Chapter 5 - THE MONEY HAD BEEN MOVING FOR MONTHS
The transfers began six weeks before Irene got pregnant.
Small at first.
Fifty thousand.
Seventy-five.
One hundred twenty.
Amounts large enough to matter, but small enough not to trigger my attention during busy weeks.
Then they grew.
Four hundred thousand.
Eight hundred thousand.
One transfer exceeded two million dollars.
“How did nobody alert me?” I asked.
Marcus shook his head.
“These aren’t ordinary withdrawals. They’re transfers through entities connected to the trust.”
“What entities?”
He clicked through records.
“Consulting firms. Property partnerships. One private investment company.”
“Names?”
“Cedar Ridge Advisors.”
Never heard of it.
“Suncrest Holdings.”
Nothing.
Then Marcus stopped.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“Bellamy Family Ventures.”
I knew that one.
My mother’s maiden name was Bellamy.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Marcus said quietly, “Your mother has been taking money longer than we thought.”
I called the bank’s fraud division.
Accounts were frozen within an hour.
By 8:30 a.m., detectives were at the hospital.
Detective Elena Ruiz led the interview.
She was in her forties, calm, precise, and completely unimpressed by my family name.
I liked her immediately.
She spoke with Irene first.
Two hours later, she came out holding a legal pad.
“Your wife says your mother controlled several parts of the household.”
“Yes.”
“She also says your sister entered your office repeatedly.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have cameras?”
“Outside. Main hallways. Office.”
“What about the bedroom?”
“No.”
Ruiz nodded.
“Can we access the existing footage?”
“Absolutely.”
Then I remembered something.
“Our camera system stopped recording three weeks ago.”
“Stopped?”
“Mom said the security company was updating the server.”
Ruiz stared at me.
“Did the security company tell you that?”
“No.”
She wrote something down.
“Give me the installer information.”
I called immediately.
The technician checked remotely.
Then he said something I will never forget.
“Mr. Wentworth, your system never stopped recording.”
I straightened.
“What?”
“The cameras were disabled only from your homeowner dashboard.”
“By who?”
“I can see device access.”
There was a pause.
“Your account was accessed from three devices.”
“My phone?”
“Yes.”
“My laptop?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
He read the third device.
An iPad registered to Margaret Wentworth.
Mom hadn’t destroyed the recordings.
She had only hidden them from me.
The technician restored access.
I opened the archive.
We started with the office.
At first, nothing.
Empty room.
Housekeeper cleaning.
Irene looking for a charger.
Then a clip from six weeks ago.
Carla entered at 11:18 p.m.
She wasn’t alone.
A man followed her.
Gray hair.
Expensive suit.
Leather briefcase.
He sat at my desk.
Carla pulled documents from a drawer.
The man took photographs.
Then Mom entered carrying wine.
She placed three glasses on the desk.
I leaned closer to the screen.
The man turned toward the camera.
Marcus swore under his breath.
“You know him?” I asked.
Marcus didn’t answer immediately.
“Marcus.”
He pointed at the screen.
“That’s not Raymond Pike.”
“Then who is it?”
He looked sick.
“That’s Charles Fenwick.”
The name landed hard.
Fenwick had been my father’s private financial adviser for almost twenty years.
He had also been the man who stood beside me at Dad’s funeral and promised:
If anything ever happens, Austin, I’ll protect your father’s legacy.
On the video, Fenwick opened my desk drawer.
Then he handed my mother a file.
She smiled.
And kissed him.
May you like
Not on the cheek.
On the mouth.
