Chapter 5 - Michael Trent
Michael Trent was alive.
Rebecca found him in Wisconsin.
He was living with his sister near Lake Geneva under circumstances that made Claire’s fear much worse.
Michael refused phone calls.
He refused email.
He agreed to meet Claire only after Rebecca sent him a photograph of Daniel.
They met Thursday morning at a roadside diner.
Michael looked twenty years older than Claire remembered.
His hands shook.
He sat facing the entrance.
When Claire approached, he stood.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
“You asked to meet.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Did Daniel drug you?”
Michael’s face answered before his mouth did.
Claire sat down.
Michael remained standing.
Finally he joined her.
“I found the accounts,” he whispered.
“Lakepoint?”
His eyes widened.
“You know?”
“Some.”
“There are more.”
“How many?”
“Seven.”
Claire felt sick.
“How much?”
“Twenty-three million.”
She stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
“No. That’s what Daniel wants everyone to think.”
Michael pulled a folded sheet of paper from his jacket.
Numbers covered it.
Dates.
Accounts.
Transfers.
“Your husband has been moving money through vendor contracts for years.”
“Peter approved some.”
Michael laughed bitterly.
“Peter approved all of it.”
Claire’s stomach dropped.
“My uncle?”
“Daniel isn’t running this alone.”
“Who is?”
Michael looked toward the door.
“Your father discovered it.”
Claire stopped breathing.
“My father died six years ago.”
“I know.”
“He had cancer.”
Michael stared at her.
“Did you ever see his original medical records?”
Claire couldn’t speak.
William Bell had deteriorated rapidly.
Four months from diagnosis to funeral.
Daniel had managed everything.
Doctors.
Medication.
Hospice.
Claire had been devastated.
She had trusted him.
Michael pushed the paper toward her.
“Your father hired me privately three weeks before he died.”
“To do what?”
“Trace missing money.”
Claire’s eyes burned.
“He knew?”
“He knew enough to be afraid.”
“Of Daniel?”
Michael looked down.
“Of Peter.”
The diner suddenly seemed too loud.
Claire remembered her uncle standing beside her father’s coffin.
Peter holding her hand.
Peter telling her Daniel would take care of her.
“What happened to the investigation?”
“Your father died.”
“And you?”
“I kept looking.”
Michael touched the scar above his eyebrow.
“Then Daniel invited me for a drink.”
Claire stared at him.
“What did he give you?”
“I don’t know. I remember half a glass of bourbon.”
His voice cracked.
“Then I woke up in a hospital.”
“Why didn’t you go to the police?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“Daniel showed them messages supposedly written by me saying I wanted to kill myself.”
Michael looked directly at Claire.
“I never wrote them.”
Claire thought about Friday.
The restaurant.
The insurance policy.
The incapacitation clause.
“What does Daniel want me to sign?”
Michael’s face changed.
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
He leaned closer.
“He needs your shares.”
“Why now?”
“Because Mercer-Bell is being audited.”
Claire’s heartbeat quickened.
“When?”
“Monday.”
Four days away.
Michael whispered:
“If auditors find what I found, Daniel and Peter lose everything.”
Claire finally understood.
May you like
Friday wasn’t a reconciliation lunch.
It was a deadline.
