Chapter 8: The Money
The headlights stopped twenty yards from the cabin.
Mom grabbed my wrist.
“Turn off the lights.””
I did.
The cabin disappeared into darkness.
Outside, a car door slammed.
Then another.
I held my breath.
Footsteps approached.
Slow.
Heavy.
Someone stopped outside the front door.
Mom whispered, “Mark.””
The handle moved.
Once.
Twice.
Then Mark's voice came through the door.
“Diane.””
Mom didn't answer.
“Open the door.””
I stared at her.
She shook her head.
Mark knocked.
“Diane, I know you're in there.””
I stepped closer to the door.
“Mark.””
Silence.
Then:
“Claire?””
“Yes.””
His voice changed.
“What are you doing there?””
“Reading.””
“Reading what?””
“My grandfather's documents.””
Silence.
Then he laughed.
It was a nervous, hollow sound.
“You don't understand what you've found.””
“Then explain it.””
“Open the door.””
“No.””
“Claire, this isn't safe.””
“Why?””
“You need to leave.””
“Why?””
He didn't answer.
I looked at Mom.
“Tell me about the money.””
She shook her head.
“Mom.””
Mark said through the door, “Diane, don't.””
That was enough.
I opened the door.
Mark stood outside.
His face looked exhausted.
His shirt was wrinkled.
There was mud on his shoes.
“How did you know we were here?”” I asked.
He looked at Mom.
“She called me.””
Mom shook her head.
“I didn't.””
He sighed.
“Kayla saw you leave.””
I stared at him.
“You followed us?””
“No.””
“Then how did you know about the cabin?””
He didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
“You knew it existed.””
“Yes.””
“Since when?””
“Years.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
He rubbed his face.
“Because your grandfather told me not to.””
“Everyone keeps saying that.””
Mark looked at Mom.
“She knows.””
Mom whispered, “She found the box.””
His expression collapsed.
“You shouldn't have opened it.””
I held up the envelope.
“Tell me what happened to the money.””
He looked toward the trees.
Then he said, “Your mother borrowed it.””
Mom shook her head.
“No.””
“You did.””
“I borrowed some.””
“How much?””
Mark looked at me.
“Two hundred and eighty thousand dollars.””
My stomach dropped.
“What?””
Mom started crying.
“It wasn't supposed to happen like that.””
I stared at her.
“Where did you get $280,000?””
“From a private lender.””
“Using what as collateral?””
She said nothing.
I understood.
“The lake house.””
She nodded.
“But I didn't own it.””
“No.””
“Then how?””
Mark spoke.
“Thomas had an old partnership agreement.””
I looked at him.
“And you used it.””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“Because the lender believed Diane had an equitable interest in the property.””
My hands curled into fists.
“You lied.””
Mark didn't deny it.
“We needed the money.””
“For what?””
He looked at Mom.
She whispered, “The business.””
“What business?””
“Mark's construction company.””
I laughed.
“So you risked my property to save his company?””
“I was going to pay it back.””
“With what?””
She had no answer.
I looked at Mark.
“Where did the money go?””
He stared at the ground.
“Most of it was gone before we realized the business couldn't recover.””
“Gone?””
“Debts. Payroll. Equipment.””
“And the rest?””
He looked at me.
“Thomas took it.””
The room went still.
“What?””
“Thomas Reed.””
“But Grandpa said he disappeared.””
“He did.””
“Then how did he take the money?””
Mark hesitated.
“Because Thomas wasn't the one who disappeared.””
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?””
Mark swallowed.
“He changed his identity.””
Mom whispered, “Mark.””
“He left town.””
“Where?””
“I don't know.””
I looked at the documents.
“Then why does Grandpa say someone was protecting my mother?””
Mark closed his eyes.
“Because your grandfather knew Diane hadn't done it alone.””
“Who did?””
Mark looked at me.
“I did.””
Mom turned toward him.
“You said you didn't.””
“I lied.””
Her face crumpled.
I couldn't speak.
Mark continued.
“I found Thomas after the settlement.””
“Where?””
“Oregon.””
“And?””
“He threatened Diane.””
“Why?””
“Because she knew where the money had gone.””
I stared at him.
“What money?””
“The money wasn't all used for the business.””
He reached into his jacket.
Pulled out a folded statement.
Then handed it to me.
I opened it.
A bank account.
A private account.
The beneficiary name was not Diane.
It was Mark.
I looked up.
“You stole it.””
He shook his head.
“I moved it.””
“Into your account.””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“To protect it.””
I laughed.
“From who?””
“Thomas.””
“You expect me to believe that?””
“I don't care what you believe.””
His voice cracked.
“I was trying to keep Diane alive.””
Mom stared at him.
“What?””
“Thomas threatened her.””
“When?””
“Six years ago.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because your grandfather told me he would handle it.””
“And then he died.””
Mark nodded.
“He left the documents to Claire because he knew he wouldn't be around to stop us.””
I looked at my grandfather's letter.
He had known.
All of it.
I turned toward Mom.
“How much do you still owe?””
She looked ashamed.
“Nothing.””
I frowned.
“What?””
“The lender was paid.””
“By whom?””
She didn't answer.
I looked at Mark.
“Who paid it?””
He stared at me.
“Your grandfather.””
My heart stopped.
“What?””
“He paid the entire loan before he died.””
I looked at the documents.
“No.””
“He sold another property.””
“He had another property?””
“Yes.””
“And used it to pay your debt?””
Mom nodded.
“Why?””
“Because he loved me.””
I looked at her.
“No.””
She stared at me.
“He loved you enough to save you.””
“But he didn't trust you enough to leave you the lake house.””
Mom started crying.
I didn't know what to say.
The anger I'd carried for six years suddenly became tangled with something else.
Pity.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But pity.
Then Mark said quietly, “There's something else.””
I looked at him.
“What?””
“The account wasn't mine.””
“What?””
He took a breath.
“Your grandfather opened it.””
I stared at him.
“He used my name.””
“Why?””
“To track the money.””
I looked at the statement.
At the account number.
At the signature.
Something wasn't right.
“Mark.””
“Yes?””
“This account was opened after Grandpa died.””
He went pale.
I flipped the page.
The opening date was six months after the funeral.
“That's impossible.””
Mark stared at it.
“I…”
Mom took the paper.
Her eyes widened.
“This isn't your account.””
“What?””
She pointed at the beneficiary line.
It didn't say Mark.
It said:
*Claire Bennett.*
My blood ran cold.
I looked at Mark.
Then Mom.
Then the documents.
“Why would my grandfather open an account in my name after he died?””
Nobody answered.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Rebecca.
*URGENT. Do not close tomorrow morning. Title company found a problem with the buyer's funds.*
I stared at the screen.
Another message appeared.
*The cash buyer may not be who he claims to be.*
I felt the room tilt.
“What?”” Mom asked.
I looked up.
“The buyer.””
Mark's face went pale.
“Who is he?””
“I don't know.””
Mom whispered, “Maybe we should leave.””
I looked at the documents.
The hidden account.
The missing money.
Thomas Reed.
The mysterious buyer.
Everything was suddenly connected.
And then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?””
A man's voice said:
“Claire Bennett?””
“Yes.””
“This is Thomas Reed.””
I stopped breathing.
May you like
He continued.
“You need to cancel the sale before noon.””
