Samuel did not answer immediately when I said the name Daniel Cross.
That pause told me more than denial would have.
I was sitting in my car outside Mom’s house with the engine off.
Rainwater from the previous night still clung to the windshield.
“Samuel?”
“Where did you hear that name?”
“My mother.”
A longer silence.
“She was not supposed to tell you.”
“So she was telling the truth.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to.”
I looked toward the house.
Mom’s curtains were closed.
“Who is he?”
Samuel exhaled slowly.
“This is not a conversation I want to have over the phone.”
“I’m coming back.”
“Margaret—”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
I hung up.
It took twelve.
Samuel was standing near the reception desk when I arrived.
He led me into his office and closed the door personally.
No assistant.
No receptionist.
No interruptions.
He poured water into a glass.
I didn’t touch it.
“Daniel Cross.”
Samuel sat.
“Your father hoped that name would never become necessary.”
“Mom said Dad paid a large amount of money so I would never find out something.”
Samuel looked troubled.
“She shouldn’t have phrased it that way.”
“Then phrase it correctly.”
He took off his glasses.
“When you were twenty-three, were you living near campus?”
“Yes.”
“Working at a restaurant at night?”
“Yes.”
“Driving a blue Honda?”
I stared.
“How do you know that?”
“Your father told me.”
“What does that have to do with Daniel Cross?”
Samuel folded his hands.
“Do you remember a night when your car was struck in the parking lot outside your apartment?”
I searched my memory.
Then I did.
Not clearly at first.
A broken tail light.
A dented bumper.
A note beneath my windshield wiper with no phone number.
“I remember somebody hitting the car.”
“You reported it?”
“No. The damage wasn’t worth the insurance deductible.”
“Do you remember anything else unusual that week?”
I thought.
Graduate school.
Late shifts.
Instant noodles.
A professor who hated my thesis proposal.
Then something surfaced.
A man standing across the street.
“What?”
Samuel leaned forward.
“There was a guy.”
“What guy?”
“I don’t know.”
I closed my eyes.
“Maybe I saw him twice.”
“Describe him.”
“I can’t.”
The memory was almost nothing.
A dark jacket.
A baseball cap.
Someone near a parked car.
I had assumed he lived nearby.
“Was that Daniel?”
Samuel nodded.
Cold crept along my arms.
“Why was he watching me?”
“He was hired.”
“By whom?”
“Your father.”
That answer knocked the air from me.
“What?”
“Daniel Cross was a private investigator.”
I stared at Samuel.
“Dad hired someone to follow me?”
“To protect you.”
“From what?”
Samuel’s face tightened.
“Your brother.”
I laughed once because the alternative was screaming.
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“Margaret—”
“My brother was twenty-seven. He was married.”
“I know.”
“He wasn’t dangerous.”
Samuel looked at me.
That look silenced me.
“What did he do?”
“Your brother owed money.”
“He always owed money.”
“This was different.”
I remembered Dad paying debts.
Business failures.
Tax problems.
“How different?”
“He had borrowed from people your father considered dangerous.”
My stomach turned.
“For business?”
“At first.”
“What does that mean?”
Samuel opened a locked cabinet.
He removed a thin file.
Not thick like the estate documents.
Thin enough to frighten me more.
“Your brother was gambling.”
I stared.
“No.”
“Sports betting initially. Later private card games.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Your parents were trying to contain it.”
“Mom knew?”
“Yes.”
“Sarah?”
“No.”
I stood and walked toward the window.
My brother had always been careless with money.
That was the family story.
Bad business sense.
Too trusting.
Too ambitious.
Nobody ever said gambling.
“What does this have to do with me?”
Samuel opened the file.
“Your brother used your name.”
I turned.
“What?”
“He told one creditor he had access to funds through you.”
“I had no money.”
“You were listed as beneficiary on an investment account established by your grandfather.”
I stared.
“I didn’t know Grandpa left me an account.”
“You weren’t supposed to control it until thirty.”
