Chapter 4 - THE MAN MY HUSBAND TRUSTED MOST WAS STEALING FROM US
Victor followed me into Suite 904.
I did not invite Robert.
He protested.
Victor told him to stay downstairs.
That told me who actually held power in this building.
Lily sat at the desk drawing a picture of three people beneath red flowers.
Me.
Her.
Daniel.
Victor’s expression softened when he saw her.
“Hey, Lilybug.”
Lily looked up.
“Uncle Victor.”
My stomach tightened.
He had been Uncle Victor since before she could speak.
He had attended birthdays.
Christmas.
School plays.
He kept a photograph of Daniel on his office shelf.
Now I wondered what else sat behind it.
“Lily, sweetheart, could you go with Ms. Monroe for breakfast?”
Rachel had arrived twenty minutes earlier.
Lily left happily.
The door closed.
Victor sighed.
“You could have called me.”
“I did.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
He checked his phone.
Three missed calls.
He looked irritated.
Not ashamed.
Interesting.
I placed the Lakeshore documents on the table.
His face changed by one degree.
“Explain.”
“Guest-recovery vendor.”
“Owned by your wife.”
Silence.
“You didn’t think legal would find that?”
“It isn’t illegal for family members to own vendors.”
“No.”
I leaned forward.
“It is illegal to redirect fake refunds into them.”
His eyes hardened.
“You’re making accusations before understanding the accounting.”
“Then help me.”
He started explaining service-fee structures.
Chargeback reconciliation.
Reserve accounts.
Complicated language used by intelligent people when simple truth is dangerous.
I let him talk.
Then interrupted.
“Why were complaints deleted?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why were reservations manipulated?”
“Ask property management.”
“Why did you approve Lakeshore?”
“Because they reduced chargeback exposure.”
“Why has your wife’s company received nine hundred thousand dollars?”
“Revenue.”
“From guests who never received refunds?”
That stopped him.
A knock.
Rachel entered.
“Sorry.”
She wasn’t.
She handed me another report.
“We traced card data.”
I read.
Guests paid legitimate hotel charges.
Then fraudulent “service recovery adjustments” were created.
Money moved to Lakeshore.
But that was only half.
The same guests were sometimes charged again through a manual terminal.
Two payments.
One stay.
One stolen difference.
“How much?”
Rachel looked at Victor.
“Potentially four point seven million over three years.”
Victor stood.
“This is insane.”
“Sit.”
He stared.
I had never spoken to him that way.
Maybe Daniel had.
Victor sat.
Then he said:
“Clara, think carefully.”
That sentence angered me.
“About?”
“What public scandal does to hotel valuation.”
There it was.
Not innocence.
Damage control.
“You want me to bury it.”
“I want you to investigate responsibly.”
“Quietly.”
“Yes.”
“So investors don’t know.”
“Until facts are established.”
I studied him.
“Did Daniel know about Lakeshore?”
Victor’s face changed.
My pulse accelerated.
“Victor.”
“No.”
Too fast.
I stood.
“You’re lying.”
He looked toward the window.
Daniel had died four years earlier in a car accident driving home from this hotel.
That night, he had called me twice.
I missed both calls because Lily had a fever.
He left no voicemail.
Police said wet pavement caused the crash.
For four years, I had accepted that.
Now Victor said quietly:
“Daniel was auditing this property before he died.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“What?”
“He thought money was missing.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were his COO.”
“He didn’t tell me everything.”
“Why?”
Victor looked at me.
Then spoke the sentence I had not expected.
“Because he suspected me.”
The room went silent.
Then Rachel’s phone buzzed.
She read something.
“Clara.”
“What?”
“Corporate archive found Daniel’s final email draft.”
My hands went cold.
“To who?”
“You.”
Four years late.
The message had never sent.
Subject line:
IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO ME.
May you like
And the first sentence read:
Clara, do not trust Victor Lang.
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