Chapter 5: The Man Who Stole From Two Families
At 6:15 the following morning, Marcus stood outside the Collins mansion beneath a sky the color of wet concrete.
The house sat behind a wrought-iron gate in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Westchester County. A circular driveway led to a stone fountain, and the windows glowed warmly despite the early hour.
Marcus had visited the property only once before.
He had been seventeen, delivering catering supplies for a school fundraiser. Brittany's father had thanked him for carrying a heavy box into the kitchen.
That was all.
He had never imagined returning as the person responsible for investigating the family's financial collapse.
A black sedan pulled up behind him.
Brittany stepped out wearing yesterday's emerald dress beneath a long wool coat. Her hair was tied back, and the diamond earrings were gone.
She looked exhausted.
“Did you sleep?”” Marcus asked.
“About forty minutes.””
“That's forty more than I expected.””
She almost smiled.
Then she noticed the letter in his hand.
“What's that?””
“My mother's handwriting.””
He showed her the final paragraph.
Brittany read it twice.
“Your father had money stolen from him?””
“That's what the letter says.””
“But how could my family be involved?””
“I don't know yet.””
She looked toward the house.
“Grant is inside. He refused to let me see Dad last night.””
“Did the attorney arrive?””
“He came at midnight. Grant wouldn't open the study, but he eventually allowed the attorney to speak to Dad through the bedroom door.””
“And?””
“Dad was awake. He told the attorney to retrieve the original trust documents from his office safe.””
Marcus looked at her.
“Did Grant allow it?””
“No. He claimed the safe was company property and that nobody could access it without his approval.””
“That's convenient.””
“That's Grant.””
Before Marcus could respond, a man in a navy suit appeared behind the gate.
“Ms. Collins,” he called.
“Your brother asked me to inform you that this is a private residence.””
Brittany stepped forward.
“My father lives here.””
“Mr. Collins is resting.””
“I want to see him.””
“Not without authorization.””
She gripped the iron bars.
“Tell Grant I'm here.””
The man didn't move.
Marcus took a step forward.
“I'm Marcus Reed. I'd like to speak with Mr. Collins's attorney.””
The guard looked him up and down.
“Do you have an appointment?””
“No.””
“Then you'll need to leave.””
Marcus remained calm.
“I understand. Please give Mr. Harris my card and tell him I'm here with Brittany.””
The guard hesitated, then disappeared into the house.
Brittany let out a bitter laugh.
“You're being polite to a man who just refused to let a daughter see her father.””
“I'm being polite to someone who probably doesn't know the whole story.””
“That's your answer to everything, isn't it?””
“It's kept me out of trouble.””
She looked at him.
“Has it made you happy?””
The question surprised him.
He thought about the restaurant, the late nights, the loan payments, and the empty apartment he returned to after everyone else went home.
“Sometimes,” he admitted.
“Other times, it just keeps me moving.””
Before Brittany could respond, the front door opened.
A silver-haired man stepped outside, carrying a leather briefcase.
Mr. Harris.
He walked directly to the gate and unlocked it himself.
“Brittany,” he said.
“Marcus. Thank you for coming.””
Brittany stepped through.
“Can I see my father?””
“Not yet. Grant has agreed to meet us in the study, but he insists the discussion concerns company business.””
“Then let's discuss company business.””
Mr. Harris nodded.
He turned to Marcus.
“I received your mother's letter last night. I recognized the account number immediately.””
Marcus's stomach tightened.
“What account?””
“The account your father established before he died.””
Marcus held out the letter.
“You know about it?””
“I know of it. Your father deposited money into a protected account intended to support your education and eventual business venture.””
Marcus stared at him.
“How much?””
Mr. Harris hesitated.
“Two hundred and forty thousand dollars.””
The number seemed unreal.
Marcus had spent years saving hundreds of dollars at a time, celebrating when he could pay a month's rent without checking his balance three times.
Two hundred and forty thousand dollars would have changed everything.
His mother's medical bills.
His tuition.
The years he had worked until his back ached and his hands smelled of industrial soap.
“Where is it now?”” he asked.
“The account was closed eighteen months after your father's death. The funds were transferred through two intermediary accounts. One was associated with Collins Commercial Properties.””
Brittany covered her mouth.
“No.””
Mr. Harris looked at her.
“Your father was not involved in the transfer, at least according to the records I've reviewed. The authorization appears to have been submitted by a senior employee who had access to the company's banking arrangements.””
“Who?”” Marcus demanded.
Mr. Harris lowered his voice.
“That's what we need to establish.””
The front door opened again.
Grant Collins stepped onto the porch.
He was forty-two, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit. Unlike Brittany, he looked completely composed.
His eyes moved from his sister to the attorney, then settled on Marcus.
“What's he doing here?””
Brittany lifted her chin.
“I'm here to see Dad.””
