Chapter 7 - Thirty-Eight Million in a Dead Baby’s Name
I had twelve dollars and forty-three cents in my checking account.
My daughter’s dead identity had thirty-eight million dollars moving through it.
That felt personal.
Stellan and Darius spent an hour tracing the transactions while I fed Fern mashed banana at the kitchen island.
Every few minutes, Stellan looked at her like he still could not believe she was real.
Finally I snapped, “You can hold her.”
He looked at me.
“If you want.”
He hesitated.
The hesitation made me less afraid of him than the gun under his jacket.
I handed Fern over.
She immediately grabbed his tie and tried to eat it.
Darius looked away to hide a smile.
Stellan said, “This tie cost eight hundred dollars.”
I shrugged. “She has expensive taste now that she knows her father.”
For the first time, he laughed.
It lasted maybe one second.
Then Darius said, “We found the authorization.”
The laugh disappeared.
He turned the laptop.
Every transfer out of the Ava account had been approved by a biometric signature belonging to Stellan Cross.
I looked at him.
“Did you do it?”
“No.”
“That was fast.”
“I don’t need time to remember stealing thirty-eight million dollars through my dead daughter.”
“Fair.”
Darius opened a signature log.
Fingerprint verification.
Retinal confirmation.
Voice authorization.
All Stellan.
Mrs. Thornbury whispered, “That isn’t possible.”
Stellan’s face was stone.
“It is if somebody had access to my medical archive.”
Mercer looked up.
Everyone turned toward him.
He went pale.
“You kept his biometric records?” I asked.
“I was his family physician.”
“Where?”
“Encrypted private servers.”
“Who had access?”
Mercer did not answer fast enough.
Stellan stood.
“Marcus.”
“Your father.”
“Who else?”
Mercer’s eyes shifted toward Darius.
Darius immediately pulled his weapon.
I grabbed Fern.
“What the hell?”
Mercer raised both hands.
“Darius had emergency access after the shooting three years ago.”
Darius’s jaw flexed.
“I never used it.”
“Put the gun down,” Stellan said.
Darius looked at him.
“Sir—”
“Down.”
He obeyed.
The room stayed tense.
Stellan asked, “Where did the thirty-eight million go?”
Darius brought up the destination accounts.
Not Switzerland.
Not the Caymans.
Chicago.
Small nonprofit organizations.
Women’s shelters.
Medical funds.
Legal clinics.
Safe apartments.
I stared.
“This is laundering?”
“Yes,” Stellan said.
“But into charity?”
“Maybe.”
Mrs. Thornbury made a quiet sound.
I looked at her.
She seemed close to crying.
“What?”
She sat down.
“I know those names.”
Stellan turned.
“Why?”
“Because I created half of them.”
Silence.
I stared at her.
“You stole thirty-eight million dollars?”
“No.”
“You just said—”
“I created the safe houses years ago. For wives, children, girlfriends, drivers, anyone trying to get out of families like this one.”
Stellan looked hurt in a way he probably hated.
“You hid people from us.”
“I hid people from men who believed family meant ownership.”
He had no answer.
Mrs. Thornbury turned to me.
“The Ava account was funding those places.”
“By who?”
“I don’t know.”
Darius checked the most recent transfer.
His face changed.
“What?” Stellan asked.
“The last payment was yesterday.”
“To which shelter?”
Darius looked at me.
“Selene’s apartment building.”
I went cold.
“My building is not a shelter.”
Darius shook his head.
“No. The nonprofit bought it six months ago.”
I thought of my landlord.
The final notice on my door.
The sudden rent increases.
The camera that appeared in the hallway last month.
Someone had been using Fern’s fake death to secretly own the building where I lived.
And yesterday, they had paid themselves for watching us.
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