Chapter 2 - Thirty-Nine Calls
The next day, Simone called thirty-eight times before lunch. I didn't answer. I was sitting in Bernard's office with Mom.
The first thing he told us was that the three highlighted transfers weren't the actual problem — they were only the ones Mom had happened to notice. His assistant had spent the morning pulling eighteen months of statements. He slid a folder across the table.
"This is preliminary."
"How bad?" I asked.
He took off his glasses. "Approximately forty-seven thousand dollars."
Mom went pale. Heat climbed up my face. "All to Simone?"
"Or entities linked to her business."
My phone buzzed. Call thirty-four. I turned it facedown.
"Some transfers were authorized through online banking using your mother's login credentials," Bernard continued.
"I don't use online banking," Mom said.
"I know."
"So someone logged in as her."
"Yes."
My phone buzzed again. Thirty-five. Thirty-six. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight.
Bernard slid another document across. "There's more."
Before I could read it, the phone rang again. Thirty-nine.
He nodded. "You should answer."
I picked up. Simone was crying — not delicate tears, panicked ones.
"David, what did you do?"
"I didn't do anything."
"My business account is frozen!"
Mom looked at me. Bernard didn't move.
Simone kept going, breathless. "They froze everything — payroll, vendor payments, all of it!"
"Why would your account be frozen?"
Silence. Then: "You know why."
The room changed. I gripped the phone. "No, Simone. Tell me."
"You don't understand."
"Then explain."
"I was going to put it back."
Mom closed her eyes. I felt sick. "How much?"
"David—"
"How much?"
"It wasn't stealing!"
Mom's eyes opened. For the first time all morning, there was anger in them, not fear.
"You took money from an eighty-two-year-old woman without her permission."
"She has plenty!"
The words came out before Simone could stop them. Mom heard every syllable. The room went completely silent.
Then she held out her hand. "Give me the phone."
I hesitated. Her hand didn't waver. I handed it over.
"Simone."
Simone's voice instantly softened. "Eleanor, please, I can explain—"
Mom's voice stayed calm. Too calm. "Bernard found something else."
Silence. Simone stopped crying.
Mom looked at Bernard, then said, "And I think you already know what it is."
The line went dead. Simone had hung up.
Bernard leaned back. "That reaction concerns me."
"What did you find?" I asked.
He opened a second folder. Inside sat a notarized document. Mom stared at it. "What is that?"
He turned it around. An amendment to her trust. According to it, if Mom died, nearly sixty percent of her estate would go — not to me — but to Simone.
My mouth went dry. "That can't be real."
"It isn't," Bernard said.
"What?"
"The signature is forged. The notary listed here died eleven months before this document was supposedly signed."
Mom covered her mouth. I stood. "She forged a trust amendment?"
"Someone did."
"You think Simone—"
"I think," Bernard cut in, "we need to stop discussing this casually and call the authorities."
May you like
My phone buzzed. A text from Simone. PLEASE COME HOME. Then another. I CAN EXPLAIN EVERYTHING. Then: DO NOT CALL THE POLICE UNTIL YOU HEAR ME.
That last one is what made Bernard reach for his own phone.
