Chapter 7: The Payment Made After Her Funeral
My father's signature looked different on the bank transfer than it did on the contracts he signed in front of clients.
The letters were cramped. The final stroke of his surname dragged downward, as though his hand had been shaking.
I knew that signature. I'd seen it on birthday cards, college tuition checks, and the mortgage documents for the house where I grew up.
I had never imagined seeing it beneath the words Final settlement. Original delivered. Matter closed.
"Tell me this isn't real," I whispered.
My father stared at the page.
"I can't.""
The answer was so quiet that I almost wished he'd lied.
Andre stood beside the old architectural model, his face unreadable.
"Who delivered the original?"" he asked.
My father shook his head.
"I don't remember.""
"You signed a payment for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars the morning after your wife's funeral. You don't remember what it was for?""
"That was fourteen years ago.""
"You remember the riverfront project.""
"Of course I remember it.""
"Then remember this.""
Andre pushed the bank transfer closer.
My father looked at the document, then at me.
"Emily, you have to understand something. Your mother was sick for nearly two years. I was running the company, managing her treatment, raising you, and trying to keep everything from falling apart.""
I felt my throat tighten.
"Don't use Mom's illness to explain this.""
"I'm not.""
"Then explain the money.""
He lowered himself into the chair.
For several seconds, he looked as though he might finally tell us everything.
Instead, he said, "Daniel handled the payment.""
Andre's expression hardened.
"That isn't what I asked.""
"Daniel told me the matter had been resolved. He said the original had been recovered and that the remaining documents would be destroyed.""
"By whom?""
"I don't know.""
"Where was the original delivered?""
"I don't know.""
Andre leaned forward.
"Richard, I have spent twenty years trying to understand how a seventeen-year-old boy's work ended up in a development company's hands. My mother died believing I'd thrown away my future. She worked herself sick trying to keep me in school. And all this time, someone was collecting money to make sure the truth stayed buried.""
My father looked down.
"I never wanted your mother threatened.""
"But you paid the people who made it happen," I said.
He looked at me sharply.
"I didn't know about the threats.""
"Did you investigate them?""
He said nothing.
"Did you ever ask who broke into her car? Did you ever try to find out why she was frightened?""
"Yes.""
"When?""
"After she died.""
"And what did you find?""
His silence answered me.
Andre collected the bank records and slipped them into his briefcase.
"My attorneys will request the original banking records. We'll also request every document connected to Bennett, Brooks, and the riverfront project.""
My father looked up.
"You can't do that without a court order.""
"We'll proceed through the proper channels.""
"You'll destroy the company before you find anything.""
Andre closed the briefcase.
"The company isn't my priority anymore.""
He turned toward the door.
My father stood.
"Then what is?""
Andre paused.
"The truth.""
We left the building shortly afterward.
Outside, a black SUV was parked near the entrance. A woman in a charcoal suit stood beside it, speaking into her phone. When she saw Andre, she ended the call and approached us.
"Mr. Jackson.""
"Thank you for coming, Rebecca.""
She nodded toward me.
"Ms. Collins.""
I recognized her from the investment meeting. Rebecca Shaw was Andre's chief financial officer and the person responsible for reviewing Collins Development's financial records.
She held out a tablet.
"We found something in the preliminary audit.""
Andre glanced at the screen.
"What?""
"Payments to a consulting company called Meridian Advisory. The company was established six months before the original riverfront proposal was submitted. It received regular payments from Collins Development for almost nine years.""
My father frowned.
"Meridian was a legitimate consultant.""
Rebecca scrolled down.
"Then you may be able to explain why the company's registered address was a mailbox in Delaware and why every payment was approved by Daniel Brooks.""
My father said nothing.
Rebecca continued.
"The final payment was made fourteen years ago. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The same amount as the transfer we just found.""
Andre's face became still.
"Who owned Meridian?""
"We're tracing the records.""
"Do that.""
Rebecca nodded and returned to her vehicle.
My father watched her go.
"You're making a mistake, Andre.""
Andre turned toward him.
"Perhaps.""
"You think money gives you the right to judge everyone?""
"No. I think evidence gives me the right to ask questions.""
He opened his car door.
"Mr. Collins, my offer remains suspended. If you cooperate with the investigation, your employees may still have a future under new ownership. If you interfere with the review, I will withdraw entirely.""
My father looked at me.
"Emily, please tell him.""
I wanted to help him. That was the terrible part.
Even after everything I'd learned, some small, stubborn part of me still wanted to protect the man who had raised me.
But I couldn't protect him by lying again.
"I can't," I said.
Andre drove away.
I stood beside my father in the rain until he finally walked to his car.
Then I returned home and began searching through my mother's belongings.
Her diaries had been stored in a box beneath the guest-room bed. I spread them across the floor, checking every page for references to Bennett, Brooks, or the mysterious company called Meridian Advisory.
For hours, I found nothing.
Then, shortly after midnight, I opened a notebook I'd overlooked.
It was filled with grocery lists, reminders, and telephone numbers. Near the back, I found a page covered in small, hurried handwriting.
Richard says Daniel has the original. Daniel says Richard has it. Walter says neither of them can be trusted.
Beneath that was another sentence.
I have to speak to the only person who saw what happened.
A name followed.
*Thomas Reed.*
I recognized it immediately.
Thomas Reed had been the security guard at my high school. He'd retired years ago, and I hadn't seen him since graduation.
My phone rang before I could search for his number.
Unknown caller.
I answered cautiously.
"Hello?""
A man's voice came through the speaker.
"Emily Collins?""
"Who's calling?""
"My name is Thomas Reed.""
I gripped the phone.
"Mr. Reed?""
"I was hoping you'd call me.""
My mouth went dry.
"How did you get my number?""
"Your mother gave it to me years ago. She told me to wait until you were ready to ask questions.""
I sat down on the edge of the bed.
"What do you know about Andre Jackson's drawings?""
He exhaled shakily.
"More than I should have.""
"Did you see someone take the original?""
"Yes.""
"Who?""
There was a long silence.
Then he said, "I saw your mother take it out of your father's office the night before the competition.""
I stared at the notebook.
"Why would she do that?""
"Because she was trying to return it to Andre.""
My heart pounded.
"Did she succeed?""
"No.""
His voice dropped.
"Someone followed her. And the person who stopped her wasn't your father.""
I could barely breathe.
"Who was it?""
Thomas hesitated.
May you like
Then he spoke a name that turned my blood to ice.
"Your mother was stopped by Daniel Brooks.""
