Chapter 14 - The Ledger)
Shannon opened the attachment.
Robert protested.
She opened it anyway.
The document contained eighty-seven pages.
Columns.
Dates.
Property names.
Transfers.
Initials.
Nothing immediately dramatic.
At first glance, it looked like old business accounting.
Then Shannon noticed handwritten notes along the scanned margins.
Caroline's handwriting.
She recognized it from old birthday cards.
Several transactions were circled.
Beside one:
NO AUTHORIZATION.
Beside another:
R.M. SAYS TEMPORARY.
Shannon stopped.
R.M.
Robert Mercer.
She looked at her father.
He went pale.
"What is this?"
"I don't know."
"Those are your initials."
"I can see that."
"Did you work with Coronado?"
"Not officially."
"Unofficially?"
Robert sat down.
"My father asked me to help with some paperwork."
"Money?"
"Sometimes."
Shannon scrolled.
Another note.
E.M. TRANSFER CONFIRMED.
Elaine Mercer.
Shannon felt cold.
"Mom too?"
Robert stared at the document.
"I need to see the dates."
They reviewed several pages.
The transactions were more than twenty years old.
Some occurred when Shannon was a child.
Others before Fiona was born.
Large sums moved between property entities.
Nothing proved theft.
But Caroline clearly believed the accounting was wrong.
"How much are we talking about?" Shannon asked.
Robert shook his head.
"I'd need time."
Shannon used a calculator.
The circled transfers alone exceeded six hundred thousand dollars in historical amounts.
Her mouth went dry.
Robert stood.
"I'm calling your mother."
Before he could, the doorbell rang.
Elaine.
She entered quickly.
Then stopped when she saw the ledger open on Shannon's laptop.
"Who sent that?"
"We don't know," Shannon said.
Elaine looked at Robert.
He looked back.
Shannon closed the laptop halfway.
"Talk."
Elaine sat.
For once, there was no argument.
No accusation that Shannon was dramatic.
No reminder about family.
Only exhaustion.
"Coronado Development belonged to your grandfather and two partners," Elaine began.
Shannon waited.
"Your aunt Caroline handled records. Your father occasionally helped. I did some administrative work when you girls were little."
"Did money disappear?"
Elaine closed her eyes.
"Caroline believed so."
"Did it?"
"We never proved it."
"Who did she suspect?"
Elaine looked at Robert.
He said:
"Tell her."
Elaine whispered:
"Your grandfather."
Shannon blinked.
"My grandfather?"
"And possibly one of the partners."
"What does that have to do with you and Dad?"
"We moved funds because he instructed us to."
Robert interrupted.
"We didn't know what Caroline thought was happening."
Elaine nodded.
"When she confronted the family, everything exploded."
"Did she go to police?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Your grandfather was already ill. Caroline was diagnosed not long after. She decided to preserve records instead."
"Where?"
"Different places."
Shannon looked at the email.
"Who has the unlocked ledger?"
"I don't know."
"Fiona?"
Elaine shook her head.
"I don't think so."
"Then who sent it?"
No one answered.
Shannon looked at the old transfers again.
"Why was Caroline scared?"
Elaine's face changed.
"Because someone entered her apartment."
Shannon stared.
"What?"
"Nothing was stolen that she could prove. But files had been moved."
"When?"
"About two months before her diagnosis."
"Who knew about the records?"
"Too many people."
Shannon sat back.
For years, her family had reduced Caroline to a warm memory.
An aunt who bought art supplies.
An aunt who left money.
An aunt who died too young.
Now another version emerged.
A woman tracking financial irregularities.
A woman hiding records.
A woman afraid someone was searching her apartment.
Shannon thought about Fiona's warning.
Ask Mom why Aunt Caroline was scared before she died.
"How did Fiona learn this?"
Elaine swallowed.
"She found one of Caroline's notebooks."
"When?"
"About six months ago."
