Chapter 9 - Four Hundred Thousand Dollars
“Stop it.”
Martin spoke into the phone with the calmest voice in the room.
“Freeze the account. Yes, all outgoing transfers. Flag the destination. Send confirmation to me and to counsel.”
Dad paced.
“Who authorized it?”
Martin covered the receiver.
“We don’t know yet.”
I did.
“Veronica.”
Dad looked at me.
“Maybe.”
“No. She knows we found the box. She knows we’re here.”
Martin ended the call.
“The bank can hold the transfer for twenty-four hours.”
“Then what?”
“We file for emergency injunctive relief.”
Dad nodded.
“Do it.”
Martin hesitated.
“There’s another problem.”
“Of course there is.”
“The transfer request included a scanned beneficiary authorization.”
My stomach tightened.
“I didn’t sign anything.”
“I know.”
He rotated the laptop.
There it was.
My name.
Claire Bennett.
The signature looked frighteningly close to mine.
Dad stared at it.
“That’s forged.”
“Yes.”
“How did she get Claire’s signature?”
I knew.
“College forms.”
Both men looked at me.
Dad closed his eyes.
I could see him replaying every time he had told me Veronica was only trying to help.
His phone rang.
Madison.
He answered.
“Where are you?”
Her voice blasted through the speaker.
“Dad, Mom is losing it.”
“Where are you?”
“At Grandma’s. She left twenty minutes ago.”
“With what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Madison, think.”
“I am thinking!”
Her breathing was fast.
“She had a folder. And she kept saying you were trying to destroy her.”
Dad looked at Martin.
“Where did she go?”
Madison went quiet.
Then: “She asked me where Claire keeps her passport.”
My skin prickled.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you tell her?”
“No.”
I almost believed her.
Then she added, “But she already knew.”
Dad ended the call and immediately called home security.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
We drove back.
The front gate was open.
The side door had been forced.
My room had been torn apart.
Drawers emptied.
Mattress flipped.
Closet open.
Dad ran to the office safe.
My passport was gone.
So was my birth certificate.
But that was not what made me stop breathing.
On my pillow lay the blackened remains of the white Chanel bag.
May you like
And on top of it was a note.
You burned the wrong thing.
