By noon, Thomas Avery was in an interview room downtown.
I was not.
Detective Shah strongly preferred it that way.
Daniel did too.
For once, I did not argue.
I stayed at Willow Creek with Richard and Elena while investigators pulled apart everything connected to Northwind Consulting.
The company existed.
That was almost disappointing.
I had begun expecting every name in this mess to dissolve when touched.
Northwind was a legitimate cybersecurity contractor.
Small.
Private.
Used by law firms, wealth advisers, medical practices, and several regional banks.
Richard’s firm had hired them for one narrow purpose immediately after my lottery claim: securing digital copies of my identification, trust papers, and initial banking instructions during intake.
“How much did they see?” I asked.
Richard sat opposite me at the dining table.
“Potentially your full legal name, date of birth, contact information, claim-related documents, and early account-routing instructions.”
I stared.
“You told me very few people knew.”
“They did.”
“Apparently one company counts as a person in lawyer arithmetic.”
He accepted that without protest.
“Fair.”
“Who chose Northwind?”
“My firm.”
“You?”
“Not personally. Our operations director.”
“Name?”
“Carol Bennett.”
“Do I know her?”
“No.”
“Does she know me?”
“Probably not beyond file references.”
That no longer reassured me.
“Who at Northwind handled the work?”
“We’re identifying that now.”
Elena sat near the window with a laptop.
“Three technicians touched the project.”
“Names?”
“Gavin Pierce. Mallory King. Aaron Vale.”
None meant anything to me.
Richard added, “There was also an account manager.”
“Who?”
“Nathan Cole.”
Still nothing.
“Any connection to Thomas?”
“None found yet.”
Yet.
That word again.
I had become fluent in uncertainty.
Daniel returned from taking Renee and the children to a different location Elena considered more secure.
He dropped his keys on the counter.
“They hate this.”
“The kids?”
“Everyone.”
“I’m sorry.”
He looked at me.
“Stop apologizing for criminals existing.”
I almost smiled.
“That sounds like something I would say to you.”
“I had a good teacher.”
He pulled out a chair.
“Any news?”
Richard explained Northwind.
Daniel stared at him for a long moment.
“You let an outside contractor see my mother’s claim documents?”
Richard did not flinch.
“Yes.”
“And now somebody used information from those documents to steal from her?”
“We don’t know that yet.”
Daniel laughed without humor.
“You lawyers really love that sentence.”
“I prefer being precise when someone may eventually hear me testify.”
That ended the sarcasm.
The possibility of testimony made everything more concrete.
Elena looked up from her laptop.
“Thomas’s rental-car GPS places him near the old house three nights ago.”
I felt a cold pressure beneath my ribs.
“He took the photograph.”
“Likely.”
Daniel asked, “What about the garage?”
“His GPS puts him at a motel then.”
“So he didn’t do it.”
“Not personally.”
I looked at Elena.
“He told me it wasn’t him before we accused him.”
“Yes.”
“He knew about it.”
“Yes.”
“Then someone told him.”
“Or he arranged it.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“What has he admitted?”
“Detective Shah can tell us more when she’s finished, but preliminary—he admits paying Melissa for confirmation of the lottery identity.”
“And the messages?”
“Some.”
“Some?”
Elena nodded.
“He sent the first message to Margaret and the one referencing Harold.”
“Daniel’s?”
“Claims he did not send it.”
Daniel stared.
“That’s convenient.”
“He also denies the attempted transfer and garage entry.”
“And the old-house photograph?”
“Admits taking it.”
This mixture bothered me more than a complete confession would have.
“What about the five hundred thousand?”
“He says that demand was his.”
I looked at Richard.
“And bearer bonds?”
Richard gave a short laugh.
“That part may actually support him being less sophisticated than our other actor.”
“So we have two people.”
“Possibly more.”
I closed my eyes.
Thomas had been real.
His resentment real.
His extortion real.
