Chapter 5 - Allison’s File Had a Missing EnvelopeKell & Shore occupied the tenth floor of a glass building overlooking downtown Reno.
Conrad arrived at 7:52 a.m.
Thomas was already there.
He looked older than Conrad remembered.
Or perhaps suspicion changed faces.
“You look terrible,” Thomas said.
“My daughter slept with the lights on.”
Thomas stopped.
“Come in.”
They entered a conference room.
A gray archive box waited on the table.
ALLISON VALE — ESTATE / FAMILY CARE
Conrad ran his fingers across his wife’s name.
Two years after her death, seeing her handwriting could still erase a room.
Thomas sat across from him.
“I pulled everything.”
“Did you?”
The attorney frowned.
Conrad opened the box.
Trust amendments.
Medical directives.
Property schedules.
Letters.
The revocation removing Maureen.
Behind it:
Meeting notes.
Client concerned re: MK discipline style / Wren anxiety.
Conrad looked up.
“What is this?”
Thomas leaned closer.
His expression changed.
“I remember now.”
“Convenient.”
“Allison said Wren was becoming fearful around Maureen.”
“How old was she?”
“Six.”
Conrad closed his eyes.
Six.
He had been working constantly during Allison’s last year.
Hospital visits.
Company restructuring.
Trying to pretend life was not collapsing.
“What exactly did Allison say?”
Thomas read his own notes.
“Wren cried when Maureen arrived. Had started wetting the bed again. Allison observed Maureen grabbing her arm too forcefully once.”
Conrad’s hands curled.
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“Allison asked me not to.”
“Why?”
“She wanted to investigate before accusing Maureen.”
The same mistake.
Waiting for certainty.
“What did she investigate?”
Thomas turned another page.
“Household expenses.”
Conrad looked up.
“What?”
“Allison believed some caregiver charges were inflated.”
“How much?”
“She estimated eighty to a hundred thousand dollars over eighteen months.”
Conrad stared.
“Maureen?”
“She wasn’t sure.”
“What did you do?”
“I requested statements.”
“And?”
Thomas flipped.
Then stopped.
“There should be an envelope.”
“What envelope?”
“Bank records.”
“Where are they?”
Thomas searched.
Nothing.
His face changed.
“They were here.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who has archive access?”
“Staff.”
“Maureen?”
“No.”
“Did she ever come here?”
Thomas hesitated.
“Six weeks ago.”
Conrad stared.
“You told me she requested a certified copy.”
“She did.”
“In person?”
“Yes.”
“And you let her near the file?”
“No.”
“Were you in the room the whole time?”
Thomas’s silence answered.
“Thomas.”
“My assistant brought the box into a meeting room while I took a call.”
“For how long?”
“Five minutes.”
Conrad stood.
“You left the woman Allison removed as guardian alone with Allison’s file?”
“I didn’t know—”
“You knew she had been removed.”
“I did not remember the reason.”
“That is your job.”
Thomas’s face hardened.
“You are not the only person who failed to notice things, Conrad.”
The sentence hit.
He wanted to argue.
He didn’t.
“Find out who accessed the file.”
“I will.”
Conrad continued searching.
Another note.
Client wants new nanny after treatment cycle ends. Does not want confrontation while Wren present.
Allison intended to fire Maureen.
Conrad felt sick.
“What happened?”
Thomas looked down.
“Allison’s condition worsened.”
Cancer.
A hospital admission.
Two weeks later, intensive treatment.
Three months later, she died.
“Did she ever fire her?”
“Not formally.”
Conrad stared at the paper.
After Allison died, Maureen stayed because Conrad believed she was one of the people Allison trusted most.
How had he believed that?
Because Maureen said so.
Because everyone repeated it.
Because it was easier than rebuilding a household while grieving.
He kept reading.
Then found a typed inventory.
SEALED LETTER TO CONRAD — PERSONAL
Conrad looked through the box.
Nothing.
“Where is it?”
Thomas frowned.
“What?”
“There was a letter.”
The line was clear.
Thomas searched.
No envelope.
“Was it delivered?”
“No notation.”
“Did you give it to me?”
“I don’t remember.”
“I would remember a letter from my dying wife.”
Thomas looked increasingly uncomfortable.
“Then it may have remained in the box.”
“And now it’s gone.”
Silence.
They checked archive security.
Electronic entry log.
Six weeks earlier, Maureen’s visit lasted twenty-seven minutes.
Thomas was absent from the conference room for nine.
Building hallway cameras showed Maureen leaving with her purse.
Nothing visibly different.
Conrad felt cold.
“She took it.”
“We cannot conclude that.”
“I can.”
“You can suspect it.”
Conrad turned.
“Fine. I suspect it.”
Thomas sat.
“There’s another issue.”
“What?”
“The care trust.”
Conrad stared.
Allison had placed $6.8 million into a trust for Wren’s education, therapy, medical needs, and long-term welfare.
Conrad was trustee.
Thomas’s firm handled administration.
“What about it?”
“There have been substantial caregiver reimbursements.”
“How substantial?”
Thomas opened his system.
Three years.
Payments to:
HIGH DESERT FAMILY SUPPORT LLC
Conrad frowned.
“I don’t know them.”
“They submitted invoices through household management.”
“For what?”
“Behavioral support. Companion care. Private educational assistance.”
“How much?”
Thomas calculated.
Then looked up.
“Three hundred eighty-six thousand dollars.”
Conrad stared.
“That’s impossible.”
Thomas rotated the screen.
Approvals.
Many bore Conrad’s digital authorization.
He remembered none.
“What is High Desert?”
Thomas searched corporate records.
Registered agent.
Mailing address in Sparks.
Managing member hidden behind another LLC.
Conrad’s phone buzzed.
Marisol.
Sir, I found Maureen’s locked drawer. Police are here. They opened it. You need to see this.
A photograph followed.
Inside the drawer were invoices from High Desert Family Support.
Blank.
Unsigned.
May you like
And beside them—
a rubber stamp containing Conrad’s signature.
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