Chapter 3: The Account in Her Name
For several seconds, Brittany didn't move.
She stood beside the table with one hand resting on the back of her chair, staring at Peter Wallace as if he had spoken in a foreign language.
Then she laughed.
It was a brittle, frightened sound.
"That's ridiculous.""
Peter removed his glasses and wiped them with a folded handkerchief.
"I wish it were.""
"You're telling me my husband transferred company money into an account in my name?""
"I'm telling you the receiving account is registered to Collins Family Holdings, which lists you as its sole beneficiary.""
Brittany turned toward Grant.
"Tell him he's wrong.""
Grant looked at the folder.
"Brittany, I can explain.""
"Then explain!""
He glanced at the diners watching from the edges of their tables.
"Not here.""
"No."" She struck the table with her palm.
"You don't get to tell me to be quiet anymore. You told me our finances were fine. You told me Tyler's house was a gift from his business. You told me we were going to buy the lake house next spring.""
Her voice cracked.
"And now you're telling me there is six hundred thousand dollars in an account I apparently own?""
Grant lowered his voice.
"That account was established for tax planning.""
Peter shook his head.
"That is not what the bank records say.""
Grant shot him a murderous look.
"Would you like to lose your job tonight, Peter?""
Peter's hands trembled slightly, but he didn't retreat.
"If the company fails, I may lose my job anyway. At least this way, I won't have helped conceal a crime.""
The word hung in the air.
Crime.
Brittany sat down again.
I pulled a chair from the neighboring table and sat opposite her.
"Mrs. Collins, did you authorize the transfer?""
She stared at me.
"No.""
"Did you know the account existed?""
"I knew there was a family holding company. Grant told me it was for estate planning.""
"Did you ever sign documents connected to it?""
She pressed her fingers against her temples.
"I sign things all the time. Insurance forms. Tax forms.
Property documents. Grant handles our investments.""
"Did you read them?""
Her eyes flashed.
"Don't do that.""
"Do what?""
"Make me sound stupid.""
I kept my voice calm.
"I'm asking what happened, not making a judgment about your intelligence.""
She looked away.
For the first time, I noticed that her diamond bracelet was fastened with a small gold clasp. One of the stones had a tiny chip near the edge.
A ridiculous detail to notice in the middle of a financial scandal.
But it reminded me that people were rarely as polished as they wanted others to believe.
Brittany drew a shaky breath.
"Grant said the account would be used to purchase a property for our future. He said the money came from dividends and investments.""
"Did he show you the statements?""
"No.""
"Did you transfer any money yourself?""
"No.""
Grant interrupted.
"Because she didn't need to. I handled it.""
I looked at him.
"That answer doesn't help you.""
He stood abruptly.
"This is absurd. I'm the CEO of a company with hundreds of employees. I made difficult decisions under extraordinary pressure. If some paperwork was imperfect, that doesn't mean I stole anything.""
Peter opened his briefcase.
"Then you'll have no trouble explaining the messages.""
Grant froze.
Peter placed several printed emails on the table.
The first was dated three days before the transfer.
Grant's message to the company's controller read:
*Move the Rivergate reserve before the quarterly review. Use the family account. I'll handle the authorization.*
A reply appeared beneath it.
*The reserve is restricted to subcontractor payments. We cannot move it without board approval.*
Grant's response was brief.
*Do it. If the project goes under, none of us gets paid anyway.*
Brittany covered her mouth.
Grant reached for the pages.
Peter pulled them away.
"These are copies," he said.
"The originals are on the company server.""
Grant stared at him.
"You've been collecting evidence against me?""
"I've been trying to understand why our contractors aren't being paid.""
"And you decided to bring this to an investor in a restaurant?""
"No," Peter said.
"I decided to bring it to the person who might still save the company before the employees lose everything.""
I looked at Peter carefully.
He was frightened, but he had come forward anyway.
That mattered.
I turned back to Brittany.
"The account is registered in your name. That doesn't automatically establish that you knew about the transfer or participated in it. But you will need to preserve every relevant record and cooperate with an independent investigation.""
She nodded mechanically.
"Will I go to prison?""
"That's not a decision I can make.""
Her eyes filled.
"Please. I didn't know.""
Grant scoffed.
"Don't be dramatic.""
She turned toward him with an expression I had not seen before.
"You used my name?""
"I used an account we already had.""
"You used my name to hide company money!""
"I was trying to protect us!""
"You were protecting yourself!""
Her voice broke across the room.
Grant grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair.
"We're leaving.""
Brittany didn't move.
"Where is the money?""
He stared at her.
"What?""
"The six hundred thousand dollars. Where is it now?""
Grant hesitated.
It lasted less than a second.
But it was enough.
Brittany rose slowly.
"You spent it.""
"No.""
"Then where is it?""
"Some of it was used for expenses.""
"What expenses?""
He didn't answer.
She looked at me.
"Can you find it?""
"With the proper records and cooperation from the relevant institutions, the investigators may be able to trace it.""
"Investigators?""
Grant slammed his hand against the table.
"Enough!""
A waiter carrying a tray of desserts stopped near the doorway. Joseph quietly guided him away.
Grant pointed at me.
"You came here pretending to be a waiter. You staged this entire thing to make me look guilty in front of my wife.""
I looked at the wine-stained uniform.
"I came here to observe your company and your management team. I wore that uniform because I wanted to see how people behaved when they believed I had no influence over them.""
"You deliberately provoked Brittany.""
"No. I served your wife a glass of wine. She poured it on me.""
"She made a mistake.""
"Then she can apologize for it.""
Grant laughed bitterly.
"Is that what this is about? An apology?""
"No," I said.
"The apology is the smallest part of it.""
I opened the folder again.
"The real question is whether I can trust you with money that belongs to other people.""
He looked down at the papers.
For the first time, his anger seemed to drain away, leaving something smaller and more desperate.
"Daniel, I have employees who have worked for me for twenty years. People with mortgages, children in college, families who depend on their paychecks. If the company collapses, they suffer.""
"You're right.""
His eyes lifted, hopeful.
I continued.
"Which is why I'm not going to make a decision based solely on what happened tonight. I'll consider an investment that protects the workers and legitimate creditors. But you won't receive unrestricted control of the funds.""
He swallowed.
"And my position?""
"That depends on what the investigation establishes and what your board decides.""
"You can't remove me.""
"I haven't said I would.""
I closed the folder.
"But I won't help you conceal evidence, either.""
Grant looked toward the restaurant doors.
For a moment, I thought he might leave.
Instead, he leaned toward me and spoke so quietly that only those at the table could hear.
"There's something you should know about Marcus Reed.""
I waited.
Grant glanced at Peter, then at Brittany.
"Marcus didn't act alone. Someone on the board approved the original transfer. Someone who has spent the past eleven months pretending to be the company's most loyal director.""
Peter went still.
"Grant, don't.""
Grant ignored him.
He looked directly at me.
"If you investigate the money, you'll discover that the person who approved the first transfer is the same person who arranged your meeting tonight.""
My fingers tightened around the edge of the folder.
"Who?""
Grant reached inside his jacket and withdrew a folded sheet of paper.
He placed it on the table.
At the bottom was a signature I recognized.
Not because I had seen it in the company records.
Because I had seen it on the invitation to tonight's meeting.
It belonged to the one person I had trusted to recommend this investment.
My own chief financial adviser.
May you like
And beneath his signature, in handwriting that was unmistakably his, were six words:
*Daniel Carter must never see this.*
