Chapter 3 - THE ACCOUNT THAT DIDN'T EXIST
The next morning, I drove to a secure meeting with my former military intelligence contact, Daniel Brooks.
Daniel had spent twenty years working with financial crimes and military investigations.
If I needed someone to trace money without asking unnecessary questions, he was the man.
He looked at the folder.
"You've been busy."
"Six months."
"You found shell companies."
"Three."
He flipped through the documents.
"Lark Consulting. Northbridge Interiors. Meridian Wellness."
"All connected."
"How?"
"Different owners on paper."
He looked at me.
"And in reality?"
"Same banking address."
Daniel smiled faintly.
"That's sloppy."
"Unless they thought nobody would look."
He continued reading.
Then stopped.
"Michael."
"What?"
"These payments aren't the interesting part."
"What is?"
He pointed to a bank number.
"The receiving account."
I frowned.
"That's my mother's."
"No."
He turned the paper around.
"Look again."
I stared.
The account belonged to an entity called M.C. Family Holdings.
"What's that?"
"That's the problem."
"Why?"
"It doesn't officially exist."
I leaned forward.
Daniel explained that the company had been registered under an address that had been demolished twelve years earlier.
The registration documents contained a signature.
My father's.
But the signature had been made two years after his death.
I felt the room become colder.
"That's impossible."
"Exactly."
I stared at the page.
Someone had been using my dead father's identity.
"Can you trace the account?"
"Yes."
"Do it."
Daniel nodded.
Then he looked at me.
"There's something else."
He placed another document on the table.
A wire transfer.
Date: eight years ago.
The night my father died.
Amount:
$1,200,000.
Sender:
Carter Industrial Systems.
Recipient:
M.C. Family Holdings.
I stared.
"Who authorized it?"
Daniel pointed to the signature.
My mother's.
Margaret Carter.
I leaned back.
For years, I'd believed my mother was controlling.
Difficult.
Possessive.
But not criminal.
Now I wasn't sure what she was.
"Find out where the money went."
Daniel nodded.
"Already did."
He slid another page toward me.
The money had been transferred into a private investment account.
Then split into four payments.
One went to Lucas.
One went to Lawrence Reed, the company's chief financial officer.
One went to a politician.
The final payment went somewhere else.
Unknown offshore beneficiary.
I looked up.
"Who owns it?"
"That's what we're trying to determine."
My phone rang.
Elena.
I answered immediately.
"Are you okay?"
Her voice was frightened.
"Michael, someone is outside."
I stood.
"Where?"
"The hotel."
I grabbed my keys.
"Lock the door."
"I already did."
"Don't open it."
"Michael..."
"I'm coming."
Daniel stood.
"I'll drive."
We reached the hotel in twelve minutes.
A black SUV was parked across the street.
No plates.
Daniel looked at me.
"That's not random."
We entered through the back.
Elena was waiting.
I checked the room.
Nothing.
Then I saw something beneath the door.
An envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
My father.
Standing beside a man I recognized.
Lawrence Reed.
The CFO.
On the back, someone had written:
YOUR FAMILY DIDN'T KILL YOUR FATHER FOR MONEY.
A second line appeared underneath.
THEY KILLED HIM TO KEEP A SECRET.
I looked at Daniel.
"What secret?"
May you like
He shook his head.
"That's what we're going to find."
