Chapter 6 - MY MOTHER WAS ALIVE, AND SOMEONE WANTED THE LEDGER
Penelope forgot fear.
She became cold.
Focused.
Useful.
It was the same state that appeared when spreadsheets stopped balancing at two in the morning.
“Metadata?”
Larkin’s security chief answered.
“Stripped.”
“Background?”
“Concrete wall. Industrial lighting.”
“Visible details?”
The photograph showed Eleanor seated beneath a hanging bulb.
Gray hair.
Red coat.
A clock behind her.
11:18.
Current time.
On the floor near her shoe sat a white plastic bucket.
Penelope zoomed in.
A shipping label.
Most text unreadable.
One logo remained.
Harbor North Cold Storage.
Larkin looked at her.
“You recognize it?”
“I paid three invoices for it last month.”
Thomas spoke.
“So did I.”
Penelope looked at him.
Thomas shrugged.
“Different department.”
Larkin’s jaw tightened.
Harbor North had three warehouses.
One in Brooklyn.
Two in New Jersey.
Security mobilized.
Penelope stepped toward the door.
“You’re staying here.”
“No.”
“Penelope.”
She turned.
“We had this conversation already.”
Larkin stopped.
Good.
“I decide whether I go.”
“This is not safe.”
“Neither was balancing your books for three years.”
Thomas laughed.
“Point to the secretary.”
Penelope glared at him.
“You’re still on my list.”
“What list?”
“Reasons women choose poison.”
His smile vanished.
Larkin almost smiled.
They identified the warehouse through a tiny number on the shipping label.
Brooklyn.
But when Larkin’s people reached it, Eleanor was gone.
Only the chair remained.
And one envelope.
Inside was another note.
PENNY, IF LARKIN BROUGHT YOU HERE HIMSELF, HE HAS CHANGED MORE THAN I EXPECTED.
Penelope’s eyes burned.
Her mother was moving ahead of them.
Or being moved.
The note continued.
THE LEDGER IS NOT ABOUT MONEY ANYMORE.
LOOK AT PAGE 412.
Penelope opened it.
Page 412 contained transfers from seven shell companies.
Nothing unusual until she recognized the destination.
Larkin Steves Holdings.
Millions had entered accounts Larkin controlled.
Thomas leaned over her shoulder.
“Well.”
Larkin’s face went rigid.
“I’ve never seen these.”
Penelope studied dates.
The transfers began eighteen months earlier.
Monthly.
Careful.
Someone had been moving dirty money into Larkin’s accounts.
Building a paper trail.
“Someone is framing you.”
Larkin nodded.
Thomas looked almost disappointed.
Penelope examined authorization records.
Every transfer carried internal approval initials.
TS.
Thomas Steves.
Everyone looked at him.
Thomas went white.
“I didn’t approve those.”
“Convenient,” Penelope said.
“I didn’t.”
Larkin’s security chief took his phone.
Thomas exploded.
“You think I’m stupid enough to put my initials on stolen money?”
Penelope looked at the transfer patterns.
“No.”
Thomas stopped.
“What?”
“You are many things.”
“Thank you.”
“But you’re not stupid.”
She traced one transaction.
Then another.
The approvals occurred on dates Thomas had been outside New York.
One while he was in Miami.
Another during a week in Montreal.
“Someone used your credentials too.”
Thomas looked at Larkin.
For the first time, the cousins stood on the same side of the problem.
Penelope turned to the final page.
There was one handwritten annotation beside the transfers.
Eleanor’s writing.
THE MAN BEHIND THIS HAS BEEN INSIDE THE STEVES ORGANIZATION LONGER THAN EITHER COUSIN.
Below it was one initial.
M.
Larkin stared.
Thomas whispered:
“No.”
Penelope looked between them.
“Who is M?”
Neither answered.
Then Larkin finally said:
“Marcus Steves.”
“Your uncle?”
“Yes.”
Penelope knew the name from old records.
Marcus Steves had supposedly died twelve years earlier.
Thomas looked at her.
“So did your mother.”
May you like
And suddenly Penelope understood the real secret of the gala.
It had been filled with ghosts.
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