Chapter 8
Mom looked like Thomas had slapped her.
“That’s a lie.”
Thomas chuckled.
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Then find the ledger.”
Detective Ellison gestured for Mom to keep talking.
“What ledger?”
“The blue one.”
“I’ve never seen it.”
“Daniel kept it close.”
“Where?”
Thomas went silent.
Then said, “Ask Camille.”
My stomach dropped.
“Me?”
“You had it once.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You just didn’t know what it was.”
I searched my memory.
Nothing.
Thomas continued.
“Your father used to let you draw in his office.”
I remembered.
Saturday mornings.
Colored pencils.
Architecture paper.
Hot chocolate from the machine downstairs.
“He kept a blue notebook in the bottom drawer.”
A memory flickered.
A blue leather book.
I had drawn stars on the inside cover.
I whispered, “I remember it.”
Mom stared at me.
Thomas said, “Good girl.”
I hated him instantly for those words.
“Where is it?”
“That’s the problem, sweetheart. After Daniel died, it disappeared.”
Ray asked, “And you think Camille knows?”
“No. But Daniel trusted her with things because nobody noticed a kid.”
I remembered carrying folders.
Fetching papers.
Sitting beneath conference tables while Dad worked.
My pulse accelerated.
Thomas said, “Find the ledger and you’ll understand why Daniel died.”
The call ended.
Ellison immediately started giving instructions to officers.
Trace the call.
Check the house.
Search Dad’s office records.
Mom grabbed my arm.
“Camille, whatever he says, I never stole from Daniel.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“You’re looking at me.”
“I’m trying to understand.”
“There is nothing to understand.”
But her panic made me wonder.
“Did you handle Dad’s business accounts?”
“Sometimes.”
“How often?”
“During the early years.”
“Did you have access to Riverside?”
Her mouth tightened.
“Yes.”
Ray stared at her.
“You never told me that.”
She snapped, “Because my dead husband’s bookkeeping history wasn’t relevant to our marriage.”
I almost laughed at how familiar that excuse sounded.
Not relevant.
Nothing was relevant until it exploded.
Detective Ellison asked, “What exactly was your role?”
Mom sat.
“I studied accounting before Camille was born. When Daniel started his firm, I did the books for the first three years.”
“And later?”
“We hired people.”
“But you still had account access.”
“Yes.”
“Could Thomas have used your credentials?”
“Maybe.”
“Could Daniel have suspected you?”
Mom looked hurt.
“I don’t know.”
Sarah stepped forward.
“Daniel would never have thought Denise stole from him.”
Mom’s eyes flashed.
“You didn’t know what he thought. Apparently none of us did.”
That shut Sarah up.
Ellison asked me about the blue ledger.
I remembered pieces.
Dad writing numbers.
Lists of companies.
Initials.
Sometimes he’d shut it when someone entered the office.
One memory came back stronger than the others.
I was twelve.
Dad was on the phone arguing.
He had pushed the blue notebook toward me and said, “Cam, put this in your art bag.”
I had laughed.
“Why?”
“Because nobody steals an artist’s bag.”
At the time, I thought it was a joke.
My breathing changed.
“Wait.”
Everyone looked at me.
“My art bag.”
Mom frowned.
“What art bag?”
“The brown canvas one Dad bought me.”
She shook her head.
“I haven’t seen that in years.”
“I used to keep it in my closet.”
The closet that had been emptied.
I ran upstairs.
Mom followed.
“Where are my boxes?”
“In the basement.”
I went down so quickly I almost fell.
There were twelve plastic storage tubs stacked beside the washing machine.
My name was written on each.
I tore through them.
Clothes.
Books.
Old school projects.
Trophies.
Sketch pads.
No art bag.
“Did you throw anything away?”
Mom shook her head.
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Ray began opening boxes too.
Sarah took Lily into the kitchen.
I kept searching.
Then I found a smaller cardboard box behind the tubs.
No label.
Inside were things Dad had given me.
A compass.
Old drafting pencils.
A wooden ruler.
And the brown canvas bag.
My hands shook as I pulled it out.
The zipper stuck halfway.
Inside were old markers and charcoal.
No notebook.
I turned it upside down.
Nothing.
Then I felt something stiff inside the lining.
I stared at Mom.
“There’s something sewn into this.”
I grabbed scissors.
Cut the inner seam.
A thin blue leather notebook slid onto the floor.
Nobody breathed.
I picked it up.
On the inside cover were three yellow stars drawn in childish marker.
Mine.
Mom covered her mouth.
“Oh my God.”
I opened the first page.
Numbers.
Dates.
Company names.
Dad’s handwriting.
Then a second kind of handwriting.
Mom’s.
I looked at her.
Her face went white.
“I can explain.”
My stomach dropped.
“What are these entries?”
“They’re mine.”
“What are they?”
“Transfers.”
“To who?”
She reached for the book.
Ellison stopped her.
“Don’t touch it.”
Mom looked furious.
“I am not a criminal.”
“No one said you are.”
“My daughter is looking at me like I killed her father.”
“I’m not.”
But maybe I was.
I hated that.
Mom sat heavily.
“The transfers were to cover Daniel’s losses.”
“What losses?”
She looked at Sarah.
Then at me.
“Your father’s firm was in serious trouble before he died.”
I stared at her.
“He told me business was good.”
“He told everyone that.”
“How bad?”
“Close to bankruptcy.”
Ray looked shocked.
“Riverside was a huge contract.”
