Chapter 4 - THE COST OF ASKING QUESTIONS
By late afternoon, Genevieve had an answer.
Her mother.
Eleanor admitted it before Genevieve even accused her.
“I called Julian because you locked him out of his own home.”
“My home is separate property.”
“You're married.”
“That doesn't make it his safe.”
Eleanor sat across from Genevieve in the library of the Alden family's Napa house, a low stone-and-glass property surrounded by dormant vines.
She was sixty-one, elegant without trying, and still capable of making Genevieve feel sixteen with one disappointed look.
“You're about to give birth,” Eleanor said. “This isn't the time to dismantle your marriage and the company in the same week.”
“Did you tell Julian I spoke to Mara?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he called me terrified.”
“Good.”
Eleanor's face hardened.
“That isn't you.”
Genevieve almost answered automatically.
Then she thought about Julian pressing her thumb against the safe.
“Maybe you don't know who I am anymore.”
The records from Cabinet Three arrived in banker boxes at four.
Corporate counsel had agreed Genevieve could inspect them on-site but warned that removing originals would require formal authorization.
Genevieve didn't need originals.
She needed dates.
North Pier Design Services appeared in records from seven years earlier.
It had been created during the troubled renovation of an older Alder Row property in Monterey.
That project had exceeded its construction budget by nearly six million dollars.
Genevieve remembered the arguments.
Her father had still been alive then. She remembered doors closing after dinner and her parents speaking in low voices.
She'd been twenty-five and more interested in building Alder Row's lifestyle brand than understanding capital structures.
The company survived.
The Monterey property eventually became profitable.
Nobody discussed how.
North Pier appeared again in the old expense schedules.
Then disappeared.
Until Julian resurrected it.
“Who owns it?” Genevieve asked.
The formation documents listed a professional registered agent and an LLC manager that no longer existed.
The beneficial ownership wasn't in the cabinet.
Eleanor stood.
“That's enough for today.”
Genevieve looked up.
“Why?”
“Because you're tired.”
“No. Why is it enough for you?”
Eleanor glanced at the open file.
“There were dozens of vendors on Monterey.”
“Only one of them reappeared under my husband's authority.”
Her mother said nothing.
Genevieve reached for the next folder.
Eleanor placed her hand on it.
Not aggressively.
Just firmly.
It was the first time Genevieve understood that her mother wasn't merely uncomfortable.
She was afraid of what came next.
“Take your hand off the file.”
Eleanor did.
Inside were quarterly lender-compliance work papers from the Monterey renovation.
Several pages had been removed.
Not recently.
The paper tabs marking the sections were yellowed.
Genevieve checked the index.
The missing section concerned project cost reallocations.
She looked at Eleanor.
“Where are these?”
“I don't know.”
“You ran the company.”
“So did your father.”
It was the first time Eleanor had invoked him.
Thomas Alden Jr. had died of pancreatic cancer four years earlier.
Family memory had polished him into something almost impossible to question.
Genevieve had loved him.
She also knew he had been ruthless about keeping Alder Row private.
Julian had once admired that about him.
The thought made her uneasy.
The forensic accountant, David Ross, stepped into the doorway.
He had spent the last hour comparing historical vendor numbers.
“I found something.”
He placed two payment summaries on the table.
One from Monterey, seven years earlier.
One from Napa Vista, six months earlier.
Different bank accounts.
Different mailing addresses.
Same federal taxpayer identification number.
North Pier had never gone away.
Someone had kept the entity alive.
And Julian had known exactly where to find it.
Genevieve turned to Eleanor.
Her mother stared at the page.
“Mom.”
Eleanor's lips pressed together.
“Who told Julian about North Pier?”
May you like
Eleanor lifted her eyes.
“I did.”
