Chapter 18 - The Betrayal at My Company
Only three people had authority close enough to our finances to make the transfer believable.
Me.
My partner Daniel Price.
And our finance director, Craig Benson.
Daniel had built the company with me.
I trusted him almost as much as Amy.
Craig had worked with us for four years.
The account receiving Gerald’s money was connected to a shell company.
The registered agent was Craig’s brother.
I called Daniel.
He refused to believe it.
We met Hill at our office before sunrise.
Craig’s desk had been cleared.
His company phone sat inside a drawer.
His personal car was gone.
IT logs showed Craig had accessed copies of my financial statements repeatedly over the previous six months.
He had also downloaded information about my ownership shares.
Teresa’s first call to my accountant happened shortly afterward.
Craig was the missing link.
My mother knew I was successful.
Craig told her exactly how successful.
Police located him in Knoxville.
He was arrested while trying to withdraw cash.
During questioning, Craig admitted Gerald approached him months earlier.
Gerald promised him a percentage of whatever they recovered from the Bradley trust.
Craig supplied internal information.
Schedules.
Income figures.
Company valuation.
Even my work calendar.
That was how they knew when I would be at the birthday party.
And how they planned the fake accident.
I felt physically ill.
Daniel sat beside me in silence.
Then he said.
“I should’ve seen something.”
“So should I.”
I replied.
We both had.
We just hadn’t understood it.
Craig also revealed where the missing $240,000 went.
Gerald had hidden it across several accounts.
Authorities froze most of the money.
The case was finally becoming complete.
Conspiracy.
Forgery.
Fraud.
Identity theft.
Attempted financial exploitation.
False medical documentation.
Kidnapping.
And more charges than I could remember.
But the most important day had nothing to do with court.
My thirty-fifth birthday arrived quietly.
There was no big party.
No relatives.
No expensive seafood.
No champagne.
Just me.
Amy.
Frederick.
And a tiny cake on our kitchen table.
Amy wore the blue dress I had bought for her.
Police had returned it after Betsy’s arrest.
Frederick sat in his high chair wearing the little “F” pendant.
I looked at my family and nearly cried.
At exactly noon, Rachel called.
“The trust transfer is complete.”
She said.
“It belongs to you.”
I looked at Amy.
“No.”
I replied.
“It belongs to my family.”
Then Rachel added something.
“Connor.”
“We recovered your grandfather’s original letter.”
“What letter?”
“A letter he ordered the trustee to give you when you turned thirty-five.”
I opened it that evening.
May you like
The first sentence made me understand everything.
BE CAREFUL OF ANYONE WHO CONFUSES LOVE WITH OWNERSHIP.
