“She’s stealing my inheritance!” he screamed. I opened the safe in front of everyone. Inside was no money—only documents proving he had emptied Dad’s accounts months earlier.
“Then opening the safe should settle that.”
“It will.”
Julian pointed at me again.
“She has had that key for weeks.”
“Correct.”
“She could have emptied it.”
Samuel nodded toward the open steel door.
“That concern is one reason your father documented the contents.”
Julian’s face tightened.
“Documented how?”
Samuel gestured toward the flash drive.
Nobody spoke.
I looked down at the safe.
Six folders.
One flash drive.
One handwritten note.
No money.
No bearer bonds.
No deeds to some secret property empire.
Nothing Julian had spent the morning telling relatives was hidden inside.
I picked up the first folder.
A white label was fixed to the front.
ACCOUNT REVIEW — FIRST NATIONAL BANK.
Julian looked away.
That was all I needed to see.
I handed it to Samuel.
He opened it.
The first bank investigator stepped forward.
Her name was Melissa Grant.
She was in her forties, dressed in a gray suit, with the expression of someone who had already heard every possible version of “I didn’t know.”
She removed a transaction summary.
“Mr. Moreno,” she said to Julian, “do you recognize account ending in 4421?”
He crossed his arms.
“I recognize my father’s bank.”
“It was one of his primary savings accounts.”
“So?”
Melissa looked at the paper.
“Eight months ago, the balance was $683,420.”
A murmur passed through the room.
Julian glanced toward our relatives.
Then back at her.
Melissa continued.
“By the time your father entered the hospital last month, the balance was $31,807.”
My uncle Raymond frowned.
“That can’t be right.”
“It is.”
Julian shrugged.
“Dad had expenses.”
I looked at him.
“What expenses?”
“He was sick.”
I almost laughed.
“I paid the hospital deposits.”
“You handled some bills.”
“All of them.”
“You don’t know everything.”
“No.”
I nodded toward Melissa.
“That is why she is here.”
Melissa turned the page.
“Over a period of seven months, there were nineteen withdrawals or transfers inconsistent with Mr. Moreno’s prior activity.”
Julian’s jaw moved.
She began reading.
“Forty thousand dollars.”
Next line.
“Twenty-seven thousand five hundred.”
Another.
“Sixty thousand.”
Another.
“Eighteen thousand.”
Serena spoke quickly.
“Victor—”
Julian turned on her.
“Don’t.”
The entire room caught it.
Victor.
Not Julian.
Victor was our father’s first name.
Serena had almost said Dad.
Or Victor gave us permission.
Or Victor knew.
Whatever sentence she had been about to use, Julian did not want her finishing it.
Samuel noticed.
“So you were aware of the transactions, Mrs. Moreno?”
Serena stiffened.
“I was aware that Victor helped Julian.”
Julian interrupted.
“Dad gave me money all the time.”
I stared at him.
“No, he didn’t.”
“You wouldn’t know.”
“I managed his accounts for the last four months.”
“Exactly. Last four.”
He smiled.
“Before that, Dad made his own decisions.”
Melissa nodded.
“That is something we examined.”
Julian looked less comfortable.
She continued.