Chapter 3 - THE DEBT THAT NEVER ENDED
Aaron had been a careful man.
He wasn't particularly good with paperwork, but he understood machines.
He understood engines.
He understood how much a shrimp boat could earn in a good season and how much fuel it consumed when the weather turned.
He'd borrowed eighty thousand dollars.
A difficult amount, but manageable.
Then came a storm.
The boat was damaged.
The insurer paid part of the claim directly to the lender under the policy's loss-payee provision.
Aaron believed the money would reduce the outstanding debt.
Instead, the balance increased.
First to ninety-six thousand.
Then one hundred and twelve.
Then one hundred and thirty-eight.
Every time he asked for an explanation, Hion Ridge sent another statement.
Fees.
Adjustments.
Accrued charges.
He could never reconcile the numbers.
Delphine remembered the last argument.
Aaron had spread the statements across their kitchen table.
“Look at this,” he'd said.
She'd leaned over his shoulder.
“What?”
“The insurance payment.”
He pointed to the figure.
“They counted it as a charge.”
Delphine frowned.
“Could it be a mistake?”
Aaron shook his head.
“I asked three times.”
“Then get a lawyer.”
He laughed without humor.
“With what money?”
Two weeks later, he began unloading cargo at night.
He said he needed the extra hours.
Delphine believed him.
Then he began coming home frightened.
Once, he found a black sedan parked across from their house.
He watched it for twenty minutes.
When Delphine asked what was wrong, he said nothing.
Now, years later, she wondered whether Aaron had discovered more than a bad loan.
At the Ferraro estate, Elias was dealing with his own financial questions.
His chief accountant, Bernard Sloane, had identified unexplained transfers from a holding company that controlled several port-adjacent warehouses.
The money had moved through a series of consulting entities.
One of them was Hion Ridge Partners.
Elias stared at the report.
“Who approved these?”
Bernard adjusted his glasses.
“That's what we're trying to determine.”
“Was my signature used?”
“Yes.”
Elias looked up.
“Did I sign them?”
Bernard hesitated.
“We haven't confirmed that.”
Elias leaned back.
For years, he'd maintained a simple rule.
Nobody moved money without his knowledge.
Someone had broken it.
And the more he looked, the more he suspected the problem was closer to home than he wanted to admit.
That night, Camille joined him for dinner.
She was cheerful.
Affectionate.
She spoke about flowers and guest seating.
Then she asked whether he had signed the updated estate-management documents.
Elias set down his fork.
“Which documents?”
“The ones Malcolm sent.”
“Malcolm?”
“Malcolm Voss. My attorney.”
Elias looked at her.
“I thought your attorney was Rachel Devereaux.”
Camille smiled.
“Rachel handles the gallery. Malcolm handles the complicated things.”
Elias watched her.
“What complicated things?”
Camille reached for her wine.
“Marriage, darling.”
He said nothing.
But when she left the room, he called Otis.
“Find out everything you can about Malcolm Voss.”
Otis paused.
“Is there a problem?”
May you like
Elias looked toward the doorway.
“I don't know yet.”
