Chapter 3: October 3
“Mom, why is Dad looking for me?””
Naomi's question came from the back seat.
I gripped the steering wheel.
“I don't know.””
It was the truth.
For once, I didn't want to pretend I knew what was happening.
Denise had instructed us to go directly home, but not to speak to Marcus.
I changed the plan.
We drove to her office.
Naomi sat quietly in the back, clutching her phone.
When we arrived, Denise met us in the lobby.
She was carrying a thick gray folder.
“Claire.””
“What happened?””
“Come upstairs.””
We entered a conference room.
Denise locked the door.
Then she placed the folder on the table.
“Where did you get this?”” I asked.
“An anonymous encrypted email.””
“From the same person?””
“I don't know.””
She opened the folder.
Bank records.
Foundation statements.
Internal emails.
Invoices.
Board minutes.
My eyes moved across the pages.
“October 3.””
Denise nodded.
“$180,000.””
“Where did it go?””
She slid another document toward me.
A company name appeared.
A consulting firm I didn't recognize.
*Briar North Advisory LLC.*
“What's this?””
“A shell company, as far as I can tell.””
I looked at her.
“And who owns it?””
“We're still checking.””
My stomach tightened.
Naomi sat across from me.
She was listening.
Denise noticed.
“Naomi, would you like to sit in the waiting area?””
Naomi shook her head.
“I want to know.””
I started to protest.
Denise raised a hand.
“She can stay if you're comfortable, but we won't discuss anything beyond what she already knows.””
I nodded.
Denise continued.
“There's another issue.””
She pulled out a printed email.
“Marcus authorized the October 3 transfer.””
I read the signature.
My husband's name.
Then I saw the authorization note.
*Foundation liquidity adjustment.*
I frowned.
“That's not a grant.””
“No.””
“What does that mean?””
“It means they wanted the transfer to look internal.””
Naomi whispered, “Like Dad said in the video.””
Denise looked at her.
“What video?””
I hesitated.
“The recording I told you about.””
Denise's eyes sharpened.
“Did Naomi make that recording?””
“She recorded herself practicing a school project. Marcus was talking in another room.””
“Okay.””
Denise tapped the table.
“Don't send it to anyone else yet.””
“I haven't.””
“Good.””
She opened another file.
“This is where things get more serious.””
Inside was an email exchange between Marcus and a foundation employee.
The subject line read:
*Scholarship reserve reconciliation*
The employee had written:
*I can't reconcile the October transfer with the supporting invoice.*
Marcus replied:
*You don't need to reconcile it. Just move it into the next quarter.*
The employee responded:
*The board will ask questions.*
Marcus:
*Then give them the standard answer.*
I felt sick.
Denise leaned back.
“Claire, I need to ask you something difficult.””
“What?””
“Did Marcus ever pressure you to sign foundation documents?””
“Yes.””
“What kind?””
“Annual reports. Donation authorizations. Tax-related paperwork.””
“Did you read them?””
“Some.””
“Did you ever sign something you didn't understand?””
I remembered a stack of papers on our dining table.
Marcus standing behind me.
His hand on my shoulder.
“It's routine, Claire. Just sign here.””
I swallowed.
“Yes.””
Denise wrote something down.
“That's important.””
“Why?””
“Because if your name appears on any document connected to those transfers, we need to know exactly what you signed.””
I felt the room become colder.
“Are you saying Marcus could have used my signature?””
“I'm saying we need to find out.””
Naomi suddenly spoke.
“Mom never did anything wrong.””
Denise looked at her gently.
“I know, sweetheart. We're trying to make sure the records show that.””
Naomi lowered her eyes.
Her phone vibrated.
She checked it.
Her face changed.
“Mom.””
“What?””
She handed me the phone.
The anonymous sender had written:
*Ask Denise about the second account.*
I looked at Denise.
“Second account?””
She went still.
“What?””
“You know about another account?””
“I know there may be one.””
She opened her laptop.
“I didn't mention it because I wanted confirmation first.””
“Confirmation of what?””
She typed quickly.
A few seconds later, she turned the screen toward us.
There was an account number.
It wasn't in my name.
It wasn't listed on the foundation statements I'd seen.