“Exactly. If Riverside failed, the company failed.”
Mom pointed toward the ledger.
“Daniel discovered inflated invoices. Money leaving through subcontractors. At first he thought Thomas was stealing.”
“But?”
“But some transfers had my authorization code.”
Ellison asked, “Did you make them?”
“No.”
“Could someone know your code?”
“Daniel did.”
“Anyone else?”
Mom hesitated.
“My assistant back then.”
“Name?”
“Karen Doyle.”
Sarah frowned.
“I remember Karen.”
Mom nodded.
“She handled payroll.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know.”
Ellison made another note.
The ledger had initials beside certain transfers.
T.B.
R.H.
K.D.
D.B.
And D.H.
My mother’s married name back then had been Denise Bennett.
D.B.
But the entries marked D.B. didn’t match her handwriting.
Dad had apparently been tracking who approved what and who actually entered the records.
Near the end, one page had a line circled three times.
$214,000 — K.D. override / T.B. request / account authorization D.B.
Mom stared.
“I never approved that.”
Ellison asked, “Could Karen have impersonated you?”
“Yes.”
Then I noticed something.
A note in the margin.
Ask R. about camera footage.
“R,” I said.
Ray looked at the page.
“That could be me.”
“Camera footage from where?”
“The Riverside site had security cameras.”
“Did Dad ask you about footage?”
Ray slowly nodded.
“Yes.”
“What did it show?”
“Thomas meeting Karen after hours.”
Mom whispered, “Karen and Thomas knew each other?”
Ray nodded.
“I told Daniel.”
“Why didn’t you tell police?”
“I never saw the footage again.”
Ellison took out his phone.
“We’re finding Karen Doyle.”
He stepped away.
I kept turning pages.
Near the back was another note.
If anything happens, Camille’s stars.
I stopped.
“What does that mean?”
Mom whispered, “The mural?”
Maybe.
Camille’s stars.
The original mural had dozens of painted stars.
So did the canvas at the storage unit.
Maybe Dad had hidden something there too.
I looked at Ray.
“The canvas.”
He understood instantly.
We were back at the storage facility before dawn.
Police met us there.
Ellison carefully examined the painting.
The stars looked normal.
Then I remembered how Dad painted.
He numbered colors on the back when planning murals.
We turned the canvas.
There were small pencil marks.
One through nine.
But thirteen had been circled.
“Thirteen stars,” I whispered.
“My age when he died.”
I counted.
The thirteenth star from the left had a tiny cut along its edge.
Ellison used gloves.
He removed the backboard.
Inside, taped behind the painted star, was a micro SD card.
Ray whispered, “Daniel hid everything.”
Ellison bagged it.
An officer took it for immediate analysis.
Two hours later, Ellison came back with a laptop.
“You need to see this.”
The SD card held security footage.
Riverside construction site.
Night.
The timestamp was one week before Dad died.
Thomas entered the frame.
Then Karen Doyle.
They talked beside a truck.
Thomas handed her an envelope.
Then another man appeared.
My stomach dropped.
Ray.
Mom turned slowly.
“You said you only saw them.”
Ray stared at the screen.
“I did.”
“You were there.”
“I followed Karen.”
The footage continued.
Ray stayed hidden behind equipment.
Thomas and Karen walked away.
Then a fourth person entered the frame.
Dad.
He confronted them.
No audio.
But the argument looked intense.
Thomas shoved Dad.
Karen tried to separate them.
Then Dad held up his phone.
Thomas’s expression changed.
He grabbed for it.
Dad pulled away.
A truck passed in front of the camera.
When it cleared, Thomas was gone.
Karen was gone.
Dad stood alone.
Ray came from behind the equipment.
Dad gave him something.
A package.
The same package Ray later hid.
I looked at Ray.
He was crying.
“I should have taken it straight to police.”
Nobody answered.
Then the video skipped.
Another clip appeared.
Different date.
The morning Dad died.
Parking garage outside his office.
Dad walked toward his car.
Thomas approached.
They argued.
Dad got into the driver’s seat.
Thomas leaned through the passenger window.
Then stepped back.
Dad drove away.
Thomas stood watching.
Thirty seconds later, Karen entered the frame.
She handed Thomas something small.
A phone.
He looked at the screen.
Then smiled.
Detective Ellison paused the footage.
“That may be location tracking.”
My chest tightened.
“Thomas followed Dad.”
“Possibly.”
“And then Dad crashed.”
“Yes.”
Ellison looked grim.
“But there’s something else.”
He opened another recovered file.
A document scanned by Rebecca just days before her death.
It was a repair invoice for her car.
Brake line damage.
Mechanic’s note:
Damage inconsistent with normal wear. Possible intentional cut.
Mom gripped my hand.
Then Ellison opened a photograph Rebecca had taken.
Thomas underneath her car.
Tools beside him.
Lily must have taken the photo accidentally from the apartment window.
I stared at it.
“We have him.”
Ellison nodded.
“We have enough to issue warrants.”
“For Rebecca?”
“For several things.”
His phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
Then his expression became sharp.
“We found Karen Doyle.”
“Where?”
He looked directly at Mom.
“She works less than ten miles from your house.”
My stomach sank.
“What does she do?”
“She’s a private caregiver.”
Mom went silent.
Ray went silent.
I didn’t understand why until Mom whispered one name.
“Your mother.”
Ray’s face drained.
His mother.
May you like
The woman who was supposed to move into the guest room after hip surgery.
Karen Doyle was her caregiver.
