“I confronted your father,” Nana said. “He denied stealing anything. For once, I believed him.”
My heart thudded.
If not Dad—
Then who?
Nana continued.
“I became suspicious of Margaret.”
My mother.
But another pause followed.
Longer this time.
“I was wrong about her too.”
I stopped breathing.
“Colleen, if this recording has reached you, do not trust the person who brings you the truth too easily.”
Grant.
I replayed the sentence.
Then again.
Nana continued.
“Your brother learned very young that honest people hesitate. Liars arrive prepared.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Grant had appeared at my door.
With documents.
With answers.
With exactly enough truth to stop me asking who assembled it.
I called an attorney.
Then a forensic accountant.
Forty-eight hours later, we knew.
Hawthorne Consulting belonged to Grant.
Not directly.
Through two shell companies and an LLC registered under his wife’s maiden name.
For eleven years, Grant had siphoned money from the family agency.
Small amounts first.
Then larger ones.
When Dad noticed cash-flow problems, Grant blamed market losses and bad investments.
When the business needed loans, Grant prepared the paperwork.
When the forged share transfer became an obstacle, Grant forged my signature.
Mom knew the transfer was questionable.
