Chapter 3 - The Mother Who Controlled the House
Marlene had always treated wealth as a form of morality.
People with money were disciplined, respectable and deserving. People without it had made poor choices. She spoke this way even though nearly every luxury she enjoyed had been funded by Bryce or Sloane.
When Sloane confronted her about the investment account, Marlene did not deny it.
They were sitting in the mansion’s sunroom, surrounded by flowers selected by Marlene and furniture purchased by Sloane.
Marlene stirred her tea.
“Bryce manages several investments for me.”
“Nearly two hundred thousand dollars passed through false vendors before reaching your account.”
“That sounds like a question for the company.”
“It is a question for you.”
“I did not ask where the money originated.”
“You received it.”
“Bryce told me it was a return on an investment.”
“What investment?”
“A hospitality fund.”
“Name it.”
Marlene placed her spoon beside the cup.
“I do not memorize the names of every financial vehicle.”
Sloane almost admired the answer. Marlene had transformed ignorance into dignity.
“Did you know Gavin was blamed for those transfers?”
“I knew the evidence pointed to him.”
“The transfers originated from Bryce’s office.”
“Then perhaps Gavin used Bryce’s computer.”
“The security records show Gavin was in another city.”
Marlene’s calm expression flickered.
“Bryce would never steal from you.”
“Why?”
“Because he loves you.”
“Love is not an audit.”
Marlene leaned back.
“You have allowed your brother to divide your marriage.”
“Gavin did not send money to your account.”
“You are obsessed with details and blind to loyalty. Bryce stood beside you when your grandmother died. He helped stabilize the company. He protected you from people who wanted to exploit your grief.”
Sloane remembered those months.
Her grandmother, Evelyn Whitmore, had built the company from a small preservation firm into a national development business. Her death had left Sloane with a corporation, a mansion and thousands of decisions she did not feel ready to make.
Bryce had attended every meeting.
He had answered calls late at night.
He had persuaded lenders to remain patient.
He had also gained control of the company’s finances.
Sloane had called it support.
Now she wondered whether he had called it opportunity.
“Did Bryce ask you to move into this house?” Sloane asked.
Marlene’s eyes narrowed.
“You invited me.”
“After he said you were frightened to live alone.”
“My neighborhood had experienced several burglaries.”
“There were no burglaries reported within three miles of your townhouse.”
Marlene looked toward the garden.
“Are you investigating me now?”
“I am investigating anyone connected to stolen money.”
Marlene stood.
“You should remember that marriage is not a courtroom.”
“No. In a courtroom, witnesses must answer questions.”
Marlene left without touching her tea.
That evening, Sloane found Gavin in the mansion’s old library. He had covered a table with vendor registrations, transaction records and printed emails.
“You should not have access to company files,” she said.
“I saved copies before Bryce suspended me.”
“That could create legal problems.”
“So could letting him take your house.”
Sloane closed the library door.
“You knew Marlene received the money.”
“I suspected it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I did not have proof, and every time I accused Bryce, you defended him.”
The words hurt because they were true.
Sloane sat across from him.
“I should have taken your report seriously.”
“Yes.”
“I should have demanded an independent investigation.”
“Yes.”
“I am sorry.”
Gavin looked down at the papers.
“I don’t need an apology yet.”
“What do you need?”
“I need you to believe evidence even when it says something you do not want to hear.”
Sloane nodded.
“Show me what you found.”
Gavin placed three vendor registration forms side by side.
“The fake companies use different addresses, but all three were created from the same online filing service.”
“That is not unusual.”
“The same credit card paid the registration fees.”
“Whose card?”
“I couldn’t identify it, but the last four digits match a card used to reserve a suite at the Ashcroft Hotel.”
Sloane recognized the name.
Whitmore Heritage owned the Ashcroft.
“Who stayed in the suite?”
“The reservation was made under a private guest profile. I asked a former employee to check the access log.”
He slid a photograph across the table.
It showed Bryce entering the hotel elevator with a woman.
Emilia Rowe.
The photograph had been taken eight months earlier.
Sloane stared at Bryce’s hand resting against Emilia’s lower back.
The gesture was intimate.
There was no plausible business explanation for it.
“How long have you had this?”
“Two weeks.”
“You should have shown me.”
“I tried. Bryce told security I was unstable after losing my job. They refused to let me into your office.”
Sloane remembered the day. Bryce had said Gavin arrived shouting and threatening employees.
“Were you shouting?”
“Yes.”
“Were you threatening anyone?”
“I said I would expose what Bryce had done.”
Sloane studied the photograph again.
“Do you know whether she is pregnant?”
“No.”
“She doesn’t appear pregnant here.”
“It was eight months ago.”
A heavy silence filled the library.
Gavin reached beneath the papers and removed a small flash drive.
“This contains copies of the vendor files and access logs. Keep it somewhere Bryce cannot reach.”
Sloane accepted it.
“Why not give it to Adrian?”
“Because I don’t know who Adrian reports to.”
“I hired him.”
“Bryce hired the first investigator too.”
Sloane understood the warning. She did not like it, but she understood.
Her phone rang.
Bryce’s name appeared on the screen.
She answered.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“In the library.”
“With Gavin?”
“Yes.”
A pause followed.
“We have guests arriving tomorrow evening. I need him to remain upstairs during dinner.”
“Why?”
“Several board members will attend. His presence could create discomfort.”
“He is part of this family.”
“He is accused of stealing from them.”
“He has not been charged.”
“Sloane, this dinner is important.”
“So is my brother.”
Bryce’s voice cooled.
“You are making a mistake.”
“So are you.”
She ended the call.
Gavin watched her.
“That is the first time I’ve heard you speak to him like that.”
“It is the first time I realized how often he expects to be obeyed.”
Sloane hid the flash drive inside a secret compartment in her grandmother’s old writing desk. Evelyn had shown it to her when she was twelve, explaining that every grand house needed at least one place its owners could keep the truth.
The next morning, the compartment was empty.
The flash drive was gone.
May you like
In its place was a folded note.
Stop digging, or Gavin will lose more than his reputation.
