Chapter 6 - My Father Asked Me to Check One Bank Statement
Claire refused to explain much over the phone.
She only said she had known Julian before me.
Not dated.
Worked with.
At least, that was what she claimed.
Rachel arranged for us to meet in her office.
Claire arrived carrying a thick brown envelope.
She was thirty-seven, nervous, and kept checking the hallway.
"I don't want trouble," she said immediately.
Rachel gestured toward the chair.
"Then tell us only what you're comfortable telling us."
Claire looked at me.
"Julian used to handle vendor accounts at Caldwell Development."
I knew that.
He had worked there before switching to commercial consulting.
"He got fired," Claire continued.
I frowned.
"He told me the company downsized."
Claire gave a sad smile.
"No."
She opened the envelope.
Inside were emails.
Payment records.
Internal memos.
"Money went missing from several vendor accounts."
My stomach tightened.
"Did he steal it?"
"They couldn't prove that."
Rachel leaned forward.
"What could they prove?"
"Unauthorized transfers."
I looked at Claire.
"To whom?"
She hesitated.
"A woman named Brenda Mercer."
The room became very quiet.
Claire explained that Julian had approved several reimbursements tied to false vendor expenses.
When accounting questioned them, he claimed an assistant had made errors.
Claire had been that assistant.
"He blamed you?" I asked.
She nodded.
"I almost lost my career."
"Why didn't you report him?"
"I did."
"And?"
"The company settled quietly. He resigned."
She pushed a document toward me.
An internal reimbursement request.
I recognized Julian's signature.
Below it was an authorization code.
Claire looked at me.
"When I saw your divorce filing mentioned in a public docket, I searched your name. Then I saw the car situation because Brenda posted about it."
I blinked.
"She posted?"
Claire pulled out her phone.
Brenda had written a long social media post about being "publicly humiliated by wealthy relatives who valued possessions over family."
Hundreds of comments.
Most people knew only her version.
Then Claire said something that turned my stomach.
"One comment mentioned you were accusing Julian of financial abuse. That's when I realized he might be doing it again."
Again.
The word stayed with me.
That evening, I went back through our statements.
Dad sat beside me.
"Look for patterns," he said.
"What kind?"
"Amounts that don't attract attention."
I sorted transfers.
$180.
$240.
$350.
Smaller than the obvious payments to Brenda.
Different recipient.
JCM Consulting.
Julian Christopher Mercer.
His own company.
Over two years, more than $31,000 had moved from our joint account into his business.
I had never approved it.
Then I discovered something worse.
A monthly transfer from my paycheck.
$600.
Automatically moved the morning after each deposit.
The destination account was not ours.
I called the bank.
The account holder information was protected.
But the last four digits matched the same account that had received the fraudulent personal loan.
7821.
I stared at the number.
Julian had been quietly redirecting my income.
Not once.
Not accidentally.
Every month.
Dad asked, "How far back?"
"Twenty-six months."
We calculated.
$15,600.
Combined with the other transfers and unauthorized charges, the number exceeded $60,000.
I felt humiliated.
"How did I not see this?"
Dad closed the laptop.
"Because you trusted your husband."
"I should have checked."
"You should have been able to trust him."
There was a difference.
It took me a long time to accept that.
That night, Brenda called again.
This time I answered.
"Elena?"
Her voice sounded small.
"What do you want?"
"To explain."
"You've had three years."
She began crying.
I almost hung up.
Then she said:
"Julian told me you knew about the money."
I stayed silent.
"He told me you earned more than you needed. He said your father paid for everything anyway."
"Did you believe him?"
"At first."
"And later?"
Silence.
"Brenda."
"No."
The answer surprised me.
"When did you stop believing him?"
"Last year."
"Then why did you keep accepting money?"
She started sobbing harder.
"I don't know."
I did.
Because it was easier.
The same reason I had kept making excuses.
Comfort can make people cooperate with things they know are wrong.
Before hanging up, Brenda whispered:
"There's another account, Elena."
My heart stopped.
May you like
"What account?"
"The one he told me never to mention."
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