Chapter 3 - The Eight Million
Laura called the county sheriff.
Celeste protested.
“You’re turning a family dispute into a criminal circus.”
Laura looked at Caleb wrapped in blankets beside the fireplace.
“You already did that.”
Deputies photographed the boot print and took statements.
Grant claimed he had remained near the shed.
Mr. Harris confirmed it.
Celeste also had not left.
Someone else had taken the sled.
That meant the conspiracy was larger.
The memory card, fortunately, was not completely lost.
Mr. Harris’s phone had cached the audio file.
His grandson, a software engineer in Boulder, recovered it remotely.
Laura listened again.
Grant and Celeste.
This time the recording continued beyond what they had heard outside.
Grant said:
“Victor found North Peak.”
Celeste replied:
“How?”
“He saw the management fees.”
“If Laura learns North Peak is ours, she’ll go to the police.”
Grant lowered his voice.
“Not if she thinks Victor moved the money himself.”
Laura stopped the playback.
“North Peak?”
Mr. Harris knew the name.
“North Peak Management started handling resort procurement three years ago.”
Laura called Snowhaven Ridge’s controller.
No answer.
Celeste had been managing the resort while Victor’s estate litigation continued.
Laura technically controlled Caleb’s fifty-one-percent beneficial interest, but several voting rights remained restricted while Celeste’s probate challenge was pending.
It was a legal mess Laura had avoided for months.
Now she regretted every week she had spent pretending the lawyers would handle it.
She opened Victor’s canceled checks.
Payments to North Peak Management.
$380,000.
$625,000.
$1.1 million.
Dozens.
Total: $8.4 million.
Laura searched state corporate records.
North Peak was owned through another LLC.
That entity belonged to Grant Sloan.
She stared.
“This is embezzlement.”
Harris shook his head.
“Maybe self-dealing. Maybe legitimate contracts at inflated prices. You need a forensic accountant.”
Laura looked at him.
“You sound like my father.”
“Victor and I argued about money for forty years.”
“You knew he suspected them?”
“Not until three weeks before he died.”
Laura froze.
“What did he tell you?”
“That if anything happened before he could finish changing the company controls, I should watch Caleb.”
“Why Caleb?”
Harris looked ashamed.
“I thought he meant emotionally.”
Laura sat back.
Victor had known the child could become a target.
And had still left the controlling interest to him.
Anger rose.
Not at Celeste.
At Victor.
Why burden an eight-year-old with this?
Her phone rang.
Attorney Nathan Pierce, the probate lawyer handling Victor’s estate.
“Laura, Celeste just filed an emergency motion.”
“For what?”
“To suspend you as trustee.”
Laura laughed in disbelief.
“On what basis?”
“Misappropriation of estate records and endangering trust assets.”
“She locked Caleb outside!”
“That’s separate.”
“What does she claim I misappropriated?”
“The contents of the shed.”
Laura looked at the safe.
“She knew they existed.”
“Apparently.”
“And she filed already?”
“Yes.”
Laura checked the time.
Less than ninety minutes since the discovery.
Prepared documents.
Celeste had been ready.
Pierce continued.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“She alleges Victor lacked capacity when he created Caleb’s trust.”
“We’ve known that.”
“Now she has a neurologist’s letter.”
Laura frowned.
“What letter?”
“Dated two weeks before the estate amendment. It says Victor was experiencing cognitive impairment.”
Laura stood.
“My father never had dementia.”
“We need medical records.”
“I was with him that month.”
“Celeste was with him every day.”
Laura understood the trap.
Celeste had proximity.
Records.
Witnesses.
Laura had distance.
Pierce added:
“If the court voids the trust amendment, Victor’s previous estate plan controls.”
“And that says?”
“Fifty percent to you. Fifty percent to Celeste.”
Laura stared.
Then Caleb entered the room.
“Mom?”
She ended the call.
He held something.
A brass tag.
“Found it under the couch.”
It had fallen from the sled before the theft.
Stamped into it were three characters.
B-17.
Harris looked at it.
“That’s a resort locker number.”
“Where?”
“Old basement storage.”
Laura took Caleb back to the lodge only after deputies cleared it.
Locker B-17 was behind the ski-rental room.
The brass tag opened it.
Inside was a waterproof envelope.
Victor’s handwriting.
If the sled is taken, use this. I expected Grant to search the house first.
Laura almost laughed.
Her father had built contingencies.
Inside was a bank statement.
North Peak Management had transferred money onward.
Not only to Grant.
To Celeste Bennett.
And to someone Laura never expected.
Dr. Alan Mercer.
May you like
Victor’s neurologist.
The doctor who had just declared him cognitively impaired.
