Chapter 3: The Pattern in the Records
Ms. Reynolds didn't rush.
She enlarged the report and arranged the transactions chronologically, explaining each category in a measured voice. Dad sat beside her, asking short questions. I remained near his shoulder, still holding my phone.
Celeste stayed on the other side of the table.
The MacBook box sat between us like a bad joke.
“Start with the oldest transaction in the report,” Dad said.
Ms. Reynolds scrolled.
“The earliest entry I've flagged is several months old. There are additional transactions after that date. I've grouped them by account and amount, but the recipient details remain restricted in this summary.””
“Were they approved by me?””
“I'm still comparing each entry against the authorization records.””
“That's not what I asked.””
“I understand. I haven't found supporting authorization for every transaction in the report.””
Dad rubbed his forehead.
“Then how did they go through?””
“Some transfers were processed using existing payment permissions. Others require further verification. I don't want to tell you something is unauthorized until I've confirmed the complete record.””
Celeste grabbed the back of a chair.
“Exactly. She doesn't know anything yet. So why are you treating this like some kind of scandal?””
Ms. Reynolds turned toward her.
“Because the amounts are substantial, and the supporting documentation is incomplete.””
“You work for Marcus. Of course you're going to take his side.””
“I work for the company. My responsibility is to make sure its financial records are accurate.””
Celeste gave Dad a wounded look.
“After everything I've done for you, this is how you're going to treat me?””
Dad didn't answer immediately.
He was looking at the screen.
I leaned closer and saw rows of figures, dates, and reference numbers. Most of the identifying details were hidden. There was nothing dramatic about the spreadsheet itself.
No flashing warnings. No red letters announcing that somebody had done something terrible.
Just numbers.
But those numbers had changed the way my father looked at his wife.
“Did you know about the transfers from my daughter's account?”” he asked.
Celeste's gaze snapped toward me.
“Nia's account is a separate issue.””
“Did you know about them?””
“I already told you. It was a family emergency.””
“What emergency?””
She pressed her lips together.
Dad waited.
When she didn't answer, he repeated the question.
“What emergency required you to take money that was saved for her education?””
Celeste glanced at Ms. Reynolds.
Then at the gift box.
Then at me.
“I was trying to keep things together.””
“That's not an answer.””
“You don't understand the pressure I've been under!””
“Then explain it.””
She threw up her hands.
“I had expenses. There were things that needed to be handled immediately. I was going to replace the money.””
“When?””
“Soon.””
“With what?””
Her face reddened.
“Why are you interrogating me like this?””
“Because you won't answer a single question.””
I had never heard Dad speak to Celeste that way.
He had always been patient with her. When she complained about bills, he listened. When she wanted new furniture, he asked what she liked. When she insisted that I was being disrespectful, he usually told me to give her some space.
I had spent years believing that he simply didn't notice how often she made me feel small.
Now he was noticing everything at once.
I wished I could feel relieved.
Instead, I felt sick.
“Dad,” I said softly.
He turned immediately.
“I'm here, sweetheart.””
“Can she take money out of my account again?””
His expression changed.
“No. We'll contact the bank, secure the account, and find out exactly how access was granted. You won't have to handle this alone.””
Celeste scoffed.
“Oh, please. Nobody is going to steal from her.””
I looked straight at her.
“You already did.””
She took a sharp breath.
“Watch your mouth.””
“No,” Dad said.
One word.
Celeste stared at him.
Dad stood, moved around the table, and placed a hand on my shoulder.
“She has every right to ask where her money went.””
For a moment, Celeste seemed unable to decide which of us to confront.
Then she turned back to Ms. Reynolds.
“Close that laptop.””
Ms. Reynolds kept her hands on the table.
“I can't destroy or conceal a company report because you're uncomfortable with it.””
“I didn't say destroy it.””
“You told me to close it.””
“Because this is a private family matter!””
“The company transactions aren't a family account.””
Celeste's face lost some of its color.
Dad looked at her sharply.
“What does that mean?””
“Nothing,” she said too quickly.
Ms. Reynolds glanced at Dad before answering.
“It means the company report must be reviewed separately from Nia's personal savings. We shouldn't assume the transactions are connected simply because the timing overlaps. But we also shouldn't ignore the possibility until the records have been checked.””
Dad nodded slowly.
“Then we do it properly.””
He pulled his phone from his pocket.
“I'm contacting the bank about Nia's account. Tomorrow, I'll meet with you and review the company records in detail. I want copies of every relevant transaction and authorization.””
“Marcus, you can't be serious.””
“I am.””
“You're going to humiliate me over a computer?””
Dad looked at the sealed box.
“No. I'm asking you to explain money that doesn't belong to you.””
Celeste's mouth fell open.
For several seconds, the only sound in the dining room was the faint hum of the refrigerator and the soft tapping of Ms. Reynolds' fingers as she closed one section of the report.
Then Celeste did something unexpected.
She stopped arguing.
She walked to the kitchen, opened a cabinet, and took out a glass. Her hand shook as she filled it with water. She drank half of it, set it down, and stood with her back to us.
I watched her shoulders rise and fall.
Maybe she was frightened.
Maybe she was angry.
Or maybe she was trying to remember which explanation she had already given us.
Dad returned to the table.
“Nia, go upstairs if you need a minute.””
I shook my head.
“I want to know what happened.””
He studied my face, then nodded.
“Okay. You can stay.””
Ms. Reynolds reopened the report and began checking the supporting entries. She worked quietly, occasionally pausing to compare a date with another record on her laptop.
After several minutes, she stopped scrolling.
“Marcus,” she said, “there's a recurring detail I need to verify.””
Dad leaned forward.
“What detail?””
“Several transactions appear to have been processed through the same payment arrangement. I need to compare the original authorizations before I can determine who initiated them.””
Celeste turned around.
“You don't need to do that.””
Ms. Reynolds looked at her.
“Why not?””
“Because I said you don't.””
Dad stood so quickly that his chair scraped backward.
“Celeste, you don't get to order my accountant to stop reviewing my company's records.””
“I am your wife!””
“And Nia is my daughter.””
The words landed hard.
I felt my throat tighten.
Celeste stared at him as though he had struck her.
Then she looked at me.
“You have no idea what you've started.””
Dad stepped between us.
“Don't speak to her like that.””
Celeste's hands curled at her sides.
“I have done everything for this family, and now I'm the villain because I bought a birthday present?””
“You bought it with money Nia saved for college,” Dad said.
“And we still don't have an explanation for the company transactions.””
Ms. Reynolds turned the screen slightly toward him.
“I've located the first supporting document I need to compare.””
Dad looked down.
“Can you tell whether it identifies the person who authorized the transfer?””
“I can once I verify it against the original record.””
Celeste moved toward the laptop.
Dad blocked her path.
“Don't.””
She stopped.
For the first time, I saw genuine fear cross her face.
Not the anger she used when she wanted to control a room. Not the wounded expression she wore when someone challenged her.
Fear.
Ms. Reynolds opened the supporting document.
Her eyes moved across the page.
Then she looked at Dad.
“Marcus, before I go any further, there's one thing you need to understand.””
Dad's voice lowered.
“What?””
She glanced at Celeste, then back at the screen.
“The first transaction I'm verifying was recorded before the date you told me you first noticed a problem.””
Celeste gripped the edge of the table.
Dad didn't move.
“How much earlier?””
Ms. Reynolds turned the laptop toward him.
“I need to confirm the full timeline.””
On the screen, one date sat beside an authorization entry that neither Dad nor I had seen before.
May you like
Celeste looked at it.
And then, very quietly, she said, “Marcus, don't open that file.””