Shannon's head snapped up.
"While living here?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
Elaine looked toward Shannon's office.
"She said it was inside a box Dad brought over."
Shannon turned to Robert.
He frowned.
"I brought family records when you said you were organizing documents."
That had been nearly a year earlier.
Shannon remembered.
Three banker boxes.
She had scanned photographs and tax records.
She hadn't checked every notebook.
"Fiona found it first," Shannon said.
Elaine nodded.
"What was in it?"
"I only saw a few pages."
"Why didn't she tell me?"
"She thought the notebook proved Caroline wanted assets protected for descendants."
Shannon laughed in disbelief.
"So we're back to my house."
"Partly."
"How?"
"Caroline wrote repeatedly about property staying with the next generation."
"That could mean anything."
"I know."
"But Fiona decided it meant her children."
"Yes."
"And you agreed."
Elaine looked ashamed.
"For a while."
Shannon walked toward the window.
Every thread seemed to lead back to the same problem.
People reading Caroline's intentions through whatever they wanted.
Fiona wanted security.
Elaine wanted to erase guilt.
Robert wanted peace.
Shannon wanted independence.
Caroline wasn't alive to correct any of them.
Shannon turned.
"Where is the notebook now?"
Elaine looked confused.
"Fiona has it."
Shannon took out her phone.
She called.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
She texted:
I need Aunt Caroline's notebook.
Three minutes passed.
Then Fiona responded.
I don't have it.
Shannon typed:
Mom says you do.
The typing indicator appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally:
Not anymore.
Shannon's heart beat faster.
Who has it?
No response.
She called.
Voicemail.
Robert paced.
Elaine looked terrified.
Then Fiona finally texted.
I gave it back to the person it belonged to.
Shannon read the sentence aloud.
Elaine whispered:
"Caroline is dead."
Shannon typed:
Who?
No answer.
Another email arrived from the unknown sender.
This one contained no attachment.
Only a sentence.
The beneficiary deed was never about inheritance.
Shannon stared.
Robert leaned over her shoulder.
Elaine covered her mouth.
A second sentence appeared below.
Check what was submitted on April 18.
Shannon opened her calendar.
April 18 had been a Thursday.
She had been in Phoenix all day for a client presentation.
Fiona had known.
The children had stayed with Elaine after school.
Fiona had been alone in Shannon's house for nearly nine hours.
Shannon searched the title-service receipts.
One was dated April 18.
Robert whispered:
"Call your attorney."
Shannon already was.
That evening, she received the first concrete answer.
The April 18 document was not the beneficiary deed.
It was a request for a certified property packet.
Deed history.
Tax information.
Ownership verification.
Mortgage-related public information.
All involving Shannon's house.
Someone had assembled a package that could be used to demonstrate the property's ownership and approximate equity.
But the request itself wasn't illegal.
The question was why Fiona needed it.
And why, months later, an unknown person wanted Shannon to know.
At 10:47 p.m., Fiona finally called.
Shannon answered immediately.
"Where's the notebook?"
"Safe."
"With who?"
"I can't tell you."
"You can."
"No."
"Fiona, stop playing games."
"I'm not."
"Then explain April eighteenth."
Silence.
Shannon tightened her grip on the phone.
"What did you need the property packet for?"
Fiona whispered:
"I made a mistake."
"What mistake?"
"I thought someone was helping me."
"Who?"
"They knew about Caroline."
Shannon's pulse jumped.
"Who?"
"They knew things Mom never told me."
"Fiona."
"They told me the house was connected."
"Connected to what?"
"Coronado."
Shannon looked at her parents.
"What does my house have to do with a company that disappeared decades ago?"
Fiona began crying.
"I don't know anymore."
"Who were you talking to?"
"I can't do this over the phone."
"Then come here."
"No."
"Why?"
A long silence.
Then Fiona said:
May you like
"Because they know where you live."
The call ended.
