Chapter 1: The Three Empty Chairs
My name is Paige Holloway, and the day I graduated from college, three empty chairs told me everything I had spent years refusing to understand.
My parents were not coming.
Neither was my brother.
The auditorium was packed with more than two thousand people.
Families carried balloons and flowers.
Mothers cried before the ceremony even started.
Fathers aimed cameras toward the stage.
Every few seconds, somebody shouted a graduate's name.
I sat in my cap and gown and kept staring toward the entrance.
Three seats waited beside Professor Hart's reserved section.
I had asked permission to save them.
One for Mom.
One for Dad.
One for Trevor.
Mom had promised to "see what she could do.""
Dad had warned me traffic might be bad.
Trevor hadn't answered my message.
I kept making excuses for them because that was what I had always done.
Maybe Mom couldn't find parking.
Maybe Dad's phone had died.
Maybe Trevor was already inside somewhere.
Five minutes before the ceremony began, someone touched my shoulder.
I turned.
Professor Evelyn Hart stood behind me holding a bouquet of yellow roses.
"Thought you could use these.""
For a second, I couldn't speak.
"You came?""
Her expression softened.
"Paige, of course I came.""
Professor Hart had driven nearly an hour.
My own family lived twenty-five minutes away.
That fact settled somewhere inside me and stayed there.
When my name was finally called, my legs shook.
"Paige Marie Holloway, Bachelor of Science in Accounting, magna cum laude.""
Applause filled the auditorium.
I crossed the stage.
Then one voice rose above everyone else.
"That's my student!""
Professor Hart was standing.
Cheering.
Proud.
I laughed through the tears burning my eyes.
The photographer snapped my picture.
For that one second, I pretended the applause belonged to me instead of listening for the three voices that weren't there.
After the ceremony, I sat outside with my diploma across my knees.
Families passed me carrying flowers.
Graduates posed between proud parents.
A father lifted his daughter off the ground.
A mother kept kissing her son's cheeks while he complained and laughed.
I looked at my phone.
Nothing.
No missed calls.
No apology.
No congratulations.
So I called Mom.
She answered immediately.
Music blasted through the speaker.
People were laughing.
Glasses clinked.
"Hi, sweetheart!""
I frowned.
"Where are you?""
"We're at Bellini's.""
My stomach tightened.
Bellini's was Trevor's favorite Italian restaurant.
"Why?""
Mom laughed like the answer should have been obvious.
"We're celebrating Trevor's promotion.""
Everything around me seemed to disappear.
"Mom.""
"What?""
"My graduation was today.""
There was silence.
Only for a second.
Then she gave an awkward little laugh.
"Oh, honey.""
That laugh hurt more than if she had simply forgotten.
"We honestly didn't think you'd finish.""
I stared at my diploma.
Magna cum laude.
Dean's list.
Scholarships.
Four years of exhaustion.
"What?""
"You've been in school forever.""
"I worked full-time for years before I could afford to start.""
"I know, but Trevor has always been more focused.""
I couldn't breathe for a moment.
Trevor had changed majors twice.
Dad had paid his tuition.
Dad had paid his rent.
Dad had bought him a car when he graduated.
When I told my parents I wanted to study accounting at twenty-four, Dad had said I was too old to "start pretending to be ambitious.""
I had paid for everything myself.
Mom continued talking.
"Don't make tonight uncomfortable, Paige. Trevor worked very hard for this promotion.""
I looked at the roses Professor Hart had given me.
"What promotion?""
"Regional sales manager.""
"He already told me.""
"Then you know how important it is.""
I swallowed.
"And graduating magna cum laude isn't important?""
Another pause.
Then I heard Trevor in the background.
"Is that Paige?""
Mom lowered her voice.
"Yes.""
He laughed.
Not cruelly.
Almost casually.
That somehow made it worse.
"Tell her we'll celebrate her thing another weekend.""
Her thing.
Four years.
Night classes.
Weekend shifts.
Frozen dinners at midnight.
Falling asleep over textbooks.
Working forty-five hours a week while carrying a full course load.
Her thing.
Something inside me went quiet.
"Don't bother.""
"Paige—"
I ended the call.
I expected to cry.
Instead, I sat there staring at my phone until a shadow fell across the pavement.
Professor Hart stood beside me.
"Bad call?""
I nodded.
She didn't ask for details.
She simply sat beside me.
For almost a minute, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, "There's something I was going to tell you Monday.""
I looked at her.
"What?""
"You remember the forensic accounting internship I recommended you for?""
My pulse changed.
Of course I remembered.
Hawthorne & Pierce was one of the most respected accounting firms in the state.
I had applied six months earlier.
Two interviews.
One assessment.
Then silence.
I had assumed they'd chosen someone younger.
Professor Hart smiled.
"They called me yesterday.""
I stared at her.
"They want you.""
"What?""
"Not as an intern.""
I stopped breathing.
"They're offering you a junior forensic accountant position.""
I blinked.
"Full-time?""
"Full-time.""
