Chapter 7: The Accountant Who Knew Too Much
Dad stared at Denise Carter's name flashing across his phone.
For nearly ten years, Denise had been the person he trusted to tell him when something was wrong with his company. She had caught duplicate invoices, questioned suspicious vendor requests, and once stayed in the office until midnight to help him meet a payroll deadline.
She had attended our family barbecue last summer.
She had brought me a book about young women in business for my fifteenth birthday.
And yesterday, she had stood beside my father in our dining room, opened her laptop, and shown him a report that suggested someone had taken $68,420 from his company.
Now her name appeared on the very agreement that might explain the missing money.
Dad answered.
“Denise.””
“Marcus, I need to speak with you about the document.””
He put the call on speaker.
“I'm listening.””
“I received a message saying you've seen the final page.””
“Celeste sent it to me. Why is your name under ‘Prepared By’?””
There was a pause.
“Because I prepared the paperwork.””
Dad's jaw tightened.
“You prepared an agreement involving Derek?””
“Yes.””
“And you didn't tell me?””
“I didn't know you hadn't seen it.””
Dad looked at the screen again.
“Denise, the agreement carries my signature. I was in Nashville on the date printed on it.””
“I understand.””
“Do you?””
His voice was quiet now, which frightened me more than shouting.
“Did you put my signature on that document?””
“No, Marcus.””
“Then explain how it got there.””
“I can explain the administrative process, but I need to see the original document before I make any statement about the signature.””
Dad pressed his fingers against his forehead.
“Were you involved in the transfers listed in your report?””
“I processed some transactions that were submitted through the company's administrative system. I did not knowingly authorize unauthorized withdrawals.””
“That isn't the same as answering my question.””
“I understand. I'm telling you what I can confirm right now.””
Dad glanced at me, then turned toward the window.
“Have you spoken to Celeste about this?””
Another pause.
“Yes.””
“When?””
“Several times, over the past two years.””
My stomach dropped.
Dad's eyes narrowed.
“About what?””
“Company expenses. The agreement. Some payments that needed clarification.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because I believed the paperwork had been approved through the proper channels.””
“By whom?””
Denise exhaled.
“Marcus, I don't want to give you an inaccurate answer. I need to review the original records.””
Dad ended the call without saying goodbye.
For a moment, he stood motionless.
Then he picked up the photograph Celeste had sent and enlarged the final page again.
“Dad,” I whispered, “does that mean Denise took the money?””
“No.””
He said it firmly.
“We don't know that.””
“But her name is on the agreement.””
“Her name is on the preparer field. That tells us she handled some part of the paperwork. It doesn't establish who initiated the transfers, who approved them, or whether she knew anything was wrong.””
I watched him send the document to a separate email address.
“What are you doing?””
“Forwarding it to the independent reviewer. I want them to obtain the original and verify the document, including the signature.””
He picked up his phone and called the reviewer.
I couldn't hear every word, but I heard him request preservation of the company's records, a review of access logs, and an examination of the agreement.
When he hung up, his expression remained troubled.
“Are you going to fire Denise?”” I asked.
“Not on the basis of a photograph.””
“Even if she lied?””
“If we establish that she lied or was involved in misconduct, we'll address it appropriately. But I'm not going to accuse someone without evidence.””
He looked toward the stairs.
“Your stepmother is coming back with the original document this afternoon. Until then, we're going to let the records speak.””
I nodded.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from an unfamiliar number appeared on the screen.
Your dad is asking the wrong person questions.
I stared at it.
Another message followed.
Ask him what happened to the money from the first agreement.
My hands went cold.
“Dad?””
He turned.
I showed him the messages.
His expression changed immediately.
“Did you recognize the number?””
“No.””
“Don't respond.””
He photographed the messages with his own phone and forwarded them to the reviewer, asking that they be preserved alongside the other records.
Then he called the number.
It rang once before going to voicemail.
Dad didn't leave a message.
Instead, he searched the number in his contacts, then in his old messages.
Nothing.
“Could it be Derek?”” I asked.
“Possibly. We shouldn't assume that.””
He put the phone down.
“From now on, if you receive any more messages about this, show me. Don't engage with whoever is sending them.””
I nodded.
A little after noon, a car pulled into our driveway.
Celeste had returned.
She came through the front door carrying a large brown envelope, her face pale and her eyes fixed on the floor.
Dad stood in the hallway.
“Where's the original?””
She held up the envelope.
“Here.””
“Did you alter it?””
“No.””
“Did you remove anything?””
“No.””
“Then we'll give it to the reviewer.””
Celeste looked at him.
“Marcus, please. Before you do that, you need to hear me.””
He stepped aside so she could enter.
“Sit down.””
She walked into the dining room and placed the envelope on the table.
The birthday decorations had been removed that morning. The cake was gone, and the sealed MacBook box had been moved to a closet.
The room looked ordinary again.
That almost made everything worse.
Celeste opened the envelope carefully.
Inside was a thick document packet with several pages clipped together. She placed it in front of Dad but kept one hand resting on the top page.
“I didn't prepare this agreement,” she said.
Dad looked at the final page.
“Denise's name is here.””
“She typed it. She handled the paperwork.””
“Who asked her to?””
Celeste swallowed.
“Derek.””
Dad stared at her.
“You asked Denise to prepare an agreement for Derek?””
“No. Derek approached me with it already discussed. He said he needed a formal record of a business arrangement.””