“I told you yesterday that wasn't possible.””
“You don't get to decide that.””
Grant laughed without humor.
“Actually, I do. I'm managing the company, and I'm responsible for keeping Father calm. He doesn't need strangers dragging him into business disputes.””
Marcus stepped forward.
“I'm not a stranger to the matter you're discussing.””
Grant looked at him again.
Then recognition dawned.
“The waiter.””
Brittany flinched.
Marcus didn't.
Grant adjusted his cuff.
“I'm sorry. The restaurant owner. My mistake.””
“You remember me?””
“I remember a lot of people.””
“Then you remember my father?””
For the first time, Grant's composure cracked.
Only slightly.
But Marcus saw it.
“What does your father have to do with this?””
Marcus held up the letter.
“His money disappeared through an account connected to your family's business.””
Grant stared at the page.
Then he smiled.
“That's absurd.””
“Is it?””
“My father and your father had a business relationship. Whatever arrangement existed was settled decades ago.””
“Then you won't mind an independent review.””
Grant's smile disappeared.
“You have no authority over my company.””
Mr. Harris stepped forward.
“Actually, Marcus has a limited authority under the Collins family trust. If the proposed transfer involves fraudulent documents, the relevant transaction can be suspended pending review.””
Grant turned on the attorney.
“You told me that provision was obsolete.””
“I told you it had never been activated.””
“And now you're activating it for a restaurant owner who happened to serve my sister dinner?””
“No,” Mr. Harris replied.
“I'm reviewing evidence of possible fraud.””
Grant looked at Marcus.
“You think you've won something, don't you? You think because you've built a successful little restaurant, you can walk into my house and start telling me how to run a company worth hundreds of millions of dollars.””
Marcus felt Brittany tense beside him.
He spoke quietly.
“I don't care how much your company is worth. I care whether someone stole money from my father and used my name to threaten my business.””
Grant's jaw tightened.
“You have no proof.””
“Then an investigation shouldn't worry you.””
For several seconds, the two men stared at each other.
Then Grant stepped aside.
“Fine. Ten minutes. After that, you're all leaving.””
Inside, the house smelled of polished wood and fresh lilies.
A housekeeper led them through a long corridor into a study lined with bookshelves. A large desk stood beneath a framed photograph of Grant and Brittany's father at the opening of one of their first commercial developments.
Grant sat behind the desk.
“You have ten minutes,” he repeated.
Mr. Harris placed a folder on the desk.
“We need access to the original corporate records, including the documents supporting the Northbridge transaction.””
Grant didn't open the folder.
“No.””
“Grant—”
“I said no. The records contain confidential business information.””
“Then provide them to independent counsel under a confidentiality agreement.””
“No.””
Brittany slammed her palm against the desk.
“Why are you making this so difficult?””
Grant looked at her.
“Because you're behaving like a child.””
“You told me Dad authorized the sale.””
“He did.””
“Then why does the signature look copied?””
“Because the documents were prepared electronically.””
“Daniel says the signature may be fraudulent.””
“Daniel is a buyer who wants to acquire our properties cheaply.””
Brittany shook her head.
“Then show us the originals.””
Grant stood.
“I'm done discussing this.””
Marcus looked at the framed photograph.
The man beside Grant was older than Marcus remembered, but the resemblance was unmistakable. He had met him once at a school fundraiser.
Richard Collins.
Brittany's father.
Marcus pointed toward the photograph.
“Your father knew mine.””
Grant followed his gaze.
“Yes.””
“What did they do together?””
“Business.””
“What kind?””
Grant's expression hardened.
“Commercial development.””
“Then why was money from my father's education account transferred through your company's bank account?””
Silence.
Brittany looked from Marcus to her brother.
“Grant?””
He picked up the folder and threw it onto the desk.
“Because your father was a reckless man who invested in a project that failed. The Collins company covered the loss. That's what happened.””
Marcus felt the room tilt.
“My father didn't invest in commercial property.””
“You were twelve. How would you know?””
“Because my mother handled every bill in our house. She would have told me if we had lost that kind of money.””
“Maybe she was embarrassed.””
Marcus stepped closer.
“Don't talk about my mother.””
Grant leaned across the desk.
“Then stop accusing my family.””
Mr. Harris intervened.
“Enough. We're requesting the records through the proper legal channels. If you continue to refuse access, I'll seek an emergency order.””
Grant pointed at the door.
“Get out.””
Brittany didn't move.
“I want to see Dad.””
“He's resting.””
“I'm his daughter.””
“And you're jeopardizing everything he built.””
Brittany's face crumpled for a moment.
Then she straightened.
“No. I'm trying to find out what you did with it.””
Grant rounded the desk.
“You have no idea what I've sacrificed for this family.””
“What have you sacrificed?”” she demanded.