And it wasn't under the main company.
“Whose account is that?””
“We don't know yet.””
I looked at Naomi.
She whispered, “Maybe the person sending me the messages knows.””
Denise closed the laptop.
“Maybe.””
Then my phone rang.
Marcus.
I stared at the screen.
Denise said, “Don't answer.””
The call ended.
Seconds later, another came.
Then another.
Finally, a text.
*We need to talk. You are making a serious mistake.*
I didn't respond.
Another message arrived.
*Where is Naomi?*
I looked at Denise.
She immediately stood.
“Do not tell him.””
“He knows she's with me.””
“He may know she's with you. That doesn't mean he knows where.””
Another text.
*Claire, bring Naomi home. Now.*
Then:
*Please.*
I stared at that word.
Please.
After three years of lies, that was the first time Marcus had sounded frightened.
But frightened of what?
The door opened.
Denise's assistant appeared.
“Sorry.””
She looked at Denise.
“There's someone downstairs asking for Claire.””
“Who?””
She hesitated.
“Marcus Hale.””
My heart dropped.
“How did he know I was here?””
Denise stood.
“Lock the conference room.””
Her assistant nodded.
I pulled Naomi close.
Through the glass wall, I saw Marcus in the lobby.
His suit was wrinkled.
His tie was gone.
He looked nothing like the polished executive who had walked into the gala with Brielle.
He looked desperate.
Then he lifted his head.
And saw me.
His expression changed.
He walked toward the elevator.
Denise stepped in front of the door.
A few seconds later, the elevator opened.
Marcus walked out.
“Claire.””
Denise blocked him.
“You shouldn't be here.””
“I need to talk to my wife.””
“She doesn't want to talk.””
Marcus looked past her.
His eyes found Naomi.
“Naomi.””
My daughter stepped behind me.
“Dad,” I said.
He looked at me.
“What are you doing?””
“Protecting her.””
“From me?””
“Yes.””
He stared at me.
Then his gaze moved to the phone in Naomi's hand.
His face changed.
“You gave her that?””
“No.””
“What does she have?””
“Nothing that concerns you.””
He laughed bitterly.
“Claire, you have no idea what you're dealing with.””
“Then explain it.””
“I can't.””
“Why?””
He looked over his shoulder.
Then back at me.
“Because someone is trying to destroy me.””
“Brielle?””
His face tightened.
“No.””
“The foundation?””
Silence.
“October 3?””
His eyes flicked toward Denise.
That was enough.
He knew exactly what I meant.
I stepped forward.
“Where did the $180,000 go?””
Marcus whispered, “You don't understand.””
“Then help me understand.””
“It wasn't stolen.””
“I didn't say stolen.””
He looked at me.
For the first time, I saw something beyond guilt.
Fear.
“Claire,” he said quietly, “if you keep digging, you're going to hurt people you don't even know.””
I felt Naomi's hand slip into mine.
“You already hurt the people you know.””
Marcus looked at her.
“Naomi, listen to me.””
“No.””
His voice softened.
“I love you.””
She shook her head.
“You love Mom?””
He froze.
Naomi continued.
“You told that woman you were leaving Mom.””
“Naomi—”
“Do you love her?””
Marcus looked at me.
Then at my daughter.
He couldn't answer.
Naomi's eyes filled with tears.
“That's what I thought.””
She turned away.
Marcus closed his eyes.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
“What?””
I couldn't hear the other voice.
Marcus's expression went white.
“What do you mean she's gone?””
He listened.
“No. Don't call the police.””
Denise exchanged a glance with me.
Marcus hung up.
I asked, “Who's gone?””
He didn't answer.
“Marcus.””
He looked directly at me.
“Brielle.””
“What about her?””
“She disappeared.””
Denise stepped forward.
“When?””
“An hour ago.””
“Why would she disappear?””
Marcus's phone vibrated.
He looked down.
A message.
I watched his face collapse.
“What does it say?”” I asked.
He didn't respond.
Denise took one step closer.
“Marcus?””
He finally looked up.
“She has the original files.””
My blood ran cold.
“What files?””
He looked at Naomi's phone.
May you like
Then at me.
“The ones that prove where the money went.””
