Chapter 4 - What My Father Left BehindI spun around.
The storage corridor was empty.
“Hello?”
No answer.
I rushed to the roll-up door.
It opened halfway, then stopped.
Someone had wedged a metal bar underneath it.
My heart hammered.
I backed away.
Then I heard footsteps.
Fast.
Coming from the opposite side of the building.
I grabbed the briefcase and ran toward the emergency exit.
The footsteps followed me.
I shoved through the door.
Cold air hit my face.
A car engine roared somewhere behind me.
I didn't look back.
I got into my car, locked the doors, and drove away.
The briefcase sat on the passenger seat.
I didn't open it until I reached home.
Inside was a stack of documents wrapped in plastic.
The first document was a business agreement.
My father had owned a small construction company before he died.
I knew that.
What I didn't know was that he had also owned a second company.
A holding company.
And that company owned several pieces of commercial property.
Including a building in Newark.
The value was enormous.
Millions.
I kept reading.
Then I found a transfer agreement.
My father had intended to transfer his controlling interest to me.
Not my mother.
Not Vanessa.
Me.
Amanda Carter.
But the transfer had never been completed.
Instead, six months after his death, the shares were moved into a trust.
A trust controlled by...
Marlene Whitaker.
I felt sick.
Why would my father leave me something and then have my mother take control of it?
I flipped through more pages.
There were letters.
One was from my father to his attorney.
“My wife believes our daughter is too emotional to understand the business. She is wrong.”
Another said:
“If anything happens to me, Amanda must be protected from the family, not protected by them.”
Then I found the most disturbing document of all.
A handwritten ledger.
Amounts.
Dates.
Transfers.
Names.
Vanessa.
Paul.
Marlene.
And beside some of the entries were the words:
“personal reimbursement.”
I added the numbers.
Over the previous three years, more than $400,000 had been withdrawn from the company.
Not for business.
For family expenses.
Luxury vacations.
Credit card payments.
A new SUV.
Jewelry.
School tuition.
Then I reached the last page.
A transfer of $18,750.
That was almost exactly the amount my mother now accused me of stealing.
The money had never gone into my account.
It had gone to Vanessa.
I stared at the page.
This was why they needed me to look guilty.
Someone had stolen nearly nineteen thousand dollars from somewhere else.
And now they were trying to put the theft on me.
But why?
I called a former employee whose name appeared in the records.
He agreed to meet me.
We sat in a diner two towns over.
When I showed him the ledger, his face drained.
“You found it.”
“Found what?”
He looked around before speaking.
“Your father knew money was disappearing.”
“From the company?”
He nodded.
“He believed your mother and Vanessa were doing it.”
My mouth went dry.
“Then why didn't he stop them?”
“He tried.”
“What happened?”
The man leaned closer.
“He was going to remove your mother from the trust.”
My heartbeat skipped.
“When?”
“The week before he died.”
“What stopped him?”
The employee stared at me.
“Your father's car accident.”
My blood ran cold.
“Are you saying my father's accident wasn't an accident?”
He didn't answer.
Instead, he slid a piece of paper across the table.
A phone number.
“Your father gave this to me two days before he died.”
“What is it?”
He looked directly into my eyes.
“Someone who was in the car that night.”
I stared at the number.
May you like
Then the man whispered:
“He survived.”
