Chapter 3 - THE MISSING LEDGER
The reception was beautiful, though the atmosphere was undeniably tense.
Richard didn't return. Blair had vanished with him. The guests whispered in hushed tones, but they were respectful enough to celebrate Sophie and Daniel’s joy.
I sat at the head table, the seat Richard was supposed to occupy remaining conspicuously empty beside me. I watched my daughter dance with her new husband, a profound sense of pride swelling in my chest.
She had stood up for me. She had defended my mother’s memory.
“You raised a fierce one, Diane,” a deep voice said beside me.
I turned. Arthur, Richard’s long-time business partner, was standing there holding a glass of scotch. He looked grim.
“Thank you, Arthur,” I said softly.
Arthur pulled out Richard’s empty chair and sat down. He didn't look at me. He stared straight ahead at the dance floor.
“I didn't know about Blair, Diane. I swear it on my life,” Arthur murmured, his voice tight. “Richard kept his personal life entirely separate from the firm.”
“I believe you, Arthur,” I said. And I did. Arthur was a quiet, principled man who had often buffered Richard’s more aggressive business tactics.
“But I did know about the money,” Arthur confessed quietly.
I turned to him, my stomach dropping. “What money?”
“The money he pulled out of the company six months ago,” Arthur said, swirling his scotch. “He told me he was moving it into a blind trust for Sophie’s future. It was a massive sum. Almost two million dollars.”
“Two million?” I gasped. “Arthur, Richard told me the business was struggling! That’s why I let him sell my mother’s house!”
Arthur looked at me, a profound sadness in his eyes. “The business had its best quarter in five years, Diane. Richard liquidated his shares and drained the company’s cash reserves. He’s been planning an exit.”
I felt dizzy. “An exit? With Blair?”
“No,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “With something else. Last week, I caught him shredded documents in his office. He missed one page. It was a wire transfer confirmation to an offshore account in the Cayman Islands. The account wasn't in his name, or Blair’s.”
“Whose name was it in?”
“It was under a corporate shell name,” Arthur explained. “But the authorized signatory was someone I never expected.”
Arthur reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He slid it across the white linen tablecloth toward me.
“I brought this tonight to show you,” Arthur said. “I was waiting for the right moment. I guess there isn't one.”
I unfolded the paper. It was a copy of the wire transfer receipt.
I looked at the signature line.
My breath caught in my throat.
The authorized signatory wasn't Richard. It wasn't Blair.
It was my mother’s name.
Eleanor Hastings.
“He opened the account in my mother’s name?” I asked, completely bewildered. “Why?”
“Because your mother’s estate hasn't gone through probate yet,” Arthur said grimly. “He’s hiding stolen company funds in a dead woman’s name. And as her executor, Diane, he’s tying the embezzlement directly to you.”
My blood ran cold. If the authorities found that money, it would look like my mother and I had stolen it, not Richard. He was setting me up to take the fall for his theft.
“I have to stop him,” I said, standing up from the table.
“You can't,” Arthur warned, standing with me. “He has the original ledger. Without it, you can't prove he authorized the transfers. It’s your word against a dead woman’s bank account.”
“Where is the ledger?” I demanded.
“He keeps it in a black leather briefcase,” Arthur said. “He never lets it out of his sight.”
I looked toward the side doors of the ballroom, where Richard had disappeared during the ceremony.
“He left during the vows,” I said, my heart racing. “He went up to the hotel suite.”
I didn't wait for Arthur. I grabbed my purse and sprinted out of the ballroom, ignoring the confused looks of the guests.
I reached the elevators and jammed the button for the penthouse floor.
When the doors opened, I ran down the quiet, carpeted hallway toward the suite Richard and I were supposed to share tonight.
I swiped my keycard. The light flashed green.
I pushed the door open.
The suite was dark, save for the city lights pouring through the windows.
But it wasn't empty.
Richard was standing by the bed, frantically packing a suitcase. And sitting on the bed, open and exposed, was the black leather briefcase.
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“Going somewhere, Richard?” I asked, flipping on the overhead lights.
TITLE: THE BRIEFCASE ON THE BED
