Chapter 3 - The Second Set of Books
Six hundred and twelve thousand dollars.
The number followed me everywhere that morning.
It appeared when I closed my eyes.
It echoed whenever anyone said my name.
It sat between every sentence Detective Reed spoke.
If Daniel had wanted to make me look unstable, he had succeeded only partially.
If he wanted to make me look criminal, he had built something far more dangerous.
“I never opened that account.”
Reed sat across from me inside the advocacy center.
“I believe you.”
“Stop saying that.”
He looked surprised.
“I don't need you to believe me.”
I heard Daniel’s words in my own voice and hated them.
Then I steadied myself.
“I need to know how to prove it.”
Reed nodded.
“That is the right question.”
He placed several printed pages on the table.
“The bank account was opened online.”
“What identification was used?”
“A scan of your driver’s license.”
“Daniel had copies.”
“We know.”
“A utility bill?”
“Yes.”
“He handled those.”
“We know.”
“Security questions?”
“Your mother's maiden name.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Daniel knew that before our third date.”
Reed slid another page forward.
“The account was accessed from six devices.”
“Can you identify them?”
“Three were routed through privacy services.”
“And the others?”
“One appears to be a Mercer House office computer.”
My eyes lifted.
“One appears to be your home network.”
My stomach tightened.
“And one was accessed repeatedly from a building on East Pratt Street.”
“What building?”
Reed leaned back.
“Mercer House.”
I stared at him.
“So Daniel stole money from his charity and put it in an account under my name.”
“That is one theory.”
“One theory?”
“We follow evidence, Claire.”
“What other theory is there?”
“That someone else inside Mercer House did it.”
“Someone with my license, my mother's name, my address, access to my home network, and a reason to frame me?”
Reed did not answer.
I did.
“Daniel.”
The door opened.
Rachel entered with a uniformed officer.
I stood.
She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Five years of distance collapsed in one hug.
“I am sorry.”
I whispered the words against her shoulder.
Rachel held tighter.
“Later.”
“I should have listened.”
“Later.”
“I let him make you the enemy.”
“Claire.”
She pulled back.
“We can spend the next thirty years talking about everything he took.”
Her eyes were red.
“Or we can spend today stopping him from taking anything else.”
I nodded.
Reed stood.
“Did the officer brief you?”
Rachel held up a flash drive.
“Better.”
“What is that?”
“My old email archive.”
She looked at me.
“The recording survived.”
An hour later, the three of us listened to Daniel’s voice from Christmas three years earlier.
Wind distorted parts of the recording.
Rachel sounded angry.
Daniel sounded amused.
“You think Claire needs saving?”
Rachel answered.
“I think she needs to remember who she was before she met you.”
Daniel laughed.
“You've always been dramatic.”
“She has bruises.”
“She bumps into things.”
“She flinches when you touch her.”
“Maybe she flinches because you keep telling her she should be afraid.”
Rachel’s voice rose.
“Stay away from her.”
Daniel became quiet.
Then his tone changed.
“You want to know what your problem is?”
“What?”
“You think pressure is cruelty.”
A car passed in the background.
Daniel continued.
“Pressure is useful.”
Rachel said nothing.
“Claire needs structure.”
“You sound insane.”
“No.”
Daniel’s voice lowered.
“I know exactly how much pressure to apply before she breaks.”
My hands began shaking.
Rachel looked at me.
I kept listening.
“If you keep interfering, I will make sure she chooses me.”
“She's my sister.”
“Then this should be painful for you.”
The recording ended.
Reed stopped playback.
No one spoke.
Finally, Rachel whispered.
“I should have taken that to police.”
I reached for her hand.
“You tried to take it to me.”
Her mouth trembled.
“And I wouldn't listen.”
“That was him.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“He manipulated me.”
I swallowed.
“But I still said things to you.”
Rachel squeezed my hand.
“And I'm still here.”
Reed copied the recording.
Then he leaned back.
“This helps.”
“How much?”
“It establishes prior controlling behavior.”
“Will it keep him in jail?”
Reed’s expression told me the answer.
“No.”
I felt sick.
“He's being released?”
“His attorney requested an expedited bond hearing.”
“When?”
“Eleven.”
I checked the clock.
It was ten-thirteen.
Reed continued.
“The prosecutor is requesting electronic monitoring and no contact.”
“No contact with me?”
“With you and Rachel.”
“Can he return to the house?”
“We are asking the judge to exclude him.”
“Asking.”
“I won't lie to you.”
Reed looked directly at me.
“Nothing is guaranteed.”
At eleven forty-two, Daniel walked out of the courthouse.
He wore the same suit from the night before.
Someone had brought him a fresh shirt.
His hair was perfect.
Katherine Voss walked beside him.
Cameras surrounded them.
Daniel stopped at the courthouse steps.
