Chapter 7 - The House That Wasn't Supposed to Exist
The house on Briar Lake was worth more than three million dollars.
I learned that from public property records.
Not from my father.
Not from Richard.
And certainly not from the trust documents that now described my mother's remaining assets as nearly worthless.
The property sat behind a private gate on the north shore, surrounded by trees and protected by a narrow stretch of waterfront.
My father had always insisted he didn't care for lake houses.
Too much maintenance.
Too many taxes.
Too many neighbors who wanted to borrow things.
Apparently, someone using a company connected to Northbridge Consulting had disagreed.
Elaine spread the records across a table in her office.
"The purchase occurred eleven years ago," she said.
"Four years after Evelyn left home."
I looked at the buyer.
Briar Lake Holdings LLC.
"Who owns it?"
"That's what we're establishing."
David leaned closer.
"The mailing address is a registered agent."
Elaine nodded.
"Yes."
Clare sat beside him, drinking coffee she hadn't touched in twenty minutes.
"Does Dad know about the house?"
I looked at her.
"What do you think?"
She stared at the document.
"He's taken Margaret to Briar Lake."
I turned.
"When?"
"Every summer."
Elaine stopped writing.
"Clare, are you certain?"
"Yes."
"They stayed there?"
"Sometimes."
"Did you ever visit?"
Clare nodded slowly.
"Once."
My pulse quickened.
"Tell us."
"It was six years ago."
She rubbed her hands together.
"Dad said it belonged to a client who let him use it."
"What did it look like?"
"Big."
She gave a humorless laugh.
"Ridiculously big."
"Anything else?"
"There was a dock."
"Did you see who maintained the property?"
"No."
"Any documents?"
She hesitated.
"Maybe."
David looked at her.
"Sweetheart?"
Clare swallowed.
"There was a room upstairs that Margaret told me not to enter."
I watched her carefully.
"Why?"
"She said the owner kept private files there."
Elaine and I exchanged a glance.
Clare continued.
"That night I went downstairs to get water."
"Okay."
"Richard was there."
I leaned forward.
"Richard Hail?"
She nodded.
"He was arguing with Dad."
"About what?"
"I didn't hear everything."
She looked embarrassed.
"I know that sounds convenient."
"It sounds like you were six years younger and weren't expecting to be a witness."
She took a breath.
"Richard said something about the numbers not matching."
The room went quiet.
"What numbers?" Elaine asked.
"I don't know."
"Do you remember anything else?"
Clare stared at the table.
Then her eyes widened.
"He said they couldn't keep moving things around forever."
I felt a cold sensation in my stomach.
"What did Dad say?"
She closed her eyes.
"He told Richard that once Eleanor was gone, there would be nothing left to challenge."
Elaine set down her pen.
David stared at Clare.
I couldn't move.
My mother had still been alive six years ago.
Seriously ill.
But alive.
And my father had been discussing her death as though it were a deadline in a financial transaction.
"Clare," I said carefully.
"Did you tell anyone?"
She shook her head.
"I asked Dad what he meant the next morning."
"What did he say?"
"That Mom was sick and they were trying to organize the estate."
I looked at Elaine.
She was already making notes.
"We need to separate what Clare remembers from what the documents show," she said.
"Agreed."
"An attorney can investigate the property ownership and the trust records."
"Agreed."
Clare looked between us.
"Do you believe me?"
I turned toward her.
"Yes."
She blinked.
"Just like that?"
"I believe you remember hearing those words."
I took her hand.
"Now we find out what they meant."
That afternoon, Elaine contacted a forensic accountant named Naomi Brooks.
Naomi had worked on complicated business disputes for nearly twenty years.
She arrived at Elaine's office wearing a black blazer, carrying a laptop bag, and looking thoroughly unimpressed by the amount of money involved.
"People who misuse money usually think the numbers are more complicated than they are," she said.
I liked her immediately.
We showed her the Northbridge records.
She spent nearly an hour reviewing copies.
Then she stopped.
"Who prepared these schedules?"
"My mother," I said.
Naomi looked up.
"She had a good eye."
"She was never an accountant."
"That doesn't mean she couldn't recognize a pattern."
She pointed to three transactions.
"Look at the timing."
I leaned forward.
"All three happened shortly before quarterly reporting."
"Correct."
"And?"
"The descriptions suggest administrative expenses."
"But?"
"But the corresponding bank records show transfers to accounts associated with related entities."
Elaine folded her hands.
"Could they be legitimate?"
"Possibly."
Naomi looked at us.
"That's why I need the general ledger and the underlying contracts."
I thought of my mother's warning.
Don't let Richard find the ledger.
"We may have part of it," I said.
Naomi turned toward me.
"Then please don't tell me you intend to examine the originals at a kitchen table."
I smiled.
"No."
"Good."
She closed her laptop.
"Because if these records are what they appear to be, the most important thing we can do is make sure nobody can reasonably question how they were preserved."
David spoke.
"What do we do about the trustees' meeting tomorrow?"
Elaine checked her notes.
"We request the trust accounting and object to any premature distribution."
"Can you stop it?" Clare asked.
"I can take steps to challenge it."
"Will that work?"
Elaine hesitated.
"I won't promise what I can't guarantee."
That seemed to frighten Clare more than a comforting lie would have.
I leaned toward her.
"Listen to me."
She looked up.
"This isn't going to be resolved by tomorrow."
"I know."
"And Gerald may make things uncomfortable."
She gave a tired smile.
"He already has."
"But you don't have to solve it alone."
Clare nodded.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
But the message preview caught my attention.
General Ulette, I believe your mother wanted you to contact me.
I opened it.
A second message appeared.
My name is Daniel Price.
I stood so quickly my chair scraped across the floor.
Elaine looked up.
"Evelyn?"
I held out the phone.
She read the message.
Her eyes widened.
Then a third message arrived.
Please don't call me from a family phone.
And a fourth.
The accident fifteen years ago was not the reason I lost my job.
I read it twice.
Naomi looked from me to Elaine.
"What's going on?"
I didn't answer immediately.
May you like
Because another message had appeared.
I was fired because I refused to sign a report saying you stole company records.
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