Chapter 6 - THE MAN WHO STOLE FROM THE SICK
The forensic accountant's name was Daniel Price.
He was forty-eight, cautious, and had spent twenty years investigating corporate fraud.
When he reviewed the files, his expression darkened.
“These aren't isolated transactions.”
I leaned forward.
“What are they?”
“A system.”
He turned his laptop toward me.
Fake consulting contracts.
Inflated vendor invoices.
Unauthorized transfers.
And funds diverted from employee healthcare reserves.
“How long?” I asked.
Daniel studied the dates.
“At least eight years.”
I felt sick.
Eight years.
During that time, Cole Industries had expanded rapidly.
I'd celebrated acquisitions.
Announced profits.
Accepted awards.
And trusted Victor Hale to manage the financial details.
“Could my father have known?” I asked.
Daniel hesitated.
“We need evidence before drawing conclusions.”
I nodded.
He was right.
But I couldn't stop thinking about the photograph.
My father.
Victor.
Andrew Bennett.
Standing together.
I confronted my father that evening.
He sat in his lakefront mansion, drinking whiskey beside a fireplace.
He looked annoyed when I entered.
“Ethan, you missed the board dinner.”
I placed the photograph on his desk.
“Do you remember Andrew Bennett?”
My father's expression changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
“An accountant.”
“He died.”
“I know.”
“Did you know he was investigating Victor?”
My father looked away.
“Ethan—”
“Answer me.”
He sighed.
“Yes.”
I felt cold.
“And?”
“He brought concerns to me.”
“What did you do?”
My father stared at the fire.
“I told Victor to review them.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You asked the man being investigated to investigate himself?”
My father flinched.
“I trusted him.”
I stared.
“So did I.”
He stood.
“Ethan, you don't understand the pressure of running an organization this size.”
I shook my head.
“I run it now.”
He looked at me.
“And you think that makes you immune to mistakes?”
“No.”
I swallowed.
“But it makes me responsible for fixing them.”
My father looked suddenly old.
“Victor told me Andrew was unstable.”
I stared.
“He said Andrew had falsified records and was trying to extort the company.”
“And you believed him?”
My father lowered his eyes.
“I wanted to.”
The words hit harder than a confession.
Because I understood them.
My father had seen evidence that threatened his empire.
And chosen the explanation that allowed him to keep sleeping at night.
I turned toward the door.
“Ethan.”
I stopped.
My father swallowed.
“Is Nora really that sick?”
I looked back.
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
“And the little girl?”
“Her daughter.”
He nodded slowly.
Then whispered:
“I never meant for this.”
I stared at him.
“You don't get to choose only the consequences you intended.”
I left.
The next morning, Victor Hale called me.
His voice was cheerful.
“Ethan! Congratulations again on the acquisition.”
I looked at the financial records spread across my desk.
“Thank you.”
“Your father tells me you've been asking questions.”
I went still.
“Does he?”
Victor laughed softly.
“Corporate curiosity is healthy. But some files are more complicated than they appear.”
I stared at the wall.
“I'm sure.”
His voice lowered.
“Be careful who you trust.”
I felt cold.
Then he added:
“Especially women who appear after fourteen years asking for help.”
The line went dead.
May you like
Victor knew about Nora.
And he knew I'd found her.
