Chapter 2 - The Trip That Never Happened
The woman stopped twenty feet away.
She was perhaps forty-five, wearing jeans, a dark coat, and no expression I could read.
Carter moved behind me.
I stood.
“Stay here.”
The woman saw me rise.
Then she saw Carter.
Something changed in her face.
Not anger.
Relief.
She walked toward us.
“Robert?”
I didn't answer.
“How do you know my name?”
“My name is Claire Bennett.”
“That doesn't answer my question.”
She looked toward Carter.
“Is Lily okay?”
That frightened me more.
“How do you know Lily?”
“Michael told me.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
I stepped between her and Carter.
“Where is my son?”
Claire glanced around the waiting area.
“We shouldn't talk here.”
“We're talking here.”
She took a slow breath.
“Michael asked me to help him.”
“With what?”
Before she could answer, my phone rang.
Michael.
I answered immediately.
“Where are you?”
“Dad, listen to me.”
His voice sounded strained.
“Lily is in the hospital. Carter was hiding in a closet. You left a note telling two children not to call anyone. You have about five seconds before I stop listening and start calling every authority I can think of.”
“I know.”
“Where are you?”
“I can't tell you yet.”
I looked at Claire.
“There's a woman here named Claire Bennett.”
Silence.
Then Michael said, “Don't let her leave.”
Claire must have read my expression.
She didn't move.
“Why?”
“Because she knows what's happening.”
“Then explain it.”
Michael exhaled.
“Dad, I made a terrible decision tonight.”
“Leaving your children alone?”
“Yes.”
The word came immediately.
No excuse.
No argument.
“I thought we'd be gone twenty minutes. Denise and I had to meet someone. Carter was awake. Lily only had a mild fever when we left.”
My anger rose.
“You told me they weren't even at the house.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because someone has been watching us.”
I said nothing.
Michael continued.
“I thought if everyone believed the kids were somewhere else, they'd be safer.”
“Someone entered your house.”
“What?”
“Carter heard them. They searched your office.”
Michael stopped breathing for a second.
“Dad, go somewhere public.”
“We're in a hospital.”
“Stay there.”
“Who are you afraid of?”
“I don't know anymore.”
That answer sounded genuine.
“What does Claire know?”
“She'll show you.”
“Show me what?”
Michael's voice became quieter.
“The reason Denise and I left.”
Then the call ended.
I stared at Claire.
She reached slowly into her purse.
I tensed.
She removed an envelope.
“My brother worked with Michael.”
“Worked where?”
“Hale Community Housing.”
My son's nonprofit.
Michael had started it eight years earlier to help struggling families find temporary housing. I had donated money. I had attended fundraisers.
Claire handed me the envelope.
Inside were copies of financial records.
Large transfers.
Dozens of them.
I recognized the organization’s account.
But I didn't recognize the company receiving the money.
“What is Northstar Consulting?”
“A company that doesn't exist.”
My stomach sank.
“How much?”
“Almost four hundred thousand dollars.”
I looked at her.
“You're accusing my son of stealing?”
“No.”
Claire shook her head.
“I'm telling you somebody made it look like he did.”
She pointed to a signature.
Michael Hale.
It looked perfect.
Almost.
I had watched my son sign birthday cards for forty years.
Michael crossed his H differently.
“That isn't his signature.”
“I know.”
“Who did this?”
“That's what your son has been trying to find out.”
Carter suddenly spoke behind me.
“Grandpa?”
I turned.
He held something.
A key.
“Where did you get that?”
“Dad gave it to me.”
“When?”
“Before he left.”
The key had a yellow plastic tag.
G-17.
Claire stared at it.
“Oh, God.”
“What?”
She looked at Carter.
“Did your father tell you what that opens?”
Carter shook his head.
Claire looked at me.
“A storage unit.”
“How do you know?”
“Because my brother rented it for Michael.”
My patience disappeared.
“What is inside?”
“Evidence.”
“Of what?”
Claire glanced toward Lily's room.
“Of who has been stealing from the organization.”
I thought of Michael's text.
Do not go back to my house.
Someone had already searched his office.
“Why give the key to Carter?”
“Because Michael apparently decided his ten-year-old son was the one person nobody would search.”
The stupidity of that decision made my jaw tighten.
But another thought followed.
“Then why was Carter hiding?”
Claire didn't know.
Carter did.
He looked at me.
“Dad told me if someone came, hide the key.”
“Where?”
Carter pointed toward his sneaker.
The one he'd apparently taken off before hiding.
“I put it underneath the inside part.”
The insole.
That explained the abandoned sneaker.
The intruder had searched the office while the evidence key sat in a child's shoe in the hallway.
I closed my hand around it.
At dawn, Lily was admitted for observation.
I wasn't leaving her.
Claire agreed to remain nearby.
I called an attorney I trusted, Thomas Reed, and told him enough to understand that Michael's organization might be facing financial fraud.
Thomas's first advice was simple.
“Don't touch anything you don't have to. Preserve every message.”
Then he asked something I hadn't considered.
“Robert, who has access to the nonprofit's accounts?”
I knew one name immediately.
Michael.
Another was Denise.
And a third—
I stopped.
“Robert?”
“My brother.”
“Your brother?”
“Richard.”
My younger brother had helped Michael establish the nonprofit.
He served as treasurer.
Richard had always been the financially talented one in our family.
He had also been Michael's favorite uncle.
I felt ashamed for even thinking it.
Then Carter spoke.
“Grandpa?”
I covered the phone.
“What?”
“The person in the house smelled like Uncle Richard.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“What does Uncle Richard smell like?”
“That spicy stuff he wears.”
Cologne.
Richard had worn the same expensive cedar-and-pepper cologne for years.
Claire watched me.
She already understood.
My phone vibrated.
A photograph arrived from Michael.
It showed a row of storage units.
Underneath was a message.
Someone knows about G-17.
Then another photograph arrived.
The lock on unit G-17 had been cut.
And standing in the background of the photograph, half reflected in the polished side of a parked car, was a man I had known for sixty-one years.
May you like
My brother Richard.
He was looking directly at Michael.
