Chapter 7 - The Westlake AccountI had never heard the name Westlake.
Yet apparently it had been sitting at the center of my family's finances for years.
Martin wouldn't discuss it at the bank.
We returned to his office.
He locked the door.
Then pulled a file from a cabinet.
“Westlake was a private investment account your grandmother opened decades ago.”
“How much?”
“The balance fluctuated.”
“How much now?”
He hesitated.
“Enough to make sixty thousand dollars irrelevant.”
My mouth went dry.
“What are we talking about?”
“Seven figures.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Your grandmother's money wasn't simply sitting there. It was invested through multiple entities.”
“Why didn't I know?”
“Because your father never told you.”
“Did Jesse know?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“Then why use my name?”
Martin opened another document.
“Because your father's business problems were tied to the account.”
“Explain.”
“Money moved from Jesse's companies into entities controlled by your father.”
“Why?”
“To make those entities appear profitable.”
I leaned forward.
“And then?”
“Loans were taken against those inflated valuations.”
I felt sick.
“So the landscaping business borrowed money based on fake numbers.”
“Essentially.”
“And my name was used to guarantee it.”
“Yes.”
“Then why ask me for sixty thousand now?”
“Because the lenders are finally demanding repayment.”
I stared at the file.
“And Westlake?”
Martin turned another page.
“The investments were used as hidden collateral.”
I felt a cold pressure behind my ribs.
“If my father touched Grandma's account…”
“He did.”
“How much?”
“Not enough to collapse it.”
“Yet.”
Martin nodded.
“You see the problem.”
I did.
If the family had been moving money around for years, then the sixty-thousand-dollar request could be just the beginning.
I left his office with copies of everything I was legally allowed to have.
Outside, my phone rang.
Jesse.
I almost didn't answer.
I did.
“What?”
His voice was quiet.
“Dad told me you went to see Martin.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I like knowing why strangers are asking me for sixty thousand dollars.”
He exhaled.
“Hannah, I didn't know.”
I said nothing.
“I swear.”
“You signed documents.”
“I signed what Dad put in front of me.”
“You're telling me you never knew my name was on them?”
“No.”
Silence.
Then he said:
“There's something else.”
I sat in my car.
“What?”
“I found a box.”
“What box?”
“In Dad's office.”
“What was in it?”
“Your stuff.”
I frowned.
“My stuff?”
“Old letters. Your college papers. A photo of you.”
“That doesn't prove anything.”
“There was also something from the bank.”
“What?”
“A loan application.”
I gripped the steering wheel.
“Your signature?”
“No.”
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“Send me a picture.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad caught me.”
My stomach dropped.
“What happened?”
“He took the box.”
“Where are you now?”
“Home.”
“Is he there?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
Then Jesse lowered his voice.
“Hannah, there's a camera in my office.”
“What?”
“I saw it last night.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
“Who installed it?”
“I don't know.”
My phone crackled.
Then I heard something.
A door closing.
Jesse breathed sharply.
“Someone just walked in.”
“Jesse?”
No answer.
“Jesse?”
I heard a man's voice in the background.
Then the call ended.
I sat frozen.
Two seconds later, my phone buzzed.
A text from Jesse.
Don't come here.
Then another.
Dad knows everything.
May you like
And finally:
He knows about Westlake.
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