But someone else had moved around his crime like a shadow.
Bank transfer.
Garage.
Daniel’s message.
Maybe surveillance.
Maybe Northwind.
“Could Thomas have hired somebody?”
Daniel asked.
“Yes.”
Elena paused.
“But there’s a problem.”
“What?”
“His finances.”
She turned the laptop.
Thomas had not recovered from bankruptcy the way he pretended.
His consulting business barely survived.
Credit-card debt.
Late rent.
Tax lien.
He had paid Melissa five thousand dollars using a cash advance and another personal loan.
“He doesn’t have the resources for a professional operation,” Elena said.
“Unless he promised to pay later,” Daniel replied.
“Possible.”
“Or somebody approached him,” I said.
Everyone looked at me.
It had been sitting at the edge of my thoughts since Thomas mentioned Northwind.
“What if Thomas didn’t find me first?”
Richard frowned.
“Explain.”
“What if somebody else learned I won.”
I pointed toward his laptop.
“Someone from Northwind. Someone who had the documents.”
Daniel understood.
“And they looked for a person who already hated Dad.”
“Yes.”
Richard leaned back.
“That would be an unusually elaborate way to extort someone.”
“Why?”
“Because recruiting Thomas adds risk.”
“Unless Thomas was useful.”
“How?”
“He knew me.”
Elena nodded slowly.
“He knew family history.”
“Exactly.”
I thought about the message.
You always need more time when Harold isn’t there to decide for you.
That language belonged to Thomas.
Maybe he had written it.
But perhaps somebody had encouraged him.
Fed his resentment.
Turned an old wound into leverage.
Daniel looked disturbed.
“You think someone found Tom because he knew Grandpa?”
“I think we need to stop assuming Tom created this whole thing.”
Richard rubbed his temple.
“That’s reasonable.”
Elena’s phone rang.
She stepped away.
Daniel leaned toward me.
“You’re handling this better than I am.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You look calm.”
“Your father used to say calm is sometimes just panic with manners.”
Daniel smiled faintly.
“That sounds like Dad.”
“It was usually when I accused him of being calm during something terrible.”
He looked toward the window.
“I wish he were here.”
“So do I.”
“I’d like to ask him about Tom.”
There it was.
The regret of missing information.
Not missing a person generally.
Missing a specific conversation that could never happen.
I understood that kind of grief.
There were hundreds of things I had never thought to ask Harold.
What frightened him most when Daniel was born?
Did he regret staying with the same company so long?
Did he ever wish we had moved?
Did he know Thomas blamed him this deeply?
Death leaves answers stranded inside another person.
Daniel said, “Do you think Dad knew Tom hated him?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t he tell us?”
“Maybe he thought it was over.”
“Was that like him?”
“Yes.”
Harold believed resolved things should remain resolved.
He rarely carried old grievances into new rooms.
That was one of his best qualities.
Possibly, in this case, one of his blind spots.
Elena returned.
“Detective Shah got something.”
We both straightened.
“What?”
“Thomas admits somebody contacted him four months ago.”
Four months.
Before my lottery win.
“No,” Richard said immediately. “That can’t be claim-related.”
Elena raised a hand.
“Listen.”
Thomas had received an email from someone claiming to investigate former investors tied to his failed development project.
The sender wanted background on Harold.
Relationships.
Financial history.
Family.
“Why would Thomas answer?” Daniel asked.
“Money.”
Of course.
“They paid him?”
“Yes. Initially for consulting.”
“How much?”
“Two thousand.”
“What did he tell them?”
“Everything he remembered.”
My skin chilled.
“About me?”
“Yes.”
“Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“The children?”
“At that stage, not much.”
Daniel stood.
“What do you mean, not much?”
“Calm down.”
“No.”
Elena stayed firm.
“They asked mostly about Harold.”
Richard frowned.
“Four months ago. Before the claim. That suggests whoever contacted Thomas was interested in Harold independently.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
Nobody knew.
