Chapter 4 - Twenty-Seven Minutes Missing
At breakfast, Daniel placed the papers beside my coffee.
He tried to make them look harmless.
“Just something the hospital recommended.”
I looked down.
“You brought paperwork from the hospital?”
“Not exactly.”
He smiled.
“My attorney prepared it.”
“Why?”
“In case your memory gets worse.”
There it was.
The trap.
A durable power of attorney giving Daniel broad authority over my personal finances.
He had hidden the most dangerous language on page eleven.
Authority over business interests.
I pretended to read slowly.
“My head hurts.”
“We can do it later.”
Claire entered carrying groceries.
At eight in the morning.
Apparently she lived with us now.
“I brought blueberries,” she announced.
I watched her place them on the counter.
She wouldn't look at the documents.
Daniel touched my hand.
“There's no pressure.”
Everything was pressure.
I looked at the signature line.
Then deliberately picked up the pen.
Claire stopped moving.
Daniel's breathing changed.
I wrote:
Rachel H.
Then stopped.
“My hand feels weird.”
Daniel stared at the incomplete signature.
“Just finish it.”
I looked at him.
He realized how forceful he sounded.
“I mean, whenever you're comfortable.”
I put down the pen.
“Later.”
For half a second, anger flashed across his face.
Then disappeared.
My phone rang.
Daniel had returned it that morning.
The screen showed Owen Mercer.
Perfect timing.
I answered.
“Hello?”
“Rachel. I heard about the accident.”
His concern sounded genuine.
I wondered how many times he'd practiced it.
“I'm okay.”
“I'd like you to come by the bank.”
Daniel looked up.
“Why?” I asked.
“Routine security issue.”
“What kind?”
A pause.
“There was an attempted transfer.”
Daniel's eyes narrowed.
I said, “I don't remember making one.”
“You didn't.”
That surprised me.
Owen continued.
“Our automated system stopped it.”
Daniel stood.
I watched him.
Owen said, “Can you come at eleven?”
“Yes.”
“I'll see you then.”
I ended the call.
Daniel immediately asked, “What transfer?”
“I don't know.”
“I'll come with you.”
“No.”
The word came out too quickly.
I softened it.
“I mean… I want to try doing something alone.”
Claire and Daniel exchanged a glance.
Daniel smiled.
“Of course.”
At 10:55, I entered Commonwealth National Bank.
Owen was waiting.
He looked terrible.
His suit was wrinkled.
His eyes were red.
He led me into his office and closed the door.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Owen said, “Are you recording this?”
I stared at him.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because Daniel thinks you're not.”
My pulse quickened.
Owen walked toward the window.
“I need you to understand something.”
“What?”
“I never agreed to steal your money.”
I laughed bitterly.
“I heard you.”
His face went pale.
“You have the recordings?”
“Yes.”
“Then you heard only part of it.”
“Explain.”
Owen sat down.
“Daniel approached me two months ago.”
My stomach tightened.
“He asked questions about what would happen to your accounts if you became medically incapacitated.”
“And you answered him.”
“It's my job.”
“You discussed bypassing my authorization.”
“I pretended to.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
Owen opened his desk drawer.
He removed a thick envelope.
Inside were copies of emails.
Messages from Daniel.
Messages from Claire.
Bank instructions.
And something else.
A letter.
Federal Bureau of Investigation.
I looked up.
Owen whispered, “I reported him six weeks ago.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“What?”
“The first time Daniel asked me to manipulate your business accounts, I contacted our compliance department. They contacted federal investigators.”
I couldn't speak.
“Owen…”
“They told me to keep talking to him.”
“So the recordings—”
“Some of those conversations were staged.”
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
“Because they didn't know whether you were involved.”
That hurt.
But I understood.
Owen leaned forward.
“Rachel, Daniel wasn't just trying to steal from you.”
“What was he doing?”
“He was moving money for someone else.”
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
My phone vibrated.
A message from Daniel.
How's the bank?
I showed Owen.
He frowned.
“Don't answer yet.”
Then he slid another document across the desk.
It showed transfers from accounts I didn't recognize.
Shell companies.
Consulting firms.
Offshore entities.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Blackridge Holdings.
“Daniel has been receiving payments from them for fourteen months,” Owen said.
“For what?”
“We don't know.”
“How much?”
“Almost two million dollars.”
My stomach dropped.
Owen continued.
“And that's not the strangest part.”
He opened a security log.
“Last night, someone attempted to access your corporate account at 11:43 p.m.”
“Daniel.”
“No.”
Owen rotated the monitor toward me.
A security-camera still showed a person entering a private banking vestibule.
A woman.
Short blonde hair.
Claire.
But she wasn't alone.
A man walked behind her.
I leaned closer.
The image was grainy.
Still, I recognized him.
My breath caught.
“No.”
Owen looked at me.
“You know him?”
I stared at the screen.
“Yes.”
The man beside Claire was my younger brother, Michael.
The brother who had supposedly moved to Seattle three years earlier.
The brother who had called me that morning to congratulate me on my award.
And suddenly I understood why twenty-seven minutes of the trophy recordings were missing.
Someone with access to my security system had deleted them.
Someone who knew exactly how the system worked.
Michael had helped me install it.
My husband had betrayed me.
My best friend had betrayed me.
And now the evidence suggested my own brother might be standing beside them.
But when I finally confronted Michael, he would tell me something I never expected.
May you like
He wasn't helping Daniel.
He was trying to stop him.
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