Chapter 5 - THE UNCLE GIDEON HAD BURIED WITH THE PAST
Theodore Vale returned Gideon’s call at 2:11 in the morning.
Gideon was sitting in the same hospital hallway where Norah slept beneath his coat.
“Gideon.”
His uncle’s voice had aged.
“Where are you?”
“Not relevant.”
“Mara Bennett said your name.”
Silence.
“That woman is alive?”
Interesting.
“You knew she was hurt.”
Another silence.
Then Theodore said:
“I knew someone would try.”
Gideon stood.
“Start talking.”
“You still sound like your father.”
“Do not do that.”
“Do what?”
“Use him to avoid answering.”
Theodore exhaled.
“North Star Civic Partners is mine.”
“So you took housing money.”
“No.”
“The records say otherwise.”
“The records were designed to say otherwise.”
Gideon stopped walking.
“What?”
“Simon used my old company structure.”
“Why?”
“Because he knew you would believe the worst about me.”
That hurt because it was probably true.
Eight years earlier, Gideon had chosen his father’s version of the family dispute.
He never called Theodore afterward.
“Why didn’t you report it?”
“I did.”
“To who?”
“Your father.”
“My father is dead.”
“I know.”
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
Gideon’s pulse slowed.
Before Juniper died.
Before the housing initiative existed.
Theodore claimed Simon had been manipulating Vale Group real-estate transactions for years.
Small amounts first.
Vendor rebates.
Property fees.
Consulting payments.
Theodore discovered it.
Their family fight was partly about that.
“I told your father Simon was dirty.”
“What did he say?”
“That Simon was loyal.”
Gideon closed his eyes.
His father adored loyalty.
Sometimes more than truth.
Theodore continued.
“Your father believed I wanted control of the company.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
At least he was honest.
“But I was also right about Simon.”
“Why didn’t you come to me later?”
“You stopped answering.”
That landed harder than Gideon expected.
“What does Mara have to do with you?”
“She contacted me.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“How?”
“She traced North Star to me.”
“What did you tell her?”
“The truth.”
“Why didn’t she trust you?”
“She shouldn’t have.”
Gideon frowned.
Theodore continued.
“Because I offered to buy the evidence.”
The hallway seemed to narrow.
“You what?”
“I wanted leverage against Simon.”
“Not justice.”
“No.”
“Jesus.”
“I’m not asking you to admire me.”
“What happened?”
“Mara refused.”
“Then?”
“She told me she was going to you.”
That explained why she knew Gideon’s Christmas tradition.
Theodore knew it.
Family knew.
“You told her about Juniper’s bench.”
“Yes.”
Gideon’s anger shifted.
Finding Norah really had not been fate.
Theodore had told Mara the one place Gideon would certainly be on Christmas Eve.
A memorial to his daughter.
Theodore had weaponized grief in a strangely compassionate direction.
Then Theodore said:
“Simon knows too.”
Gideon became still.
“How?”
“Because he followed Mara after our meeting.”
“Where are you?”
“Safe.”
“Norah isn’t.”
“I know.”
“Then come in.”
“No.”
“Coward.”
“Probably.”
Then Theodore’s voice changed.
“But before you decide I’m your biggest problem, ask why Simon stayed at Vale Group after your father died.”
“Money.”
“No.”
“What?”
“Because Simon wasn’t stealing only from the foundation.”
Gideon gripped the phone.
Theodore continued:
“He was stealing from you.”
Within an hour, Rebecca pulled Gideon’s private family-office records.
At first, everything looked normal.
Then one account appeared.
JUNIPER LEGACY TRUST.
Gideon had created it after his daughter died.
The trust funded pediatric hospice programs, grief counseling, and winter housing.
Simon managed disbursement oversight.
Total unexplained transfers over three years:
$8.3 million.
Gideon stared at the number.
Simon had stolen money given in Juniper’s name.
Grief turned into something sharp.
Then Rebecca found one final transaction.
Two hundred fifty thousand dollars.
Sent three days earlier.
Recipient:
MARA BENNETT.
Gideon stopped breathing.
It looked like Mara had been paid.
A bribe.
Or hush money.
Except Mara’s bank account contained no such deposit.
The account number belonged to someone else.
May you like
Someone had created an account in Mara’s name.
And if police had found it first, the whistleblower might have looked like an accomplice.
