Chapter 4
After leaving Mabel in that tavern room, I had returned to Houston and buried myself in work. When Lydia once asked whether I had seen anyone interesting while I was home, I changed the subject so abruptly she never asked again.
My family might have kept things from me.
But I had made it easy.
“I need the files,” I said.
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
“I’ll see what I can get.”
“Lydia.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t tell Ruth yet.”
There was another silence.
“You think this involves her?”
“I don’t know what I think.”
That night, I slept badly in a roadside motel twenty minutes from Mabel’s cottage.
At six the next morning I gave up pretending sleep was possible.
I bought coffee from the diner across the road and opened my laptop.
The acquisition I had come to Texas to negotiate waited unanswered in my inbox.
For the first time in years, a deal worth eight figures seemed completely unimportant.
By eight, Lydia had sent me copies of the records she could access remotely.
The first thing that struck me was how little there was.
A summary report.
Access logs.
Statements from three employees.
A short memo recommending Mabel’s termination and referral to the state licensing board.
The memo had been signed by Ruth.
Below her signature was another name.
Grant Vance.
My cousin.
Ruth’s only son.
Grant was forty-six now, two years older than me. He had spent most of his career managing the Vance agricultural companies around Bellweather while I expanded the family’s holdings elsewhere.
We were not close.
We were not enemies either.
Family holidays, funerals, board meetings—that had been the extent of our relationship for years.
I read the report twice.
Then a third time.
Mabel’s credentials had authorized twelve transfers over seven months.
The money went to something called Red Mesa Advisory Services.
The report described Red Mesa as a consulting vendor.
But nowhere did it explain what Red Mesa had actually done.
I called Lydia.
“What was Red Mesa?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Neither had I.”
“Who approved the vendor?”
“Grant.”
My stomach tightened.
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“No.”
“Who approved the invoices?”
“Most were routed through his office.”
“That doesn’t prove anything either.”
“No.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“But you noticed.”
“I noticed four years ago.”
“And said nothing?”
“I asked Ruth. She told me Red Mesa was a temporary agricultural advisory firm Grant had hired during the irrigation expansion.”
“Did you verify that?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Lydia’s answer came quietly.
“Because I trusted our family.”
I leaned back.
May you like
So had I.
That was beginning to feel less like loyalty and more like laziness.
