Chapter 10 - The Second Copy
Tessa didn’t deny signing it.
“He said it was about returning equipment.”
Mara set the statement on the table.
“It says Nora directed you to falsify payment records.”
“I didn’t see that page.”
“Did you receive a full copy?”
“No.”
“Did you sign more than once?”
Tessa pressed both hands against her mouth.
“I don’t remember.”
I wanted to shout.
Instead, I asked, “What do you remember?”
She stared at me.
“Blake standing in my kitchen.
My son crying in the bedroom.
Grant on speaker.”
“What did Grant say?”
“That if the foundation collapsed, my son’s treatment fund would disappear.”
I looked at Mara.
She was already writing.
“We can document your account,” she told Tessa.
“Your attorney needs to handle the statement.”
Tessa’s eyes stayed on me.
“Do you believe me?”
“I believe you were scared.”
It wasn’t the answer she wanted.
It was the only one I had.
An hour later, Detective Ortiz called about the drive from the locker.
There was a second ledger.
Not a copy of the first.
A different set of books.
One column listed public grants.
Another listed actual payments.
A third used initials.
GM.
BH.
VM.
Grant Mercer.
Blake Harlan.
Vivian Mercer.
At the bottom of several pages was the same note.
APPROVED — V.
Vivian.
My mother-in-law.
The woman who lectured volunteers about gratitude.
The woman who had told me marriage required patience while my lip was still bleeding.
Ortiz wasn’t ready to draw conclusions from initials alone.
Mara wasn’t either.
I was.
Then Ortiz read another entry.
“Bennett reserve.
Four hundred thousand.”
My father looked up.
“What date?”
She told him.
He stood so quickly his chair struck the wall.
“What is it?” I asked.
He stared past me.
“The week before your mother died.”
My mother had spent her final months raising money for the foundation’s first family housing center.
It never opened.
Vivian said rising construction costs had killed the project.
My father had stopped talking about it.
Now he turned toward me.
“Your mother thought something was wrong.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“What?”
“She asked me to have an accountant review the reserve.
I told her we’d handle it after her treatment.”
His voice broke.
“There wasn’t an after.”
My phone lit up with an incoming call.
Vivian.
I let it ring.
A voicemail appeared seconds later.
Her voice was smooth, almost tender.
May you like
“Nora, there are things about your mother you deserve to hear.
Come alone, and I’ll tell you why the house never opened.”