Then Elena continued.
“After your lottery claim, the same person contacted Thomas again.”
My stomach dropped.
“This time they told him I won.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He says they never explained.”
“And he believed them?”
“They sent proof.”
“What kind?”
“A partial image of the claim documentation.”
Richard swore.
Northwind.
The connection tightened.
“What did they want Thomas to do?” I asked.
“At first, nothing criminal.”
“What then?”
“Tell them about you.”
I felt something cold move through me.
“Personality. Habits. Family dynamics. What frightened you. How you handled conflict.”
Daniel’s face went pale.
“They profiled her.”
Elena nodded.
“That’s what it sounds like.”
I looked at Richard.
“Why would someone do that before asking for money?”
He answered quietly.
“To know how to pressure you.”
The house felt suddenly unfamiliar again.
My life reduced to a file.
Cautious widow.
One adult son.
Dead husband once made financial decisions.
Values family privacy.
Likely resistant to direct demands.
Responds to threats against children.
I felt sick.
“Did Thomas know what they planned?”
“At first, he claims no.”
“And later?”
“He realized.”
“When?”
“When they suggested he could use the information for himself.”
Daniel stared.
“They encouraged him to extort her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“That’s what police are trying to understand.”
I already had a theory.
“Distraction.”
Everyone looked at me.
“If Thomas sends messages, demands money, takes photographs—”
Richard finished.
“Police focus on him.”
“While somebody else attempts the bank transfer.”
Elena nodded.
“And tests physical access.”
Daniel swore softly.
Thomas had not been the mastermind.
He had been bait.
Useful because he carried a believable grievance.
Useful because he could frighten me with personal knowledge.
Useful because if caught, everyone might stop looking.
My anger toward him did not lessen.
He chose to participate.
But the shape of the threat changed.
Elena checked another message.
“Detective Shah wants Richard downtown.”
“Why?”
“Thomas gave them the email address used to contact him.”
Richard stood.
“Can it be traced?”
“Maybe.”
He gathered his papers.
Before leaving, he stopped beside me.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Northwind.”
“You didn’t leak my file.”
“My firm opened the door.”
The apology was not defensive.
I appreciated that.
“We’ll decide blame when we know facts.”
Daniel looked at me.
“That is definitely something Dad would say.”
I smiled.
“Unfortunately.”
Richard left.
By late afternoon, the house quieted.
Elena’s people rotated outside.
Daniel called Renee.
I made tea.
Normal gestures against abnormal circumstances.
Then Richard called.
His voice was tight.
“We traced the email domain.”
“To Northwind?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“A shell company.”
Of course.
“Registered where?”
“Delaware.”
I almost laughed.
“Every bad mystery ends in Delaware.”
Richard ignored that.
“The shell company paid one of Northwind’s contractors last year.”
My hand tightened around the cup.
“Which contractor?”
Silence.
“Richard.”
“Aaron Vale.”
The technician who had touched my intake file.
“Where is he?”
“We don’t know.”
“Police?”
“Looking.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
His voice changed.
“The shell company also made a payment six months ago to another person.”
“Who?”
He hesitated.
Not because he did not know.
Because he did not want to say it.
“Richard.”
“Samuel Price.”
My accountant.
The man who had handled our taxes for fourteen years.
The man who sat in my kitchen and apologized for Melissa.
For a moment, I could not breathe.
“What kind of payment?”
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
“From the same shell company?”
“Yes.”
“Before I won?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
I looked toward Daniel.
He saw my face.
“What happened?”
I lowered the phone.
“Samuel.”
“What about him?”
I barely recognized my own voice.
“He’s connected.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 15: Samuel Had Managed Our Finances for Fourteen Years, and His Explanation for the Hidden Payment Created a More Dangerous Question
The Question My Son Asked at Dinner Made Me Realize I Had Been Living in Someone Else’s Life
Part 14 of 35
