heard himself.
“What happened after she left?” Nathan asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Did Vanessa follow her?”
Richard turned toward his lawyer.
The meeting ended.
Outside, Nathan’s phone rang.
Daniel had found an old email backup on a retired office computer.
“There’s a draft from Claire,” he said.
“To whom?”
“You.”
“Send it.”
Nathan opened it in the parking lot.
Nate, I need you to read this before your dad talks to you.
He read the next sentence three times.
This isn’t just missing money. Vanessa signed your name, and your dad knows.
May you like
At the bottom, beneath a list of account numbers, Claire had written one more line.
I made copies. If anything happens to the originals, ask Ruth about the blue recipe box.
