“I’ve got an update,” he said. “Can you sit down?”
I sat down at the kitchen table.
“Between Gordon’s records, the original case file, and the bank records Helen’s gotten through the court, we’ve established a clear financial connection,” he said. “Halston Ridge Supply and TM
Strategic Consulting. Halston Ridge was a shell. A company that only existed on paper. It was registered by a man who turns out to be Trevor’s old college roommate. There were never any medical equipment deliveries. Not one. Not a single shipping record anywhere.”
“Where did the money go?”
“Split up. Moved through four different accounts. Most of it ended up with TM Strategic. Some went
to an account in Monica’s name.” He paused. “And Rebecca. Some of those transfers kept happening after you were arrested. Into the spring of 2022. While you were sitting in the county jail.”
I closed my eyes.
“Your signature doesn’t explain what they did afterward,” Russell said. “You can’t approve payments from a jail cell.”
“But it does show who kept benefiting,” I said.
“Exactly,” Russell said.
That evening, after Opal went to bed, I sat by the window in the front room, in the armchair by the lamp. I was looking out at the dark street, at the place where the gray sedan used to park.
And I started to cry.
It was the first time I’d cried since I walked out of that prison gate. Not on the bus. Not at the shelter. Not when the dental office called. Not when Monica threw the money at my feet.
Nothing had been fixed yet. I knew that. I was still a convicted felon. My house still had a lien on it. Trevor and Monica were still out there, living their lives.
