Chapter 4 - THE MONEY FROM SCARSDALE
Jolene sold the house for $1.86 million.
That was public information.
Where the money went was not.
I didn’t have authority to pull her bank statements, and I wasn’t going to pretend I did.
So I called Jolene.
She answered with, “Have you come to your senses?”
“No.”
“Then I’m not interested.”
“Where did the money from Scarsdale go?”
Silence.
A full five seconds.
“What money?”
“You sold the house in May.”
Another silence.
Then she said, “That is none of your business.”
“You moved into my home because Vance told me yours was being repaired.”
“I never told you that.”
She was right.
That stopped me.
Every explanation had come through Vance.
“When you moved in, where did you think you were going afterward?”
“My son was handling things.”
“What things?”
“He was arranging the purchase.”
“What purchase?”
Her irritation shifted.
“The apartment.”
“What apartment?”
This time neither of us spoke.
Then Jolene asked very slowly, “What exactly did Vance tell you?”
I sat down.
“That your house had a pipe burst. That you needed four weeks while contractors handled mold.”
Jolene laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“I sold because Vance said the timing was right. He found a buyer off-market. He told me I would stay with you briefly while he closed on a place near you.”
“How much did you give him?”
“That is private.”
“Jolene.”
“Do not use that tone with me.”
“How much?”
She hung up.
An hour later Dean called.
“Stop harassing Mom.”
“I asked where her house money went.”
“You’re not entitled to know.”
“Did you know there was no mold?”
A pause.
“Vance said you wouldn’t agree to a longer stay.”
“So everybody lied.”
“I didn’t lie. I stayed out of it.”
“That’s a convenient distinction.”
Dean ended the call.
That afternoon, Rachel received financial disclosures from Vance’s attorney related to the divorce.
Preliminary.
Incomplete.
But there was something unusual.
Six weeks earlier, Vance had deposited $760,000 into Bellamy Urban Imports, the family furniture-import business where he served as managing partner.
The transfer was labeled:
MEMBER LOAN — J. BELLAMY.
Rachel looked at me.
“Is that his mother?”
“Yes.”
“Then unless she disputes it, we treat it as her transaction.”
“I don’t think she understands the transaction.”
“That may be true. But you don’t decide that for her.”
Again, reality refused to give me permission to save everyone.
So I sent Jolene one screenshot.
Nothing more.
The transfer date.
The amount.
The description.
She called in less than a minute.
“What is that?”
“You tell me.”
Her breathing changed.
“I gave Vance money for the apartment.”
“How much?”
“Eight hundred thousand.”
The number sat between us.
“He said he needed it in escrow to show liquidity before closing.”
“Did you receive a closing statement?”
“No.”
“Contract?”
“Vance handled it.”
“Address?”
She hesitated.
“Hudson Street.”
“What number?”
“I don’t remember.”
I closed my eyes.
Jolene had spent months treating me like a foolish little girl who needed lessons in obedience.
Now I heard fear in her voice.
May you like
“What did my son do with my money?”
I didn’t know.
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