I looked at the diploma on my lap.
"Why didn't they call me?""
"They will Monday morning. The managing partner asked me to keep quiet until they finalized the paperwork.""
My hand flew to my mouth.
Professor Hart squeezed my shoulder.
"Congratulations, Paige.""
This time, when I cried, it wasn't because of my family.
Three weeks later, I started at Hawthorne & Pierce.
Forensic accounting sounded glamorous when people described it at parties.
In reality, it meant spreadsheets, bank records, expense reports, tax filings, invoices, and learning how people tried to hide money when they thought nobody was looking.
I loved it.
Numbers didn't lie.
People did.
Numbers simply waited for someone patient enough to notice.
My supervisor was a woman named Naomi Reed.
She was forty-three, sharp-eyed, calm, and impossible to fool.
On my first morning, she handed me a stack of files.
"Everyone thinks fraud looks complicated," she said.
"It doesn't?""
"Usually it looks boring.""
She tapped the files.
"That's why people miss it.""
I thought about that sentence often.
Especially three months later, when Dad called me for the first time since graduation.
"Paige.""
His voice sounded unusually friendly.
"Hi, Dad.""
"How's the accounting job?""
Interesting.
He had never asked before.
"Good.""
"Your mother says you're doing well.""
Mom hadn't called either.
"I'm doing fine.""
He cleared his throat.
"Listen, there's something I need your help with.""
Of course there was.
Dad owned Holloway Home Supply, a regional building-materials company my grandfather had started forty years earlier.
Trevor worked there.
Dad had always assumed Trevor would eventually run it.
I had been told repeatedly that the business wasn't "my world.""
"What do you need?""
"We're having a small issue with the books.""
My body went still.
"What kind of issue?""
"Probably nothing. Our accountant noticed some discrepancies.""
"How much?""
Dad hesitated.
"About eighty thousand dollars.""
That was not a small issue.
"Call your CPA.""
"We did.""
"And?""
Another hesitation.
"He recommended an outside review.""
I leaned back in my chair.
"So hire one.""
"We were hoping you'd look first.""
We.
The same people who hadn't believed I would finish college now wanted the degree they had mocked.
"I can't privately audit a family business, Dad. That's a conflict.""
"You don't need to audit anything. Just come by Sunday and look at a few statements.""
I almost said no.
Then he added something that changed everything.
"Trevor thinks it's probably a software problem.""
I stared at the wall.
"Trevor handles the accounts?""
"Some of them.""
My stomach tightened.
"Which accounts?""
Dad sounded irritated.
"Paige, are you coming Sunday or not?""
I should have refused.
Instead, I said, "I'll look.""
Sunday afternoon, I walked into the house where I had grown up.
Mom hugged me as if graduation had never happened.
Dad patted my shoulder.
Trevor barely looked up from his phone.
"Accountant finally made it.""
I ignored him.
Dad spread documents across the dining table.
Bank statements.
Vendor invoices.
Payroll reports.
I began reading.
At first, nothing looked unusual.
Then I found a payment.
$9,840.
Vendor: TMG Consulting.
I turned the page.
Another.
$7,250.
Then another.
$11,400.
"Who's TMG Consulting?""
Trevor's phone stopped moving.
Dad frowned.
"I don't know.""
I looked at Trevor.
His face had changed.
Only slightly.
But I had spent three months learning to notice small changes.
"Trevor?""
He shrugged.
"Probably one of our subcontractors.""
"Doing what?""
"How would I know?""
I looked down.
Every payment had been authorized electronically.
Same user.
THolloway.
My brother.
Mom stepped closer.
"Paige, don't start accusing Trevor.""
"I didn't.""
"You looked at him.""
I almost laughed.
Apparently even looking at Trevor required permission.
I returned to the records.
There were fourteen payments.
Total: $86,370.
All approved by Trevor.
Dad's face slowly lost its color.
"That can't be right.""
Trevor stood.
"This is ridiculous.""
I looked at him.
"Then tell me what TMG Consulting does.""
He didn't answer.
"Trevor?""
He shoved his chair backward.
"I don't have to explain company business to someone who's been here twenty minutes.""
Dad stared at him.
"Actually, you do.""
The room went silent.
Trevor looked at Dad.
Then at me.
And for the first time in my entire life, my brother looked afraid of something I knew.
I closed the folder.
"This isn't a software problem.""
Mom whispered, "What are you saying?""
I looked directly at Trevor.
"I'm saying someone moved eighty-six thousand dollars out of Dad's company.""
Trevor's jaw tightened.
"And whoever did it used his login.""
Dad slowly turned toward his son.
"Trevor?""
My brother didn't answer.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from Naomi.
I glanced at it.
Need you Monday morning. New client. Major internal fraud case. Family-owned construction supplier.
I read the sentence twice.
Then I looked at the Holloway Home Supply logo printed across the documents in front of me.
My blood went cold.
Because Dad hadn't told me everything.
May you like
Someone had already hired my firm.
And suddenly I understood why.
