Chapter 2 - THE LEDGER MY MOTHER STOLE
Penelope left the ballroom.
Larkin followed.
She reached the marble corridor outside the coatroom before turning.
“You knew my mother.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“I knew of her before I knew you.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
His jaw tightened.
“My father employed Eleanor for six years.”
Penelope laughed once.
The sound was sharp.
“My mother packed my lunches.”
“She did both.”
“She helped me with algebra.”
“She was also the woman my father trusted with financial records he wouldn’t let his own brother see.”
Penelope stepped closer.
“And you thought maybe mentioning that during the last three years would be inconvenient?”
“I needed to know whether you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“Where the ledger was.”
That answer hurt more than she expected.
“So I was an investigation.”
“At first.”
Penelope looked away.
There it was.
The humiliation she had expected from the gala, just not in the way Thomas planned.
She had believed her invisibility protected her.
Instead, Larkin had been watching from the beginning.
“Did my mother steal from your father?”
“No.”
“What did she take?”
“Evidence.”
Larkin lowered his voice.
“The old organization kept two sets of books. One for tax purposes. One for reality. Eleanor discovered money moving through companies connected to judges, contractors, politicians, union officials, and people far above my father.”
Penelope felt sick.
“She copied it?”
“She built the ledger.”
That sounded like her mother.
Eleanor had color-coded grocery lists.
She kept receipts for seven years.
She once made thirteen-year-old Penelope redo a math assignment because the answer was correct but the work was sloppy.
“What happened?”
“Eleanor realized the records could get people killed.”
“So she left?”
“She tried.”
Larkin glanced toward the ballroom doors.
“My father told everyone she died in a highway accident.”
Penelope froze.
“That was true.”
“I saw the newspaper.”
“You saw a burned vehicle identified as hers.”
Her throat tightened.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying no body was publicly identified.”
Penelope’s knees felt weak.
For fifteen years, she had visited a grave containing ashes provided by a funeral home.
She suddenly could not remember ever seeing official identification.
“Why would my aunt lie to me?”
“I don’t know.”
Penelope’s aunt Ruth had raised her after Eleanor’s death.
Ruth had died four years ago.
There was no one left to ask.
Larkin’s voice softened.
“I hired you because your résumé crossed my desk and your name matched hers. I thought someone had sent you.”
“Nobody sent me.”
“I know that now.”
“How?”
“Because no trained operative spends three years correcting my expense coding and reminding Thomas to submit receipts.”
Despite herself, Penelope almost smiled.
Then she remembered she was furious.
“You still used me.”
“Yes.”
At least he didn’t lie.
Before Penelope could answer, the ballroom doors opened.
Thomas stepped into the corridor.
“You two done having your romantic accounting crisis?”
Larkin turned.
“Go back inside.”
Thomas ignored him.
He looked at Penelope.
“You want to know the funny part?”
“Thomas.”
Larkin’s warning was unmistakable.
Thomas smiled anyway.
“Your mother wasn’t hiding the ledger from our family.”
Penelope stared at him.
“She was hiding it from one person.”
“Who?”
Thomas raised his champagne glass toward Larkin.
“Him.”
Penelope looked at Larkin.
His face hardened.
Thomas continued.
“Eleanor left instructions. If Larkin Steves ever became head of the organization, the ledger was supposed to be released.”
Penelope’s stomach dropped.
“Why?”
May you like
Thomas’s smile widened.
“Because your mother thought Larkin would become worse than his father.”