“How much?”
Samuel gave me a number.
I gripped the window ledge.
“That was mine?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to it?”
“Your brother attempted to pledge an anticipated distribution as collateral.”
I laughed again.
This time there was no humor in it.
“How do you pledge someone else’s money?”
“You cannot legally do what he attempted.”
“But he tried.”
“Yes.”
“And the creditor?”
“Learned where you lived.”
My chest tightened.
“The man across the street.”
“One of Daniel’s surveillance reports notes two individuals watching your apartment. Neither was Daniel.”
I sat again.
The room felt too warm.
“Dad hired him because people were watching me.”
“Yes.”
“Did my brother know?”
“Eventually.”
“What happened?”
“Your father paid the debt.”
There it was.
The large payment Mom mentioned.
“He paid them off.”
Samuel nodded.
“And then?”
“He moved your grandfather’s account into a protected trust.”
I looked down at my hands.
“For me.”
“Yes.”
“Because my brother used my name.”
“That was the beginning.”
The phrase bothered me.
“What was the rest?”
“Your father became concerned that family money created risks you were never told about.”
“Because everyone kept taking it.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t Dad tell me?”
“He was ashamed.”
“Of my brother?”
“Of himself.”
I looked up.
“For what?”
“He believed he had created the pattern by rescuing your brother repeatedly.”
That sounded exactly like the regret in Dad’s letter.
“Mom said Dad paid to make sure I never found out.”
“He paid the debt to remove the threat.”
“And then hid everything from me.”
“Yes.”
“That part wasn’t protection.”
Samuel nodded slowly.
“I agree.”
I looked at the file.
“Can I see it?”
He hesitated.
“Am I legally entitled?”
“It concerns you.”
“Then yes.”
He pushed it across the desk.
Daniel Cross’s reports were clipped together.
Dates.
Times.
Descriptions of vehicles.
Photographs.
One showed my old apartment building.
Another showed my blue Honda.
Then I saw myself.
Twenty-three years old.
Hair tied back.
Backpack over one shoulder.
Carrying grocery bags.
I stared at the picture.
I remembered that evening.
I had bought rice, coffee, eggs, and the cheapest frozen vegetables in the store because I was nearly broke.
While I counted coins for groceries, men I had never met were apparently waiting to see whether my brother could use me to pay his debt.
I turned the page.
A vehicle registered to one of the creditors followed me from work.
Daniel followed them.
The next report said Dad had met with an attorney.
Then with the creditor.
Then with my brother.
I turned another page.
There was a copy of a cashier’s check.
The amount was enormous.
“Dad paid all of that?”
“Yes.”
“Where did the money come from?”
Samuel hesitated again.
“What?”
“Not from any account in the notebook.”
“How?”
“He sold property.”
“What property?”
“A parcel outside the city.”
I knew the land.
Dad used to take me there when I was a child.
Twenty acres with a small pond.
He always said he might build a cabin one day.
“He sold Grandpa’s land?”
“Yes.”
I stared at the check.
“To save my brother.”
“To protect you.”
Those were not the same thing.
I understood why Samuel chose the second.
Dad probably had too.
“Did my brother ever repay him?”
“No.”
“Did Dad ask?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Your brother promised many times.”
I closed the file.
“He never told me any of this.”
“No.”
My phone buzzed.
My brother.
I let it ring.
It stopped.
Then rang again.
Samuel looked at the screen.
“You don’t have to answer.”
“I know.”
That was exactly why I did.
“Hello?”
His voice was tight.
“Where are you?”
“Why?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Then talk.”
“Not on the phone.”
I looked at Samuel.
“About Daniel Cross?”
Silence.
My brother’s breathing changed.
“Who told you?”
“Mom.”
He cursed under his breath.
“So you knew.”
“I knew some of it.”
“How much?”
“Margaret, please. Not over the phone.”
“Did you use my name to borrow money?”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Did you tell people they could be paid from an account belonging to me?”
“I was desperate.”