I watched from Lena’s office television.
He looked exhausted in exactly the right way.
Not guilty.
Not angry.
Wounded.
“I love my wife.”
He paused.
“I will not attack her character.”
My stomach turned.
“That will be left to the evidence.”
There it was.
Daniel looked into the cameras.
“I hope Claire receives whatever support she needs.”
Rachel swore.
Lena muted the television.
“He is good.”
“He has practiced for years.”
My phone buzzed.
An email.
FROM: MERCER HOUSE BOARD OF DIRECTORS.
SUBJECT: NOTICE OF INTERNAL INVESTIGATION.
I opened it.
Dear Mrs. Mercer.
Due to recently identified financial irregularities involving accounts associated with your identity, Mercer House has initiated an independent internal review.
Pending review, you are instructed to preserve all communications, records, devices, financial statements, and documents relating to Mercer House.
You are further instructed not to contact current or former employees, clients, contractors, donors, board members, or volunteers.
Failure to comply may result in legal action.
Rachel read over my shoulder.
“They're trying to isolate you.”
Again.
Different words.
Same method.
Lena took the phone.
“Who signed it?”
I scrolled.
CELESTE WHITMAN, BOARD CHAIR.
Lena’s face changed.
“What?”
“She hates Daniel.”
“Apparently not enough.”
“No.”
Lena shook her head.
“Something is wrong.”
“How do you know?”
“Celeste tried to fire him two years ago.”
I stared.
“What?”
“It never became public.”
“Why?”
“The board stopped her.”
“Why did she try?”
Lena hesitated.
“She believed expenses were being hidden.”
A silence followed.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because at the time I thought it was ordinary nonprofit politics.”
“Six hundred thousand dollars is not politics.”
“No.”
Lena returned my phone.
“And if Celeste signed this, either Daniel owns her now…”
She looked toward Reed.
“Or she wants everyone to think he does.”
That afternoon, Reed arranged for me to enter my house with a police escort.
Daniel was prohibited from returning for seventy-two hours while the protective-order petition was pending.
Walking through my own front door felt like entering a crime scene.
The plaster hole remained beside the kitchen.
Yellow evidence tape marked the drawer.
My coffee mug was still in the sink.
Daniel’s shoes were still beneath the bench.
I stared at them for a long time.
Rachel touched my shoulder.
“Bedroom.”
I nodded.
We packed clothes.
Medication.
My passport.
Family photographs.
My mother’s jewelry.
Then I entered Daniel’s office.
The door was locked.
The officer used a key from my key ring.
The room smelled like cedar and expensive cologne.
Daniel’s desk was immaculate.
Too immaculate.
I opened the first drawer.
Empty.
Second.
Empty.
Third.
Empty.
“He cleared it.”
Rachel looked inside the filing cabinet.
“Everything.”
The shelves had gaps where folders had been removed.
The external hard drive that normally sat beside his monitor was gone.
The desktop computer remained.
But when the officer tried turning it on, the screen displayed a factory reset message.
My skin prickled.
“He knew.”
Rachel looked at me.
“Knew what?”
“That somebody would eventually search this room.”
The officer photographed everything.
I opened the closet.
Old gala banners.
Boxes of donor gifts.
A framed newspaper article.
Nothing useful.
Then I noticed the bottom shelf.
A rectangular dust mark.
Something had recently been removed.
I crouched.
“What was here?”
Rachel knelt beside me.
“You know?”
I stared at the empty space.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A black document case.”
“What was in it?”
“I don't know.”
“You saw it?”
“For years.”
“Did Daniel ever open it?”
“Never in front of me.”
Rachel ran her finger along the shelf.
Then she froze.
“What?”
She pulled something from behind the baseboard.
A small brass key.
It had a plastic tag attached.
M-417.
Rachel looked at me.
“Does that mean anything?”
“No.”
The officer photographed it and placed it into an evidence bag.
While he documented the closet, my phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
I expected another threat.
Instead, the message contained only four words.
CHECK HIS SECOND BOOKS.
I stared.
A second message followed.
DON’T TRUST THE BOARD.
Then a third.
M-417 IS NOT A ROOM.
My heart accelerated.
I typed before Reed could stop me.
WHO IS THIS?
The reply came immediately.
SOMEONE WHO USED TO WORK FOR HIM.
I stared at Rachel.
Another message appeared.
HE WILL DESTROY THE LEDGER TONIGHT.
Then the final message.
IF YOU WANT THE TRUTH, COME ALONE.
A location followed.
Pier 9.
Midnight.
Rachel read the screen.
“No.”
I barely heard her.
I was staring at the sender’s final sentence.
Because beneath the location was a name I had heard Daniel curse more than once.
Nina Cole.
Mercer House’s former accountant.
May you like
The woman Daniel had publicly accused of stealing from the charity two years earlier.
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