Chapter 3 - The Name on the Transfer
Daniel knocked again.
“Emily, I know you’re in there.”
I closed the laptop without ending the call.
Marcus whispered, “Do not tell him what I told you.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know who changed the logs.”
The key turned again, useless against the deadbolt.
“Emily.” Daniel’s voice softened. “Please.”
I told Marcus I would call him back, then slid the prepaid phone into the pocket of my robe.
When I opened the door, Daniel looked less like the man who had ordered me to apologize at dinner and more like a man who had driven forty miles rehearsing explanations.
His tie was gone. His collar hung open. A small vein pulsed at his temple.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For which part?”
His mouth tightened.
“That’s not fair.”
“Try me.”
He stepped inside only after I moved aside.
Daniel looked toward my closed laptop. “You’re working?”
“Thinking.”
“About Monday?”
There it was.
Not about us. Monday.
He rubbed both hands over his face. “Emily, the company employs eighty-four people. You know what happens if the funding collapses.”
“I also know what happens if I approve money into a company with unreliable books.”
His eyes sharpened. “Unreliable?”
I watched him carefully.
“Do you think your books are reliable?”
He hesitated half a second too long.
“I think we’re a distressed company. That’s why we hired you.”
“We?”
“My family. The board. Whatever.”
“You told them I was your consultant?”
“I told them you were helping.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
He moved toward the kitchen and reached automatically for a glass. His hand found the same coffee mug I had moved from the vent. The teaspoon struck porcelain.
Tink.
He froze.
For reasons I couldn’t explain, I noticed that more than anything else.
Daniel set the mug down.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Why did that sound bother you?”
“It didn’t.”
“Daniel.”
He looked at me, and the fear I had seen on the porch returned.
“My mother used to do that,” he said finally. “Tap a spoon against her glass when Dad got angry. It meant shut up.”
The answer landed strangely.
“Why would she need a signal?”
“Because Dad could be difficult.”
“Financially difficult?”
Daniel’s expression closed.
I changed direction.
“What is Northlight Materials?”
He went still.
It was subtle. A tightening around the eyes. A shallow breath.
“Supplier.”
“Which job?”
“Several.”
“Name one.”
He couldn’t.
I opened the laptop.
He stepped forward. “Emily.”
I held up one hand.
“Don’t.”
On-screen, I brought up the payment log. His gaze moved to the line with my name.
He paled.
“You’ve seen this before,” I said.
“No.”
“That wasn’t surprise.”
“It was.”
“Daniel, someone used my name to approve a transfer before I was even married to you.”
He stared at the date.
“That’s impossible.”
“It happened eight weeks before the wedding.”
He leaned closer.
The payment was for $126,000.
Approval user: EHCALDWELL.
I had never used that login. In fact, I had never had a Caldwell system login at all.
Daniel whispered, “That username shouldn’t exist.”
“Who could create it?”
“Ryan. Marcus. Me. Maybe Mom if she still has Dad’s admin credentials.”
“You’re telling me your mother can access the accounting system?”
“She says she can’t.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
He dragged a chair out and sat.
For the first time since he arrived, he looked truly defeated.
Then my work email chimed.
A new message had been sent from my own corporate account.
To: Investment Committee.
Subject: Caldwell Approval Confirmation.
The body contained one sentence.
I have completed my review and recommend immediate release of funds Monday morning.
My skin went cold.
I hadn’t sent it.
Daniel looked from the message to me.
“Emily,” he said, “someone is trying to make it look like you already approved the deal.”
Then another message arrived.
This one contained an attachment.
May you like
A scanned copy of the signature page.
My signature was on it.
