Chapter 9 - Mom's CompanyI drove straight to the sheriff's office.
Daniel met me at the entrance.
He looked serious.
"You said my mother founded the company."
"According to the filing."
"Show me."
We entered the same conference room.
Daniel opened a file.
The company had indeed been registered ten years earlier.
Original manager:
Linda Whitman.
My mother.
Original registered agent:
Rachel Whitman.
Me.
I stared at my name.
"When was this filed?"
"Ten years ago."
"I was twenty-six."
"Yes."
"I didn't know about it."
Daniel nodded.
"That's what we believe."
I looked closer.
There was something else.
The company's first bank account was opened one week after registration.
The opening deposit was $300,000.
"Where did this money come from?"
"We're tracing it."
"Could it be Dad's money?"
"Possibly."
"But his company was still operating."
"Which is why it gets more interesting."
Daniel slid over another document.
A wire transfer from my father's construction business.
$300,000.
To the new company.
Two days before the account was opened.
I stared at the page.
"My parents moved money out of the business."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"That's what we're trying to determine."
I remembered Dad's construction company.
The collapse.
The debts.
The bankruptcy.
I had always believed the business failed because of the recession and bad contracts.
But now I wondered.
"What if the company didn't fail?"
Daniel looked at me.
"What do you mean?"
"What if they moved the money somewhere else?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he pulled another file.
"There's more."
The new company had purchased several properties over the next few years.
Residential lots.
Commercial buildings.
A warehouse.
And one property that made my blood run cold.
My parents' house.
"Wait."
I looked at the deed.
The house had not originally belonged to my parents.
It had belonged to a holding company.
That company transferred ownership to Mom.
Then Mom transferred it to Dad.
Then Dad placed a mortgage on it.
"Why all the transfers?"
"Asset protection."
"From whom?"
"Creditors."
I stared at him.
Then I realized.
"The house was never really the problem."
Daniel nodded.
"The house may be the least valuable part of this."
He pushed another document toward me.
A property portfolio.
Estimated value:
$6.8 million.
My mouth opened.
"Whose?"
"According to the filings?"
I looked at the legal owner.
Rachel Whitman.
I felt sick.
"No."
Daniel said nothing.
"I don't own six million dollars of property."
"Legally, you may."
"Then why have I never seen any of it?"
"Because the ownership records were kept hidden."
I leaned back.
"How many properties?"
"Seven."
"Who manages them?"
"A property management company."
"Which one?"
Daniel handed me another sheet.
I read the name.
Whitman Asset Management.
My stomach dropped.
I knew that name.
It was on the top of the envelopes my mother received every month.
I always thought it was one of Dad's old companies.
Then Daniel asked:
"Have you ever signed anything for your mother?"
"Not knowingly."
"Think carefully."
I remembered dozens of occasions.
Tax documents placed in front of me.
"Sign here."
Insurance renewals.
"Sign this."
Loan paperwork.
"Your father needs this."
I had signed things because I trusted them.
Maybe every signature mattered.
Daniel closed the file.
"There is one final issue."
"What?"
"Someone recently filed a petition in your name."
"For what?"
"Bankruptcy."
The room went silent.
Daniel looked at me.
"It was filed three days ago."
My heart stopped.
"That wasn't me."
"We know."
"Then why?"
May you like
He looked at the file.
"Because whoever filed it is trying to make you legally responsible for the debts before you discover the assets."
