Chapter 4 - The Midnight Transfer
"What did he do?" I asked, not even bothering to stand up.
David slammed the door shut behind him, dropping his keys onto the counter with a loud clatter. "He didn't wait for morning. He used my administrator credentials—the ones I forgot to revoke from the old server—to override the corporate transfer protocol. He just wired one point two million dollars from the main holding account into an offshore account in the Caymans."
Sarah let out a sharp gasp, standing up so fast her chair screeched against the floor. "Are you out of your mind?! David, tell me you didn't help him!"
"I didn't help him!" David shouted back, his voice cracking with panic. "I was in the driveway talking to my lawyer when the alert popped up on my phone! He used my old credentials while I was out of the room!"
I slowly reached into the pocket of my cardigan, pulled out my reading glasses, and set them on the table. My heart was beating a little faster now, but not out of fear. Out of anger. The kind of cold, focused anger that Harold used to get right before he fired a crooked foreman on the spot.
"He thinks he's clever," I said quietly.
"Mom, he’s committed a federal felony," David groaned, running both hands through his hair. "If the audit catches that wire before sunrise, Michael is looking at ten years in a federal penitentiary. And because my name is still on the corporate charter as vice president of operations, they’re going to look at me too!"
"Then let them look," a cold voice said from the doorway.
We all turned. Addison stood there in the dark hallway, wearing a silk robe, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She wasn't panicking. In fact, there was a strange, manic triumph in her eyes.
"Michael didn't make a mistake," Addison said, walking slowly into the kitchen like she owned the place. "He executed a pre-emptive liquidity defense. That money isn't lost, David—it's secured in an overseas trust that your dear mother’s little lawyer can't touch with a ten-foot pole."
I looked at Addison, really looked at her—at the designer watch, the cold smirk, the absolute arrogance of someone who had never broken a sweat to earn a single dollar in her life.
"You helped him set up that account, didn't you?" I asked.
Addison tilted her chin up, unapologetic. "Someone had to have business sense in this family, Shirley. Harold was old, and you're out of your depth. We were just protecting our future."
"Your future," I repeated softly. I stood up from the table, walking over to the landline phone mounted on the wall. I picked up the receiver and dialed a three-digit speed dial I had memorized that afternoon.
Addison’s smirk faltered slightly. "Who are you calling? It’s past midnight. The banks are closed."
"I'm not calling a bank," I said, looking right into her eyes as the line connected on the second ring. "I'm calling the Federal Reserve financial crimes task force liaison that Rebecca put on retainer this morning."
Addison’s face went completely blank. "You're bluffing."
"Try me," I said into the receiver. "Special Agent Vance? This is Shirley Patterson. We have an unauthorized international wire transfer of one point two million dollars originating from account number four-zero-eight-nine, executed five minutes ago by Michael Patterson."
A sharp intake of breath hissed through the receiver. "We see it on the monitoring terminal right now, Mrs. Patterson. The automatic freeze protocol is engaging as we speak."
I hung up the phone and turned back to the kitchen.
Michael came stumbling down the back stairs just then, his phone clutched in his hand, his face the color of wet cement. He looked at me, then at Addison, and realized the screen on his phone had just gone completely dark.
"The account," Michael whispered, his knees buckling slightly against the counter. "It's... it's locked."
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"It's frozen," I said, stepping past him toward the hallway. "And by breakfast time, you and Addison are going to pack your bags and get out of my house."
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