“You have a house, a car, an office, and control over every dollar Dad owns. You won't even let me see him without making me agree to a sale I don't understand.””
“You've spent your entire life taking whatever you wanted.””
Brittany stared at him.
The accusation struck deeper than Marcus expected.
Grant continued.
“You wanted the clothes, the parties, the attention. You never cared about the business until you thought you might lose your inheritance.””
Brittany's voice trembled.
“Maybe that's true. Maybe I cared more about appearances than I should have. But I'm not signing away Dad's company to make your problems disappear.””
Grant's face darkened.
He turned toward the door.
“Security!””
Mr. Harris closed his briefcase.
“Don't do that, Grant. It will only make this worse.””
Grant ignored him.
Two security guards appeared.
“Escort them out,” he ordered.
Marcus stood still.
“You can throw us out of your house. You can't stop the investigation.””
Grant leaned close enough that Marcus could smell his expensive cologne.
“Listen carefully, Reed. You built a restaurant. Congratulations.
But you have no idea what you're stepping into. If you keep digging, you'll lose everything you've worked for.””
Marcus looked him in the eye.
“Then I suppose we'll find out how much the truth costs.””
He turned and walked out.
Brittany followed, tears shining on her cheeks.
At the gate, she stopped.
“Marcus.””
He turned.
“I'm sorry,” she said.
“For the dollar. For school. For everything.””
He studied her face.
“Don't apologize because you're afraid of your brother. Apologize because you understand what you did.””
She nodded slowly.
“I do understand.””
“Then show it.””
She wiped her eyes.
“How?””
“Help us find the records.””
She took a shaky breath.
“There's a storage room beneath the old accounting office. Dad kept paper files there before everything went digital. Grant doesn't know I still have a key.””
Mr. Harris looked at her sharply.
“Why didn't you mention that earlier?””
“Because I haven't been inside since Dad's stroke. I didn't think the old records mattered.””
Marcus glanced at the letter.
“Do you know where the room is?””
“Yes.””
“Then let's go.””
They drove to the Collins company's former accounting office, a brick building several miles away that now housed a handful of administrative departments.
Brittany led them down a narrow staircase into a basement that smelled of dust and damp cardboard.
She unlocked a metal door.
Inside, filing cabinets lined the walls. Boxes were stacked beneath a flickering fluorescent light. A small desk sat in the corner, its surface covered with old ledgers.
Brittany moved directly to the back cabinet.
“Dad used to keep records from the early years here.””
She opened the bottom drawer.
Marcus helped her pull out three boxes.
For nearly an hour, they searched through invoices, bank statements, and handwritten accounting books.
Then Brittany stopped.
“Marcus.””
She held up a ledger.
His father's name appeared on the page.
Beside it was an amount: $240,000.
Beneath the entry, someone had written:
*TRANSFER AUTHORIZED — D. COLLINS.*
Marcus took the ledger.
The signature looked authentic.
But the date was wrong.
His father had died six months before the transfer was recorded.
Brittany whispered, “That's impossible.””
Marcus turned the page.
A second entry showed the same amount leaving the account, divided into three transfers.
The first went to Collins Commercial Properties.
The second went to Bellhaven Advisory.
The third went to a numbered account.
At the bottom of the page, in his mother's handwriting, was a note.
Richard Collins instructed me to preserve the original authorization. The transfer occurred after Thomas Reed's death. I do not believe Thomas approved it.
Marcus's knees weakened.
His mother had known.
She had known his father hadn't authorized the transfer.
And she'd left a trail.
Brittany turned another page.
There was a photocopy of a letter attached to the ledger.
The letter was addressed to Richard Collins.
It contained only four lines.
Richard, I know what you did.
I have copies of the original records.
If Marcus's money is not returned, I will go to the authorities.
You have until Friday.
The signature at the bottom belonged to Denise Reed.
Marcus stared at the handwriting.
“What happened on Friday?”” Brittany whispered.
He turned the letter over.
On the back, someone had written a date.
The day before his mother had resigned from Collins Commercial Properties.
Beneath it was another note, written in a different hand.
*She was warned. The boy must never know.*
Brittany covered her mouth.
Marcus felt cold spread through his chest.
His mother hadn't simply kept a secret.
She had been threatened into silence.
And the person who had threatened her might still be alive.
A sound came from the doorway.
All three of them turned.
Grant stood at the top of the basement stairs.
He wasn't alone.
Beside him was a man Marcus recognized from the security footage Daniel had shown him earlier that morning.
The registered representative of Northbridge Capital Holdings.
Grant smiled without warmth.
“I told you to stop digging.””
Then he looked at the ledger in Marcus's hands.
“Give me that book, Reed.””
Marcus tightened his grip.
“No.””
May you like
Grant's smile vanished.
“Then you're going to learn what happened to the last person who tried to take something from my family.””
