Chapter 20 - IT WAS BIGGER THAN SPENDINGThe final forensic report was one hundred forty-eight pages.
Malcolm read every page.
Twice.
The questionable transactions totaled $214,600.
Some were personal purchases.
Some were transfers.
Several company-paid items had been misclassified as household business expenses.
Laura’s conclusion was careful.
She did not accuse Colette of crimes.
She documented facts.
Credentials.
Devices.
Dates.
Money flows.
Former employee names.
Bellmere credits.
Malcolm’s forged or unauthorized approvals.
One sentence mattered more than the total.
There is no evidence that Denise Walker, Carla Mendes, Thomas Reed, or Rosa Delgado benefited from the questioned transactions.
Malcolm stared at it.
Four names.
Four people who had been treated as suspicious because Colette had more power.
He called Denise first.
“I have something for you.”
“What?”
“A report.”
“I don’t need money.”
“It isn’t money.”
She was silent.
“It states there is no evidence you benefited from the transactions connected to your name.”
Denise said nothing.
“Would you like a copy?”
“Yes.”
Her voice broke on the word.
He called Carla next.
Then Thomas Reed.
Thomas took longer.
He had moved to Raleigh.
When Malcolm explained, Thomas laughed bitterly.
“So six years later I’m not a thief?”
“You weren’t then either.”
“Tell that to the landscaping company that fired me after Mrs. Sterling called.”
Malcolm closed his eyes.
“She did that too?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Everybody’s sorry when evidence gets expensive.”
Malcolm accepted it.
“I’ll provide a statement correcting the record.”
“Do it.”
“I will.”
After the calls, Malcolm met David Chen.
“What happens now?”
“That depends on you.”
“Meaning?”
“Potential misuse of company funds, unauthorized credentials, questionable tax treatment. We need to correct filings and determine reporting obligations.”
“And Colette?”
“She needs independent counsel.”
Malcolm leaned back.
“So this becomes legal.”
“It already is.”
He returned home with a copy of the report.
Colette was in the living room.
The same room where Blake had slapped Rosa.
The pale sofa had been professionally cleaned.
No water stain remained.
That bothered Malcolm.
Rooms recovered faster than people.
He placed the report on the table.
Colette looked at the cover.
“What is it?”
“The final review.”
She did not touch it.
“How bad?”
“You know.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Two hundred fourteen thousand six hundred dollars.”
She swallowed.
“You’re rich, Malcolm.”
He stared.
The sentence disgusted him.
“That is your defense?”
“I’m saying this isn’t about money.”
“Correct.”
She blinked.
“It’s about what you did to keep me from seeing it.”
“I never—”
“Denise.”
Colette looked away.
“Carla.”
Silence.
“Thomas.”
Her jaw tightened.
“Rosa.”
“That woman—”
“No.”
Malcolm’s voice cracked like a whip.
“Say her name.”
Colette stared.
“Do not call her ‘that woman.’ Do not call her ‘the maid.’ Her name is Rosa.”
“You sound ridiculous.”
“And you sound exactly like the person who taught our son to hit her.”
Colette stood.
“You hit Blake too.”
“Yes.”
“And me.”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps stop acting morally superior.”
Malcolm held her gaze.
“I was wrong.”
She stopped.
“I should not have hit either of you.”
Colette opened her mouth.
“But here is the difference.”
His voice lowered.
“I admitted it.”
Silence.
“I apologized to Blake.”
She looked away.
“And I will live with what I did.”
Malcolm tapped the report.
“You rewrite what you did every time somebody finds another fact.”
Colette sat.
For the first time she looked tired.
Not glamorous.
Not untouchable.
Just exhausted.
“I was afraid.”
Malcolm paused.
It was the closest she had come to honesty.
“Of what?”
“You judging me.”
“For spending?”
“For everything.”
“Then you should have talked to me.”
“You weren’t here.”
Again.
The old truth.
Malcolm sat across from her.
“I wasn’t.”
She looked surprised.
“I failed this family in ways I did not understand.”
Her eyes filled.
For one moment he saw the woman he had married.
Then he continued:
“But my absence did not put cash in Denise’s locker.”
Colette’s face closed.
There it was.
Gone.
The almost-confession.
Malcolm knew then that he could feel empathy for whatever loneliness existed in their marriage without allowing it to become an alibi.
“You were going to do it to Rosa too.”
Colette said nothing.
He slid the incident logs across the table.
“You were building a theft story.”
Still nothing.
“Were you going to accuse Rosa?”
Colette’s lips parted.
No words came.
Malcolm waited.
Her silence lasted ten seconds.
Twenty.
May you like
Thirty.
It was the most truthful answer she had given him.
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