Chapter 6 - THE PRICE OF A GOOD NAME
Cassian didn’t speak for nearly a minute.
Nobody rushed him.
I knew what it felt like to discover your father had lived a life you never saw.
Mine had hidden pain.
His might have hidden guilt.
Finally Cassian folded the copied page once.
“This proves nothing by itself.”
Vivian laughed bitterly.
“Interesting. You were very comfortable with evidence when it pointed at my father.”
He looked at her.
“I said it proves nothing by itself. I didn’t say I was ignoring it.”
He turned to me.
“I need access to Victor’s acquisition records.”
“Where?”
“My office.”
The Voss headquarters overlooked Boston Harbor from a glass tower that looked expensive enough to control the weather.
At three in the morning, Cassian took us through a private floor.
No entourage.
No armed performance.
Just him, me, Hayes, Vivian and Falk.
The records room held old corporate files his father refused to digitize.
Cassian found Bellweather within minutes.
The acquisition binder was thick.
Debt schedules.
Property appraisals.
Insurance reports.
Then a handwritten ledger page.
Victor Voss’s writing was sharp and narrow.
Cassian read silently.
His jaw tightened.
“What?”
He handed it to me.
BELLWEATHER ACQUISITION.
ASHCROFT LIABILITY RESERVE: 2.43M.
MARLOW CLAIM UNRESOLVED.
DO NOT DISTRIBUTE UNTIL RELEASE VERIFIED.
I read it twice.
“Your father knew the release might be fake.”
Cassian nodded.
“And he told them not to distribute my father’s money.”
“Yes.”
My anger shifted again.
It was exhausting.
“Then why did Dad never get paid?”
Cassian turned the page.
The next entry had been crossed out so violently the paper nearly tore.
RESERVE CLEARED — M.A.
Below it:
DISPUTE WITH MALCOLM.
Hayes whispered, “Victor found out.”
Vivian looked at Cassian.
“What happened between them?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you knew they hated each other.”
Cassian shut the binder.
“I knew they stopped doing business.”
“When?”
He checked the date.
“Two months after Bellweather.”
Hayes leaned back against the shelf.
“Thomas met Victor that summer.”
We all turned toward him.
Cassian’s eyes narrowed.
“You knew?”
“I drove Thomas here.”
“Why didn’t you say that before?”
“Because I never knew what they discussed.”
I stared at him.
“You have an answer for everything after somebody else finds the evidence.”
He flinched.
Good.
I loved Hayes in my own way.
But love didn’t erase anger.
“I deserve better than half-truths.”
“Yes.”
“Then start giving me whole ones.”
Hayes looked at the floor.
“Thomas came out of Victor’s office furious.”
“What did he say?”
“Only one sentence.”
“What?”
“‘He wants to fix the money and bury the crime.’”
Cassian’s face hardened.
“That sounds like my father.”
For the first time, there was no defense in his voice.
Victor Voss may not have stolen the settlement.
But perhaps he had offered money to keep everything quiet.
Cassian walked to the window.
“My father believed almost anything could be repaired with enough money.”
I folded my arms.
“Could he?”
“No.”
He turned.
“That’s why I’m not going to.”
Vivian looked confused.
“What does that mean?”
Cassian picked up his phone.
“I’m freezing every Bellweather-related transaction.”
She stared.
“You have a refinancing closing this week.”
“Yes.”
“For how much?”
“Thirty-eight million.”
Even Falk looked shocked.
Vivian said, “You cannot stop a thirty-eight-million-dollar closing because a maid found a page in a coat.”
Cassian’s eyes went cold.
“Elena’s job has nothing to do with the value of evidence.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
Vivian looked ashamed.
Cassian continued.
“I inherited a property my father may not have had clean title to. Until I know, nobody moves another dollar.”
“You’ll lose the lender.”
“Then I lose the lender.”
“And your board will come after you.”
“They can get in line.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
Then I remembered Dad.
Cassian opened another file.
Inside was a property appraisal taken three days after the Bellweather foreclosure.
Dozens of photographs showed the theater before renovations.
Backstage.
Offices.
Auditorium.
Cabinet 417 appeared in one photograph.
Closed.
But taped to its front was an envelope.
THOMAS MARLOW.
Hayes leaned close.
“That was the contract envelope.”
Cassian flipped to the next photo.
The cabinet was open.
Empty.
Date stamp: one day later.
Vivian’s mother had supposedly emptied it.
Except another image showed Evelyn outside the theater the same morning.
She was wearing the emerald coat from storage.
Beside her stood Victor Voss.
And Malcolm Ashcroft.
The three were arguing.
Between them was Thomas.
My father.
Cassian found the photographer’s notation.
11:42 A.M.
Then he turned the page.
A final photograph had been taken twenty minutes later.
Evelyn was gone.
Thomas was gone.
Malcolm was walking toward a waiting car.
Victor stood alone.
And in his hand was Dad’s contract envelope.
I stared.
“So Victor took it.”
Cassian nodded once.
Hayes whispered, “Thomas thought Evelyn had.”
“Maybe everyone did.”
Vivian pointed to the edge of the photograph.
“Wait.”
A second man stood inside the theater doorway.
Only half his face showed.
Hayes moved closer.
Then backed away.
“No.”
My pulse jumped.
“Who is it?”
He said nothing.
“Hayes.”
His mouth went dry.
Cassian looked at him.
“You know him.”
Hayes closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Bellweather’s security manager.”
“What was his name?”
“Dennis Cole.”
Vivian frowned.
“He died years ago.”
Hayes shook his head.
“No.”
“My father attended his funeral.”
“No, Vivian. Your father attended a memorial. Cole left Massachusetts.”
Cassian searched the binder.
One payroll sheet showed Dennis Cole receiving a large “severance bonus” from Ashcroft Hospitality.
Date:
The day after Thomas was accused of stealing the Weiss score.
Amount:
$75,000.
I looked at Hayes.
“Why was security paid seventy-five thousand dollars?”
Hayes’s hands began trembling.
“I don’t know.”
But this time nobody believed him.
Cassian stepped closer.
“Arthur.”
Hayes’s eyes filled.
“I never took Malcolm’s money.”
Nobody had accused him of taking money.
That was the problem.
I felt cold.
“What did you take?”
Hayes gripped his silver watch.
“My wife was sick.”
My anger disappeared into dread.
“What did you do?”
He looked at me.
“I made one terrible bargain.”
Before he could continue, Vivian pulled another payroll sheet from the binder.
Her breath caught.
There was a second payment.
Not to Dennis Cole.
To Arthur Hayes.
Eighteen thousand dollars.
Description:
MEDICAL ADVANCE — AUTHORIZED M. ASHCROFT.
Date:
Two days before the Weiss score was found in my father’s tool case.
I looked at the man who had given me a job.
The man who brought soup when Dad was in the hospital.
The man who nodded when I walked toward the piano tonight.
Hayes began to cry.
And suddenly I knew.
Not everything.
But enough.
“You were there,” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“When they framed my father.”
“Yes.”
His voice broke.
May you like
“And I helped them.”
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