Chapter 13: The Secret My Son Had Buried for Seven Years
“Your son.””
Margaret's two words seemed to drain all the air from the room.
Liam stood beside the dining table, staring at my phone.
“That's impossible,” he repeated.
“I was never involved in anything Richard did before I married Harper.””
I wanted to believe him.
God knew I wanted to.
But the photograph lying between us showed Richard and Michael Reeves standing outside my house on the afternoon of David's funeral. And Margaret had just told me that the first payment connected to their arrangement came from an account belonging to Liam.
“Margaret,” I said, keeping my eyes on my son, “I need to see those records.””
“You'll receive copies as soon as the investigator releases them. He's requested a formal meeting with Liam.””
Liam immediately shook his head.
“I have nothing to hide.””
“Then cooperate,” Margaret replied.
After the call ended, I placed my phone on the table.
“Liam, sit down.””
He remained standing.
“Mom, I swear I don't know what they're talking about.””
“Then help me understand.””
He pulled out a chair and sat.
I placed the photograph in front of him.
“Have you ever seen this?””
He examined it.
“No.””
“Have you ever met Michael Reeves?””
He hesitated.
That hesitation frightened me more than his denial.
“Liam?””
He rubbed his forehead.
“Yes. Once.””
“When?””
“About seven years ago.””
I felt my heart sink.
“Where?””
“Richard introduced us at a restaurant.””
I stared at him.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because it wasn't important.””
“Apparently, it was important enough for someone to use your bank account.””
He looked down.
I waited.
Finally, he began speaking.
“I was twenty-seven. I had just started working at the dealership. Richard said he knew someone who could help me invest some money. He told me Michael had experience with commercial properties.””
“What kind of investment?””
“A small property development. I didn't understand much about it. Richard said I could put in some savings and earn a return.””
“How much?””
“Eight thousand dollars.””
I sat back.
“Eight thousand?””
He nodded.
“Dad had recently helped me open a separate investment account. I used some of that money.””
I closed my eyes.
David had been proud when Liam started saving.
He had spent an entire weekend teaching him how interest worked, explaining investments, and warning him never to put money into something he couldn't understand.
And now Liam was telling me he had ignored every lesson.
“What happened to the eight thousand?””
“Richard said the project had been delayed. Then he told me the money was being transferred into another investment.””
“Did you receive any paperwork?””
“One statement.””
“Where is it?””
“I don't know. It was years ago.””
I leaned forward.
“Liam, did you know Richard had been speaking to your father?””
He looked startled.
“What?””
“Did you know Dad had refused to participate in the same business?””
“No.””
I believed that answer more than the others.
But I wasn't ready to forgive him.
“Why did the account remain open?””
“Because I forgot about it.””
“Then why is it connected to the recent transfer?””
He stared at the table.
“I don't know.””
I stood.
“Find out.””
That afternoon, Liam searched through his old emails and financial records.
I watched him from the doorway of David's study.
At one point, he called his former bank.
Then he called the brokerage company.
Finally, he found an old email from Richard.
It contained a spreadsheet showing several deposits.
Liam's eight thousand dollars appeared on the list.
So did another payment.
A transfer of $12,000 made from an account he didn't recognize.
The recipient was Northbridge Holdings.
Liam frowned.
“Mom, I didn't make this second payment.””
“Then whose account was it?””
He opened the attached statement.
The account holder's name was visible.
David Powell.
I felt my knees weaken.
“That can't be right.””
Liam turned toward me.
“Dad never told me he invested in this.””
I took the page.
The transfer had been made two months before David's confrontation with Richard.
But the account number didn't match any account I recognized.
I immediately called Margaret.
She asked me to send the document.
Within minutes, she called back.
“Eleanor, don't panic. This appears to be a reference to an account associated with an old joint investment. It doesn't establish that David authorized the payment.””
“Can you trace it?””
“We'll request the original banking records.””
I sat down.
For the first time, I wondered whether Richard had been using our family's information long before the current scheme.
The following morning, Margaret arranged a meeting with Michael Reeves.
He arrived at her office accompanied by his attorney.
He was a thin man in his late fifties, with silver hair and a nervous habit of adjusting his cuffs.
He looked at me when he entered.
“Mrs. Powell, I'm sorry.””
I didn't shake his hand.
“Why was your photograph taken outside my house on the day of my husband's funeral?””
Michael lowered his eyes.
“Richard wanted to know whether David had left any documents behind.””
My stomach tightened.
“What documents?””
“Financial records. He believed David had kept copies of their earlier transactions.””
I stared at him.
“Richard came to my house while my husband was being buried?””
Michael nodded.
“He wanted to speak to Liam.””
I turned toward my son.
Liam looked horrified.
“I wasn't there,” he whispered.
Michael shook his head.
“No. You weren't.””
“Then why is my account involved?””
Michael opened his briefcase.
“Because Richard used the original investment account as part of a larger financial arrangement. He told me your father had agreed to support the project.””
“That's a lie,” Liam said.
“I know that now.””
Michael removed several bank statements.
He explained that Richard had been collecting money from different people, promising returns from commercial property transactions that were either incomplete or never properly funded.
Some money had been transferred between related companies.
Some had been used to pay earlier investors.
And some had disappeared into accounts controlled by Richard.
I listened in disbelief.
“Why did you participate?””
Michael looked ashamed.
“Because I was being paid to arrange the transactions. I didn't ask enough questions.””
Margaret interrupted.
“Mr. Reeves, are you prepared to provide the original records to investigators?””
“Yes.””
“Are you prepared to explain the role of every account listed here?””
“Yes.””
Michael then removed one final document.
It was a letter addressed to David.
I recognized the handwriting.
Richard's.
The letter was dated six years earlier.
It read:
David, I understand your concerns, but the opportunity is too large to walk away from. Liam has already shown interest. We can make sure he benefits without exposing the family to unnecessary risk.
I felt sick.
David had received this letter.
He had known Richard was involving Liam.
But the letter continued.
If you refuse, I will find another way to secure the family property.
I looked at Margaret.
“Is this the threat?””
She nodded slowly.
“It appears to be.””
Michael placed the letter down.
“There is something else. Richard kept a copy of David's response.””
He reached into his briefcase and removed a second page.
My husband had written only three sentences.
Do not contact my son again about your business.
Do not use our property or our names.
If you continue, I will report everything.
I pressed my lips together.
David had tried to stop him.
And now, years later, I was finally seeing how far Richard had gone.
Michael stood.
“I'll provide everything I have.””
After he left, Liam remained seated.
He looked at me with tears in his eyes.
“Mom, I never knew Dad was protecting me.””
I picked up David's letter.
“He was trying to protect all of us.””
Liam covered his face.
I wanted to comfort him.
But I couldn't.
Not yet.
Because as Margaret gathered the documents, she noticed something written in the corner of the old letter.
A small handwritten notation.
*Original files transferred to E.P. – December 12.*
Margaret looked at me.
“Eleanor, do you recognize these initials?””
I stared at the page.
E.P.
My initials.
But I had never received any files from David.
Then I remembered something.
On December 12, seven years earlier, David had asked me to put a small package somewhere safe.
He said it was important.
I had placed it in the locked cabinet in his study.
And I had completely forgotten about it.
May you like
I looked at Margaret.
“I think I know where the original files are.””