“What arrangement?””
She lowered her eyes.
“He said he could help me recover money I'd lost.””
Dad's expression hardened.
“Recover it how?””
“He told me there was an investment opportunity. I put in some of my own money. When it started going wrong, he said the only way to recover it was to restructure the arrangement.””
“And you agreed?””
“I thought I was signing something that protected my investment.””
“Did you tell him to use my company?””
“No!””
Her answer came out too quickly.
Dad waited.
Celeste began twisting a ring around her finger.
“I didn't tell him to take money from your company. I didn't even know the first transfer had happened until Denise asked me about a discrepancy.””
“Then why didn't you tell me?””
“Because I was afraid.””
“Of what?””
“That you'd think I'd betrayed you.””
Dad looked at the envelope.
“You concealed a financial arrangement involving a man you knew before we married. You used money from Nia's savings without permission. And now you're telling me that you were afraid I'd think you'd betrayed me?””
Celeste's eyes filled.
“I know how it sounds.””
“It sounds like you're telling me pieces of the truth whenever we discover another document.””
She looked at me.
“Nia, I never wanted to hurt you.””
I held her gaze.
“But you did.””
She flinched.
For a moment, I thought she might finally apologize without explaining herself.
Instead, she looked down at the agreement.
“Derek told me that once the company arrangement was completed, everything would be settled. He said I'd recover my investment, pay back the money I'd borrowed, and nobody would need to know.””
Dad leaned forward.
“Who authorized the first company payment?””
“I don't know.””
“Did you ask Denise to process it?””
“I asked her to prepare the paperwork Derek sent me. I didn't tell her to transfer money.””
Dad's face tightened.
“Did you know my signature was on the agreement?””
Celeste shook her head.
“I saw it after the document was prepared.””
“And you didn't ask me about it?””
“I thought you'd approved it.””
“You thought I'd approved a deal with Derek without discussing it with you?””
She covered her face.
“I didn't know what to think.””
Dad slowly pushed the envelope away from himself.
“Celeste, we're giving this to the reviewer. You need to provide every message, email, and document you have involving Derek and these transactions.””
She nodded.
“And you're going to cooperate with the review?””
“Yes.””
“No deleting anything. No contacting anyone to coordinate stories. No moving money.””
Her head snapped up.
“I would never do that!””
“Then you should have no problem preserving the records.””
She stared at him.
Then she nodded again.
Dad called the reviewer and arranged for the original document to be collected.
After the call, Celeste sat motionless at the table.
I stood near the doorway.
“Why did you buy me the MacBook?”” I asked.
She looked up.
“I wanted to make you happy.””
“But you knew my money was missing.””
“I thought I could replace it before you noticed.””
My throat tightened.
“You thought I wouldn't notice my own college savings?””
She began to cry.
“I thought I had more time.””
I shook my head.
“You didn't need more time. You needed to tell the truth.””
I walked out of the dining room before she could answer.
In the hallway, I found Dad waiting for me.
He wrapped his arms around me.
“You shouldn't have to carry this,” he whispered.
I pressed my face against his shoulder.
“Then why does it feel like everyone keeps asking me to understand?””
He held me tighter.
“Because sometimes adults are ashamed of what they've done, and they try to make the people they've hurt carry that shame for them.””
I looked up at him.
“I'm not going to do that anymore.””
Dad nodded.
“You don't have to.””
Later that afternoon, the reviewer confirmed that the original agreement had been received and would be examined.
Dad returned to his office to gather additional records.
I stayed in the living room, trying to finish my school assignment, but I couldn't concentrate.
Every time I read a sentence, I saw the signature on the agreement.
Then Dad called from the office.
“Nia, come here a second.””
I found him standing beside his desk, staring at an old photograph on his computer.
It showed him outside his company's first office, standing beside a younger man in a gray suit.
The younger man was Derek.
But that wasn't what had caught my attention.
Standing behind them was Denise, holding a folder.
She looked much younger, but unmistakably herself.
“Dad,” I said slowly, “Denise knew Derek before she worked for you?””
Dad zoomed in on the photograph.
“I didn't remember her being there.””
He opened the image details and checked the date.
The photograph had been taken eleven years earlier.
Two years before Dad founded his company.
I stared at the three people on the screen.
“Why were they all together?””
Dad didn't answer.
Then his phone rang.
The independent reviewer.
He listened without interrupting.
Finally, he said, “You're certain?””
A pause.
“Then preserve the evidence and send me the findings.””
He ended the call.
I waited.
“What did they find?””
Dad looked at the photograph again.
“The signature on the agreement may have been copied from an older document.””
My stomach tightened.
“Does that mean it was forged?””
“It means the signature requires further examination. The reviewer has also found a connection between the agreement and a transaction made before the company officially opened.””
I stared at the screen.
“How could money move through a company that didn't exist yet?””
Dad's eyes narrowed.
“That's exactly what we're trying to find out.””
He clicked the old photograph one more time.
Then he noticed something in the background.
A sign on the wall of the office behind them.
It carried the name of a business neither of us had mentioned before.
*Carter Financial Services.*
Dad whispered, “Denise didn't just know Derek.””
He looked at me.
May you like
“She may have been involved with him long before she ever worked for me.””
And suddenly, the person who had brought the report into our dining room looked less like the investigator of our family's mystery and more like someone who might have been standing at the center of it all along.
