Chapter 8 - Alder RowBy the end of the week, Owen had mapped nearly every dollar.
Alder Row had received $612,400 from Grant Medical Properties.
Of that:
$180,000 had moved to Camille’s design company.
$94,000 went to Derek’s brokerage account.
$63,000 paid Derek’s personal credit-card balances.
$41,500 covered a lease on a furnished apartment Allison had never heard of.
The rest had been shifted among accounts, withdrawn, or used for expenses Owen was still identifying.
Allison stared at the spreadsheet.
“The apartment.”
Owen nodded.
“Bethesda.”
Camille looked away.
Allison noticed.
“You’ve been there.”
Camille’s silence answered.
“How many times?”
“Allison…”
“How many?”
“A lot.”
The affair had a place.
A door.
A kitchen.
A bed.
Monthly rent paid partly with money stolen from Allison’s company.
She stood and walked to the window.
Below, employees crossed the Grant Medical Properties parking lot unaware that the CFO had been stealing from them while sleeping with the managing member’s sister.
Camille said, “I’ll repay everything.”
Allison turned.
“With what?”
“I’ll sell my company.”
“Your company is nearly insolvent.”
“My condo.”
“That won’t cover it.”
“I know.”
Allison studied her.
“You keep saying you know things after the consequences arrive.”
Camille’s face tightened.
“I deserve that.”
“Yes.”
Owen cleared his throat.
“There’s another component.”
Allison almost smiled from exhaustion.
“There always is.”
He opened documents from Stoneharbor Development.
Derek had exchanged emails with a senior acquisitions executive for nearly eight months.
The proposed purchase price for Wellington Medical Plaza was $12.4 million.
Owen displayed the most recent independent valuation.
$16.1 million.
Mara said, “That’s not automatically fraud. A seller can accept a lower price for many reasons.”
“But I never agreed to sell.”
“Correct.”
Owen opened another email.
The subject line read:
POST-CLOSING ADVISORY ARRANGEMENT.
Alder Row Consulting would receive $250,000 after completion of the sale for “transaction strategy and transition services.”
Allison stared.
“A kickback.”
Mara chose her words carefully.
“It certainly raises that concern.”
Camille turned toward Owen.
“Derek told me that fee was legal.”
“It could be legal,” Mara said, “if disclosed and approved appropriately.”
“It wasn’t,” Allison replied.
“No.”
Allison felt suddenly calm.
Derek had planned to sell her father’s most valuable property below market.
He had intended to use a forged consent.
And his private company would receive money after closing.
This was no longer a husband making selfish choices in a marriage.
It was a structured plan.
“How close were they?”
Owen answered.
“Stoneharbor wanted signed member consent and title documentation by Friday.”
Allison remembered the hospital.
The form.
Camille’s unfinished notarial block.
Two days.
She looked at her sister.
“You were supposed to notarize it before Friday.”
Camille looked ill.
“Derek said the signature was yours.”
“But you didn’t witness me sign it.”
“No.”
“So even if you believed the signature was real, you knew the notarization would be false.”
Camille nodded.
“Yes.”
Allison turned away.
That distinction mattered.
Camille had been manipulated.
But manipulation had not removed her ability to choose.
Mara closed the laptop.
“We should discuss law enforcement.”
Camille stiffened.
Allison looked at her.
For one second, they were sisters again.
Not enemies.
Not yet.
Camille whispered, “Are you going to have me arrested?”
Allison felt every childhood memory pushing against every document on the table.
She wanted an easier answer.
She did not have one.
“I’m going to tell the truth.”
Camille closed her eyes.
Mara said gently, “That may mean consequences for both of them.”
Allison nodded.
“I understand.”
Her phone buzzed.
A text from Derek.
You’re letting strangers destroy your family because you’re angry about Camille.
Allison read it twice.
Then she showed Mara.
Owen looked at the message.
“That’s useful.”
“For what?”
“Pattern.”
Another text arrived.
If you keep digging, you’ll discover your father wasn’t as clean as you think.
Camille stared at it.
Allison’s pulse changed.
Derek knew Thomas was dead.
He knew Allison could not ask him anything.
It was the perfect threat.
Unless evidence still existed.
Allison typed nothing.
A third message appeared.
Ask Mara about the Northbridge payment in 2022.
Mara’s face changed when she read it.
Allison saw that.
“What?”
Mara hesitated.
“Mara.”
The attorney removed her glasses.
“There was a payment.”
Allison felt the room tighten.
“What payment?”
May you like
Mara looked directly at her.
“One your father asked me never to discuss with you unless it became legally necessary.”
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