18. Alex #3
Belle looked confused. She said she is not leaving. But she also said she wanted out. There is cash packed in a bag, she will not tell me who she was speaking to, and she still refuses to explain how she knew about the fire.
Then there is me.
I stole her emergency money in the middle of the night because I was afraid she would disappear again. The fact that I did it makes me sick. The fact that part of me still does not regret making it harder for her to leave is worse.
I need something solid. One fact. One truth I can hold on to that has nothing to do with Belle’s expression or whether I am reading her right.
So I call Polanski.
“Mr. Hartley.”
“Tell me you found something.”
A short pause. “I found something.”
My grip tightens around the wheel. “Go.”
“I followed the old trust activity connected to Mitchell.”
I pull onto a quieter road. “There is a transfer that predates Thomas Hartley’s death. Routed through an intermediary before it reaches the last account.”
“How much?”
“Not enough to draw attention on its own.”
“Who authorized it?”
Polanski hesitates. That hesitation tells me more than I want to know.
“Belle Mitchell’s name is on the authorization.”
Cold moves straight through my chest.
“What was the account?”
“I don’t have the full answer yet.”
“I’m still piecing it together. I wouldn’t have brought any of this to you yet if you hadn’t called me just now.”
“How sure are you the authorization is real?”
“The document is real.”
Paper moves on his end.
“I cannot tell you whether she signed it herself, whether someone used her credentials. I cannot say for sure.”
“When?”
He gives me the date.
It was before the fire.
The worst version assembles itself faster than any reasonable explanation can stop it. I close my eyes for a second, then force them open. “Before Dad died.”
“Yes.”
My mind starts putting the pieces together before I can stop it. Belle knew something was wrong. She moved money. She called me. Then she disappeared.
For the past few days, I have been trying to convince myself she was only caught in whatever Mark had dragged her into.
Maybe she was.
Or maybe she understood far more of it than I have been willing to consider.
“Keep digging.”
“Yes, sir.”
I end the call.
Belle calls almost immediately. Her name fills the screen.
I let it ring.
She calls again before the first ache in my chest has time to settle. Then a message comes through.
Please come back. You misunderstood.
I stare at it longer than I should, thumb hovering over the screen. The phone rings again. I turn it face down and call aviation.
I drink on the flight to Seattle, enough to take the edge off but nowhere near enough to shut my head up.
One thought gives way to another until I stop trying to control where they go.
Seattle first, then Riverside Falls. Mom.
The ranch. That kitchen where nobody gives a damn what Vanguard is worth or how many people answer when I walk into a room.
I need to sit across from Maggie Hartley and give her the whole ugly mess, because if anyone is qualified to tell me I’m being an idiot, it is my mother.
She might tell me Belle is lying. She might tell me I’ve lost my fucking mind.
Or she might see something I’m too angry and scared to see for myself.
Mostly, I need to be somewhere Belle has never touched. Somewhere I can turn my head without seeing her at my stove, asleep in my bed, or laughing on the kitchen floor while blueberries roll around her bare feet.
Her call comes through before we have finished climbing.
I ignore it.
Another comes later, followed by messages I tell myself I am not going to read.
I read every one.
Alex please answer.
The call wasn’t what you think.
Please come home and let me explain what I can.
What I can.
Whatever I can get from her, it is never the whole thing.
I switch off the phone.
For once, the silence helps.
Edward is standing on the tarmac when I land.
I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. There is a leak in my kingdom.
Wind catches the bottom of his coat while he waits beside the car, cane planted against the concrete.
I walk past him.
“I don’t want to talk.”
“You’ll want to hear this.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“Give me ten minutes before you make another decision you cannot undo.”
“I already made my decision.”
“Yes. I heard you.”
I keep walking toward the car arranged to take me on to Riverside Falls.
Edward follows.
“I also heard how much you drank on the flight.”
I stop. Someone is getting fired.
“You monitor my aircraft catering?”
“I monitor my family when one of them announces he is abandoning a multibillion-dollar company and then flies across the country without notice.”
“Find a hobby.”
“I have one. You and your brother have made it remarkably time-consuming.”
I should keep walking. I am tired enough that even anger feels like work.
“What do you want?”
“To offer you another option.”
“No.”
“You haven’t heard it.”
“I know you.”
He gestures toward his car. “Ten minutes.”