Chapter 13 - MALCOLM'S LAST GAME
Grace received Adrian’s call at 11:47.
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
“You're the one he named.”
“That doesn't mean I know.”
“I’m not accusing you.”
Grace exhaled.
“Good.”
“Where are you?”
“At work.”
“Stay there.”
“Why?”
“Malcolm may contact you.”
“Why would he?”
“I don't know.”
A pause.
“Grace.”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
She almost made a joke.
Instead she said, “You too.”
The email from Malcolm contained no body text.
Only the subject.
ASK GRACE WHY.
Investigators examined the laptop.
The assistant claimed Malcolm told her to deliver it only if he disappeared.
Adrian believed half of that story at best.
By afternoon federal investigators returned to Grace's apartment.
They asked about Daniel's letter.
The storage unit.
Payroll records.
Her contact with former employees.
Then one question changed everything.
“Ms. Miller, did you know Daniel Price before working at Whitmore House?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
The investigator placed a photograph on the table.
Grace stared.
Daniel Price stood outside a hospital.
Beside him was Grace's mother.
Taken five years earlier.
Grace's breath stopped.
“Where did you get this?”
“Daniel’s cloud archive.”
“I've never seen it.”
“That woman is your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Margaret Miller?”
“Yes.”
“Then apparently Daniel knew her.”
Grace sat slowly.
Impossible.
Her mother had never mentioned him.
The investigator continued.
“Daniel paid several of her medical bills.”
Grace looked up sharply.
“What?”
“We found transfers.”
“No.”
“Approximately forty-two thousand dollars over eighteen months.”
Grace shook her head.
“My mother had assistance.”
“From Daniel Price.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“Did your mother work for Whitmore Global?”
“No.”
“Whitmore House?”
“No.”
Grace stared at the photograph.
Then remembered something.
Her mother had worked evenings when Grace was young.
Different houses.
Cleaning.
Temporary jobs.
Agencies.
Grace had never known every employer.
“She cleaned houses.”
The investigator leaned forward.
“Which houses?”
“I don't know.”
“Could she have worked at Whitmore House?”
Grace's mouth went dry.
“I don't know.”
An hour later Adrian arrived.
This time Grace let him in without argument.
He saw the photograph.
His face changed.
“I remember her.”
Grace stood.
“What?”
Adrian picked it up.
“Not well.”
“You knew my mother?”
“I saw her.”
“Where?”
“My father's house.”
Grace stared.
Adrian sat.
“Before Whitmore House was renovated, my father kept a smaller property in Greenwich.”
“When?”
“About fifteen years ago.”
“My mother worked there?”
“I think so.”
Grace felt dizzy.
“You never told me.”
“I didn't recognize the name.”
“Margaret Miller.”
“I knew dozens of household workers by first names only.”
Grace laughed bitterly.
“Of course you did.”
He accepted the blow.
“What did Daniel have to do with her?”
“I don't know.”
Adrian called an old household accountant.
The answer arrived before sunset.
Margaret Miller had worked for Adrian's father.
Not as a maid.
As a bookkeeper.
Grace stared at the phone.
“My mother hated numbers.”
The accountant corrected him.
Margaret had begun as a cleaner.
Then discovered irregularities in household expenses.
Adrian's father noticed her skill and moved her into bookkeeping.
Years later, after Adrian inherited management of the estate, Margaret left due to illness.
Daniel Price had helped her obtain medical support quietly.
“Why quietly?” Grace asked.
The accountant hesitated.
“Because Mr. Whitmore refused the request.”
Adrian went still.
Grace turned.
“You?”
Adrian frowned.
“I don't remember.”
The accountant explained.
Daniel had submitted an emergency assistance request for a former household employee.
Adrian rejected it.
Policy did not cover former staff.
Grace felt every muscle tighten.
Adrian looked sick.
“How much was requested?”
“Twenty-five thousand initially.”
Grace stood.
“My mother nearly lost our apartment over twenty-five thousand dollars.”
Adrian whispered, “Grace.”
“You rejected it.”
“I didn't know who—”
“You didn't care who.”
Silence.
It was the cruelest thing she had said to him.
It was also true.
Adrian stared at the floor.
Daniel had apparently paid the bills himself after Adrian rejected assistance.
Grace looked at the photograph again.
“Why would Malcolm tell you to ask me?”
Adrian slowly lifted his head.
“Because he knew this would hurt.”
“No.”
Grace thought.
“Malcolm doesn't do anything just to hurt.”
“What do you mean?”
“He uses pressure.”
She remembered Lydia's files.
Family vulnerabilities.
Debt.
Children.
Illness.
Malcolm had trained Lydia.
Or Lydia had learned from Malcolm.
“He wanted you to distrust me.”
Adrian nodded.
“Why?”
“Because of the records.”
“No.”
Grace paced.
“Those already exist.”
Then she stopped.
“My mother found something.”
Adrian went still.
“What?”
“If she worked as a bookkeeper and Daniel helped her—”
Grace grabbed an old storage box from the closet.
“What are you doing?”
“After Mom died, I kept everything.”
Receipts.
Letters.
Tax returns.
Photographs.
Hospital paperwork.
At the bottom was a small notebook.
Grace opened it.
Numbers.
Vendor names.
Dates.
Her mother had filled pages.
Adrian leaned closer.
“These are Whitmore vendors.”
Grace turned pages.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Northstar Facilities LLC.
Adrian's face changed.
“What?”
“Northstar received several of the fraudulent transfers.”
Grace stared.
The notebook was dated five years earlier.
Long before Lydia's documented theft.
Long before Grace worked at the estate.
Adrian whispered, “This started years ago.”
Grace continued turning pages.
Then a folded note fell out.
Three sentences in Margaret Miller's handwriting.
Daniel believes M.R. is involved.
If anything happens to me, give this to Adrian.
Tell him the first theft began with his father.
Adrian stared.
“My father?”
Grace looked up.
A knock exploded against the apartment door.
Both jumped.
“Police!” a voice shouted. “Open the door!”
Adrian opened it.
Two investigators entered.
“We found Malcolm Reed.”
Grace's heart stopped.
“Where?”
“An abandoned private airfield outside Danbury.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
Adrian exhaled.
The investigator's expression remained grim.
“But he wasn't alone.”
“Who was with him?”
The answer stunned both of them.
“Your father’s former attorney.”
Adrian froze.
“My father has been dead nine years.”
The investigator nodded.
“Which is why you need to hear what Malcolm is saying.”
“What?”
The man looked directly at Adrian.
“He says the fraud didn't begin with him.”
May you like
A pause.
“He says he inherited it from your father.”
