Chapter 12 - WHAT HAPPENED TO GEORGE’S MONEY
Daniel found the transfers by the next morning.
Three withdrawals.
$10,000.
$15,000.
$25,000.
All within George’s final six weeks.
Total: $50,000.
Recipient: Cole Strategic Consulting.
Jessica’s father’s company.
I gripped the table.
“George never hired Raymond.”
“No,” Daniel said.
“What were the payments labeled?”
“Family investment advisory services.”
I laughed bitterly.
“George hated investment advisers.”
Matthew looked sick.
“I didn’t know.”
I snapped, “You keep saying that.”
“Because I didn’t!”
Daniel raised a hand.
“We need facts.”
We got them.
The bank produced authorization forms.
George’s signature appeared on all three.
But the dates mattered.
The final transfer was supposedly signed two days after George had been admitted to the hospital heavily sedated.
He could barely hold a cup.
He did not sign a $25,000 transfer.
Jessica had access to his paperwork.
Raymond received the money.
Suddenly George’s note about Matthew and Victor made sense.
He was trying to document everything because he knew something was wrong.
“He found out,” I whispered.
Daniel nodded.
“He may have.”
“Is that what Jessica meant?”
Maybe.
No one could prove more.
And I refused to invent a darker crime simply because I was angry.
There was no evidence anyone had harmed George physically.
Cancer killed my husband.
But while he was dying, someone appeared to have stolen from him.
That truth was ugly enough.
Police located Jessica that afternoon at her father’s condominium.
She was brought in for questioning.
Raymond hired a lawyer.
Victor disappeared.
Matthew was interviewed separately.
He returned to my house after dark.
I did not let him in.
We stood on the porch again.
“She blamed me,” he said.
“For what?”
“Everything.”
I almost smiled.
“That was predictable.”
“She said the loan was my idea.”
“Was it?”
“The first conversation was.”
I waited.
He swallowed.
“I told her you had a paid-off house.”
There it was.
“I told her you’d probably help.”
“What else?”
“I gave her your tax documents.”
“What else?”
“Your signature file.”
My chest hurt.
“What else?”
He looked at me.
“I told her Dad had bailed me out before.”
I nodded slowly.
Jessica might have built the machine.
Matthew had handed her the tools.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“Can you ever forgive me?”
That was the hardest question he had asked.
“I don’t know.”
He looked down.
“I don’t expect you to.”
“Good.”
He flinched.
“I can love you and still not trust you.”
He nodded.
“I deserve that.”
“For once, don’t talk about what you deserve.”
He looked up.
“Then what?”
“Talk about what you’re going to do.”
He wiped his face.
“I’m cooperating.”
“With police?”
“Yes.”
“With the bank?”
“Yes.”
“Your lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“And Jessica?”
He looked toward the street.
“I filed for separation.”
I felt no victory.
Only sadness.
“Do that because your marriage is broken. Not because you think it will earn your way back into my house.”
“I know.”
He turned to leave.
“Matthew.”
He stopped.
“Tomorrow I’m changing my will.”
His shoulders tightened.
I expected panic.
Instead he nodded.
“Okay.”
That surprised me.
Then he said, “You should.”
For the first time in days, I saw my son instead of a thief.
Not an innocent man.
Not yet a changed man.
Just someone finally standing in the consequences of his choices.
Then my phone rang.
Daniel.
“We found Victor.”
“Where?”
“At the airport.”
“Did they arrest him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because before boarding, he gave an investigator something.”
“What?”
May you like
Daniel took a breath.
“A recording of Jessica and Raymond discussing your house six months ago.”
