Chapter 9 - Andre’s File
By sunrise, sleep had become a rumor.
Nia was stable. The bleeding had slowed. Her numbers were moving in the right direction.
Nothing else was.
Detective Ortiz pulled Andre’s old case.
Seven years earlier, a twenty-three-year-old delivery driver named Owen Price had run a red light and hit Andre’s car at forty-eight miles per hour.
He pleaded guilty.
He served four years.
Case closed.
Except Ortiz found a note buried in the supplemental report.
Witness reported second vehicle leaving scene.
No follow-up documented.
“What second vehicle?” I asked.
Ortiz shook her head. “The witness moved out of state. We’re trying to find him.”
I stared at the report.
Andre had been an accountant.
Careful. Quiet. Obsessed with records.
Three weeks before his death, he told me he had found “something ugly” at work.
I had forgotten that.
Or maybe I had forced myself to forget.
He worked for a private wealth-management firm.
The same firm that now managed Nia’s trust.
I looked at Ortiz.
“No.”
She already knew.
“We’re checking the firm.”
A cold sensation crawled up my back.
“What was the company called back then?”
“Fletcher Rowe Financial.”
I closed my eyes.
It had rebranded five years ago.
Now it was Rowe Capital.
The man who handled Nia’s trust was Martin Rowe.
He sent birthday cards.
He had attended Andre’s funeral.
And last month he had called our house asking when Nia planned to begin college applications.
At the time I thought it was thoughtful.
Now I remembered who answered the phone.
Caleb.
Nia shifted in bed. “Mom?”
I went to her.
“You need rest.”
“You say that when you don’t want to tell me something.”
“Because you’re sixteen.”
“Because it’s about Dad.”
I had no answer.
Then Ortiz’s phone rang.
She listened.
“Found the old witness.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Can he talk?”
“He already did.”
Her expression told me enough.
“What did he see?”
Ortiz looked at Nia, then back at me.
“He said the second vehicle wasn’t behind Andre.”
My throat tightened.
“It was beside him.”
“So?”
“He said it forced Andre’s car into the intersection.”
The room went silent.
Nia’s eyes filled.
“And the driver?”
Ortiz swallowed.
“He remembers a company logo on the door.”
“Which company?”
She turned the report around.
Fletcher Rowe Financial.
Everything changed after that.
Caleb was still missing, but he was no longer the only suspect.
The police froze Nia’s trust account.
Rowe Capital stopped returning calls.
Martin Rowe’s assistant claimed he was “traveling.”
Detective Ortiz called that a bad sign.
I called it proof of something I should have noticed years ago.
By noon, a financial-crimes investigator joined the case.
He showed me a series of transfers.
Small at first.
Five thousand.
Eight thousand.
Twelve.
Then larger ones.
All moved from a reserve account connected to Nia’s trust into shell companies.
Total missing: $612,000.
I nearly threw up.
“How?”
“Digital authorization.”
“From me?”
“Using your credentials.”
“I never did this.”
“We believe you.”
I laughed once, bitterly. “That’s new.”
The investigator pointed to a name on the screen.
CB Consulting.
Caleb Brooks.
My chest tightened.
“He did it.”
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean maybe?”
“The account was opened in his name. But the login records came from Rowe Capital’s internal network.”
I stared at him.
“So Martin stole the money and made it look like Caleb?”
“That is one possibility.”
“And the poison?”
“We’re still working that.”
Nia had been listening quietly.
Then she said, “Caleb met Martin.”
I turned.
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Where?”
“At our house.”
My heart kicked.
“You were home?”
“I came back early from practice.”
“What did you hear?”
“They were arguing.”
“About what?”
Nia frowned, pulling the memory together.
“Caleb said, ‘You told me it was legal.’”
Ortiz sat forward.
“What else?”
“Martin said something like, ‘You already signed. You don’t get to be scared now.’”
I felt sick.
“So Caleb was involved.”
Nia looked at me.
“Maybe with the money.”
Not the poison.
She didn’t say it.
She didn’t need to.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number again.
This time it wasn’t Caleb.
It was a video.
Caleb sat in a dark place with blood on his shirt.
He looked into the camera.
“Denise, if you see this, I was wrong.”
He looked over his shoulder.
Then back at us.
“Martin knows Nia is awake.”
A loud bang sounded offscreen.
Caleb flinched.
May you like
“He’s coming to the hospital.”
The video cut off.
