Chapter 17 - The Man Who Toasted My Father
Arthur Bellamy called before I left the courthouse.
“Harper. Tough morning.”
I stood in the parking garage beside Evelyn’s car.
“You heard quickly.”
“People talk.”
He sounded almost paternal. It had always worked on me before.
Arthur had known my father professionally. He remembered stories I could no longer ask Dad to confirm. He had once told me I had inherited Daniel’s stubbornness, and I had treasured the compliment.
Now I heard something different in it.
A man identifying the part of me he might need to manage.
“I’m glad the residents have breathing room,” I said.
“Absolutely. Nobody wants unnecessary hardship.”
“What would necessary hardship look like?”
A pause.
Then a small laugh.
“You’ve had a difficult year. I won’t hold that against you.”
Evelyn watched my face.
Arthur continued.
“There’s a special committee session Thursday. We need to keep the park insulated from your personal litigation.”
“This concerns documents submitted in my company’s name.”
“All the more reason to let experienced people handle the optics.”
“Send me the agenda.”
“I’d prefer coffee first.”
“Send the agenda.”
I ended the call.
Evelyn raised an eyebrow.
“He wants to help.”
“Of course he does.”
At the office, Nolan and Priya had isolated the restored mailbox and preserved its contents.
The account had not merely received the forged declaration.
It had exchanged messages with a procurement consultant named Westbridge Municipal Services.
Westbridge had helped coordinate three subcontractor introductions during the park bidding process.
I knew the company.
Arthur had recommended it.
Nolan looked sick.
“I reviewed their proposals.”
“So did I.”
“They were competitive.”
“Then we find out whether the work was real.”
I ordered an independent review of the three subcontractors’ invoices, scopes, and ownership. Existing crews continued only on approved tasks already verified by our project managers.
We could not stop an entire public project because a name appeared in a box.
We could stop pretending that a polished proposal was proof of honest work.
By afternoon, the first discrepancy emerged.
A soil-testing invoice billed for forty-two boreholes.
Our site superintendent had witnessed twelve.
“Could the others have happened on a different day?” I asked.
Nolan shook his head.
“The equipment log doesn’t support it.”
“Find the raw reports.”
“Working on it.”
At six, my mother called.
We spoke every Sunday, and I had missed yesterday.
“I saw your name on the news.”
“I’m handling it.”
“That’s what you say when you don’t want me to worry.”
I sat alone in my office.
“What do you remember about Juniper House?”
Her silence lasted long enough to change the room.
“Why?”
“Dad’s name turned up in some old records.”
“Harper, let your lawyer look at them.”
“She is.”
“Then let her.”
I looked at the dark window.
“Mom.”
A breath caught on the line.
“Your father came home angry one night. Before the diagnosis. He said someone wanted his signature more than they wanted his building.”
“Who?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
“What happened to the records?”
“I thought he gave them to his accountant.”
“Thought?”
“He packed a case. Brown leather. The one with the broken handle.”
I remembered the case in his closet.
After the funeral, I had sorted his clothes. My mother had kept his watches and his wedding ring.
Trent had volunteered to take old office equipment to storage.
“Did Trent help clear the study?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
My mother’s voice dropped.
“Harper, what has that man done now?”
“I’m finding out.”
After we hung up, I opened the photograph Marcus had sent.
The handwritten warning sat beneath the list of principals.
Daniel will not approve this structure.
May you like
Below it, almost outside the frame, was a second line.
Arthur says the daughter eventually will.
