Chapter 2 - Seventeen Transfers
I did not confront Marcus that night.
That required more restraint than throwing keys into a storm drain.
He slept beside me while I stared at the ceiling and reviewed three years of statements on my tablet.
$8,400.
$12,700.
$19,900.
$31,000.
Always coded as household, medical, charity, or property expenses.
Most originated from the family account I funded.
Some were directly tied to Marcus’s credentials.
Some moved first through organizations Eleanor controlled.
The $180,000 jewelry transaction was only the largest.
At 2:10 a.m., my forensic accountant, Daniel Reyes, called.
“You awake?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Because I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I.”
“Some transfers are cleanly documented. Others aren’t.”
“How much is questionable?”
“Preliminary? Around three hundred fifty thousand. But don’t call all of it theft yet.”
“Why?”
“Some money may have funded actual expenses.”
Good.
Precision mattered.
I didn’t need inflated numbers.
I needed truth.
Daniel had worked with me for eight years.
He knew my business almost better than Marcus did.
“Who received the money?”
“Several places. Bellamy & Crane. A company called Westlake Events. A nonprofit linked to Eleanor. One personal account belonging to Ivan Markovic.”
There.
Ivan.
“How much went to him?”
“Directly? About seventy-two thousand. Indirectly, maybe more.”
“And Marcus?”
“That’s where it gets complicated.”
He sent me device logs.
Several approvals came from Marcus’s phone.
Could someone have used it?
Possible.
But timestamps aligned with moments he was awake, active, and responding to business messages.
Then Daniel said:
“One transaction was approved from his office computer.”
My chest tightened.
“So he knew.”
“Not necessarily what money was for. But he authorized movement.”
I looked at Marcus sleeping.
Five years of marriage.
Five years of “Mom needs help.”
“Mom’s committee is short this month.”
“Mom’s insurance premium increased.”
“Mom wants to host something for church.”
I funded it because arguing seemed uglier than paying.
Then I remembered something.
Three months earlier, Marcus asked me to increase household transfer limit.
“For Dad’s medical expenses,” he said.
Arthur had Medicare, supplemental coverage, and significant retirement assets.
Why had I not questioned it?
Because Marcus sounded offended when I did.
“Ximena, my father is seventy.”
He made skepticism sound cruel.
I believed him.
At breakfast, Marcus acted normal.
He kissed my forehead.
Asked about Chicago inventory.
Complained about traffic.
Then:
“Mom had a horrible night.”
I stirred coffee.
“I imagine.”
“She’s embarrassed.”
“By the attack?”
His eyes moved toward mine.
Tiny pause.
“Yes.”
Interesting.
“What did police say?”
“We haven’t called them.”
I looked up.
“If she was attacked, why not?”
Marcus put down fork.
“She doesn’t want publicity.”
“Wouldn’t a violent crime be worth reporting?”
“Ximena.”
That tone.
A warning disguised as patience.
“Mom is traumatized.”
I nodded.
“Of course.”
Then Eleanor entered.
Full makeup.
Pearls.
Cream trousers.
A woman recovering remarkably fast from alleged assault.
She barely looked at me.
Arthur came behind her.
He did not sit beside her.
He sat opposite.
Then he asked:
“Eleanor, what was the young man’s name?”
She froze.
“I told you. I don’t know.”
Arthur took one sip of coffee.
“The receipt said Ivan.”
Marcus’s fork stopped halfway to mouth.
I saw it.
Arthur saw it too.
“Do you know an Ivan?” Arthur asked him.
Marcus recovered.
“No.”
Too fast.
I said nothing.
After breakfast, Marcus followed me into hall.
“What did you tell Dad yesterday?”
“Exactly what happened.”
“And what happened?”
I turned.
“I found your mother’s SUV.”
His jaw tightened.
“That’s all?”
“Why?”
“No reason.”
There was fear there.
Not about his mother's marriage.
About what else I had seen.
Then he smiled and touched my arm.
“Just stay out of this, okay?”
My body went cold.
“Out of what?”
“Mom and Dad’s problems.”
I looked at his hand.
He removed it.
“Family issues get ugly.”
I smiled.
“Marcus, I am family.”
He said nothing.
That afternoon, Daniel sent me a photograph of a canceled cashier’s check.
Recipient:
Ivan Markovic.
Amount:
$46,000.
Memo:
Consulting.
Signature authorizing transfer:
May you like
Marcus Vance.
Cliffhanger: Marcus could no longer claim ignorance—but the next transaction led not to Ivan, but to Arthur’s own retirement account.
