Chapter 6 - The Dead Woman's Account
I stared at the name until the letters blurred.
Elizabeth Bennett.
The same name printed on my mother's gravestone.
The same name written inside the first birthday card I could remember receiving.
The same woman whose photograph had sat on my father's nightstand until the day he died.
"That's impossible," I whispered.
Lila looked away.
"I know."
Rebecca took the document carefully.
"What is this schedule?"
"Internal payment instructions."
"Who prepared it?"
"I did."
I turned toward Lila.
"You?"
She flinched.
"Vivian dictated the information."
"Why would Vivian transfer money to my mother?"
"I don't know."
"She's dead."
"I know."
"Then where does the money go?"
Lila swallowed.
"That's what I was trying to find out."
I studied her.
The woman who had held my wallet between two manicured fingers less than twenty-four hours earlier now looked genuinely frightened.
But fear did not make her trustworthy.
"You laughed while my husband abandoned me."
Her face reddened.
"I was wrong."
"You told me I needed discipline."
"I know what I said."
"And now you expect me to believe you're helping me?"
"No."
Her voice cracked.
"I expect you to think I'm trying to save myself."
At least she was being honest about that.
Rebecca looked at the transfer schedule again.
"Has this payment been executed?"
"Not yet."
"Can it be canceled?"
"I don't control the account."
"Then why tell us?"
Lila glanced toward the elevators.
"Because yesterday Vivian ordered me to destroy the supporting records."
Alex stepped closer.
"Did you?"
"No."
"Where are they?"
Lila hesitated.
"In a storage unit."
Rebecca's expression sharpened.
"Have you consulted your own attorney?"
Lila shook her head.
"Then you should."
I watched her carefully.
"Why are you suddenly afraid of Vivian?"
Lila looked directly at me.
"Because last night, after Adrian came home, I heard her make a telephone call."
"What call?"
"She told someone that the Bennett problem had to be finished before the board meeting."
I felt cold.
"What did she mean?"
"I don't know."
"What exactly did she say?"
Lila closed her eyes.
Then repeated the words.
"Claire's becoming too much like her mother."
The hallway seemed to sway.
Rebecca put a hand on my arm.
Lila continued.
"And the man on the other end said, 'Then stop her the way you stopped Elizabeth.'"
No one spoke.
I couldn't.
For twenty years, my mother's death had been the one tragedy in my life I had learned to accept.
Now I was hearing a sentence that suggested someone might have deliberately caused it.
Alex stepped toward Lila.
"Who was on the phone?"
"I don't know."
"Did you hear a name?"
"No."
"Was the call recorded?"
"Not by me."
He looked at Rebecca.
"This needs to go to investigators."
Rebecca nodded.
"Immediately."
I looked at Lila.
"Did you tell Adrian?"
"No."
"Why?"
She hesitated.
"Because when Vivian ended the call, Adrian was standing in the doorway."
My heart dropped.
"He heard it?"
"I think so."
"What did he do?"
"Nothing."
I stared at her.
"He just stood there?"
Lila nodded.
"Then Vivian told him to stop worrying about you."
I tried to imagine it.
My husband.
Standing in his mother's study.
Hearing someone speak about stopping me the way my mother had supposedly been stopped.
And choosing silence.
The elevator doors opened behind us.
Alex guided us into an empty conference room.
Rebecca photographed the documents while Lila explained the account names.
Bellwether Holdings was a private entity created nearly twenty-one years earlier.
Its registered agent had changed repeatedly.
Several financial institutions were involved.
And the person listed as its ultimate beneficiary in the internal schedule was my mother.
The account could have belonged to someone using her identity.
It could have been part of a fraudulent arrangement.
It could have been an accounting fiction designed to conceal the real owner.
We didn't yet know.
But the name was not an accident.
"How much money has gone through Bellwether?" Rebecca asked.
Lila checked her notes.
"More than fourteen million dollars since the account was opened."
I felt sick.
"Fourteen million?"
"That's what the records show."
"From my father's trust?"
"Some of it."
"How much?"
"Approximately six million."
I closed my eyes.
Six million dollars.
While Adrian told me we needed to reduce household expenses.
While Vivian criticized the money I spent on birthday gifts for my nieces.
While my husband said we couldn't afford to maintain the charitable scholarship my father established.
Millions had been leaving the trust.
And some of them had ended up in an account carrying my dead mother's name.
Rebecca closed the folder.
"We have enough to request an immediate forensic review."
Lila nodded.
"I can provide the original file locations."
Alex studied her.
"You understand that your own conduct may be examined."
"Yes."
"You're not receiving immunity or any promise of protection from liability in exchange for this information."
"I understand."
She wiped her eyes.
"I should have come forward sooner."
I looked at her.
"Yes."
She lowered her head.
Before leaving, Lila placed a small envelope on the table.
"There's something else."
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
My father.
My mother.
And a little girl standing between them.
Me.
Behind us was a white farmhouse I didn't recognize.
My mother was laughing.
My father had one arm around her.
I stared at the picture.
"Where did you get this?"
Lila spoke quietly.
"Vivian keeps it in her private safe."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
I turned the photograph over.
On the back, someone had written three words.
ELIZABETH KNEW FIRST.
Below them was an address.
A rural property outside Madison, Wisconsin.
I looked up.
"What is this place?"
Lila shook her head.
"I don't know."
But Rebecca had gone very still.
I turned toward her.
"Rebecca?"
She was staring at the address.
"That property belonged to your grandmother."
"My grandmother?"
"Your mother's mother."
I frowned.
"She died before I was born."
"Yes."
"Then why would my parents visit her farmhouse?"
Rebecca swallowed.
"Because the property was never sold."
A strange silence settled over the room.
Then she looked at me.
"Claire, your father paid the property taxes until the day he died."
I stared at the photograph.
"Why didn't I inherit it?"
Rebecca hesitated.
"Because it wasn't part of his estate."
"Whose was it?"
She met my eyes.
"Yours."
I felt my pulse quicken.
"And there's something else."
"What?"
"The farmhouse has a basement vault."
May you like
I looked at the picture again.
And suddenly the brass key made sense.
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