I closed my eyes.
Samuel was watching quietly.
“Did you know those people followed me?”
A long pause.
“Yes.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“When?”
“After Dad found out.”
“And you never told me.”
“He handled it.”
“That seems to be everyone’s favorite phrase.”
“Margaret—”
“Dad sold Grandpa’s land to pay your debt.”
“I know.”
“And you let me spend fifteen years thinking he sold it because he didn’t want it anymore.”
“I didn’t know what to say.”
“The truth?”
He was silent.
I asked, “Are you gambling now?”
“No.”
I waited.
“No,” he repeated.
“Do you owe anyone money?”
“No.”
“Then why does Dad’s notebook show a payment from eight months ago to a company called Northbridge Holdings?”
Silence.
Samuel immediately leaned forward.
I opened the notebook.
The entry had bothered me earlier because it had no explanation.
NORTHBRIDGE — 125,000.
Beside it Dad had drawn a question mark.
My brother whispered, “Where did you see that?”
“In Dad’s notes.”
“Margaret, listen to me.”
Samuel held out his hand.
I put the call on speaker.
My brother continued.
“Do not call Northbridge.”
“Why?”
“They’re not who you think.”
“I don’t know who I think they are.”
“Just leave it alone.”
Samuel wrote the company name on a legal pad.
I asked, “Was the payment for you?”
My brother didn’t answer.
“Was it?”
“Yes.”
“For gambling?”
“No.”
“What, then?”
He breathed heavily.
“For a loan.”
“What loan?”
“I was trying to buy into a development project.”
“Dad gave you $125,000?”
“He didn’t give it.”
“Then what?”
“I took it.”
The room disappeared around me.
Samuel stopped writing.
“You took money from Dad?”
“I intended to replace it.”
“How?”
“When the project closed.”
“Did it?”
“No.”
I pressed my fingers to my forehead.
“Did Dad know?”
“He found out.”
“When?”
“About three months before he died.”
That explained more notebook entries.
Meeting with Thomas.
Account irregularity confirmed.
Change locks.
Call Sam.
My brother’s name was Thomas.
“You stole from him.”
“I borrowed.”
“Without permission.”
“I was going to pay it back.”
“From a deal that failed.”
“Margaret, I made a mistake.”
“A mistake is sending money to the wrong account. You took $125,000.”
Samuel quietly wrote something else.
My brother’s voice dropped.
“Dad said he would fix it.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“You had three months to ask.”
“He stopped talking to me about money.”
“Did Mom know?”
Silence.
“Thomas.”
“Yes.”
Of course she did.
“Did she help you?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly.
Too quickly.
Samuel noticed.
I did too.
“Did she know before Dad?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said she knew.”
“After.”
“Are you sure?”
He exhaled.
“I have to go.”
“No.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Margaret, there are things you shouldn’t dig into.”
I felt suddenly cold.
“Are you threatening me?”
“No.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying Dad was trying to protect all of us.”
“From Northbridge?”
Silence again.
Then my brother whispered, “From what Mom did after she found out I’d taken the money.”
The line disconnected.
I stared at the phone.
Samuel reached for his desk phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“My investigator.”
“You have an investigator?”
“I’m a trusts and estates lawyer who knew your father for thirty years.”
He began dialing.
“I learned to be prepared.”
I looked again at the notebook.
Northbridge Holdings.
One hundred twenty-five thousand dollars.
A question mark.
Then, two pages later, a note Dad had underlined twice.
HELEN MOVED FUNDS WITHOUT AUTHORIZATION.
I had assumed the sentence referred to the old transfers.
Now I wasn’t sure.
And for the first time, I wondered whether the money my mother gave my siblings had been only the beginning of what Dad discovered.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: My Brother Finally Admitted Why Dad Changed the Locks, and His Confession Pointed Directly Back to My Mother’s Secret Account
The Morning My Family Divided My Father’s Life, Everyone Seemed to Know What I Would Receive Except Me
Part 6 of 20
