Chapter 4 - The Purple Stars Led to a Fortune—and My Mother Knew the Missing Piece
The next morning, Arthur Bell appeared on television.
He was smiling beside a hospital wing he'd donated.
A reporter praised his generosity.
I watched from the sofa while Mom made breakfast.
“He looks nice,” I said.
Mom didn't answer.
Vincent walked into the room.
“He isn't.”
He turned off the television.
“Why?”
“Because good people don't need to keep proving they're good.”
Mom looked at him.
“What do we know?”
“David Sterling moved stolen money through six shell companies.”
“Arthur Bell controls the bank.”
“Yes.”
“And Richard Vale?”
“Dead.”
“Accident?”
Vincent nodded.
“Convenient.”
Mom went quiet.
Then she said:
“There's something else.”
Vincent looked at her.
“I remember another name.”
“Whose?”
“Someone who visited David after closing.”
“Name?”
“Jonathan.”
“Last name?”
“I don't know.”
“What did he do?”
“He delivered envelopes.”
“How often?”
“Every Friday.”
Vincent froze.
“Friday?”
“Yes.”
“What time?”
“Seven-thirty.”
Marcus entered.
“I found him.”
Vincent turned.
“Who?”
“Jonathan Pierce.”
Marcus placed a file down.
“Former employee of Bell Financial.”
Mom stared.
“That’s him.”
“What happened to him?”
Marcus answered:
“Missing.”
“How long?”
“Seven weeks.”
Vincent cursed under his breath.
Mom covered her mouth.
“Seven weeks.”
I looked at her.
“Is that bad?”
She nodded.
“It means somebody doesn't want him talking.”
That afternoon, someone tried to enter our apartment.
Security caught him.
He wasn't a thief.
He was a lawyer.
He claimed to represent Arthur Bell.
Vincent refused to see him.
The lawyer left one message.
“Mr. Bell wants to offer Ms. Carter a settlement.”
Mom laughed bitterly.
“Settlement for what?”
“Her cooperation.”
Vincent's expression hardened.
“What does that mean?”
“She signs a nondisclosure agreement.”
“And?”
“She receives five hundred thousand dollars.”
Mom stared.
I nearly dropped my juice.
“Five hundred thousand?”
Vincent looked at her.
“Don't.”
She nodded.
“I wasn't going to.”
The lawyer added:
“Mr. Bell says your daughter deserves a better life.”
Vincent stood.
“Tell Mr. Bell that if he mentions her daughter again, he won't be negotiating.”
The lawyer left.
Mom looked at Vincent.
“You can't threaten him.”
“I just did.”
“Why are you doing this?”
Vincent stopped.
For a moment, he didn't answer.
Then he said:
“Because I recognize fear.”
Mom looked at him.
“You're not afraid of him.”
“I wasn't talking about me.”
He walked away.
That night, I found him sitting alone in the restaurant.
I climbed into the chair across from him.
He looked at me.
“Can't sleep?”
I shook my head.
“Why?”
“Mom is scared.”
“I know.”
“Are you scared?”
He thought.
“Yes.”
I was surprised.
“Of Arthur?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Myself.”
I didn't understand.
He smiled.
“Maybe you'll understand when you're older.”
Then he noticed something in my hand.
The purple sticker.
“You still have that?”
I nodded.
“Can I see?”
I gave it to him.
He turned it over.
A number had been written on the back.
He stared.
“What?”
“It's a locker number.”
“Where?”
“Union Station.”
The next morning, Vincent took Marcus, Mom, and me to Union Station.
Locker 1739 was open.
Inside was a small metal box.
No lock.
No label.
Inside was a USB drive.
And a photograph.
My mother recognized the people immediately.
David Sterling.
Arthur Bell.
Richard Vale.
And one more person.
A woman.
Laura Sterling.
Mom stared.
“She was working with them?”
Laura's own voice came from behind us.
“No.”
We turned.
She stood there crying.
“She was working against them.”
Vincent raised his gun.
Laura lifted her hands.
“I came alone.”
“How did you know we'd be here?”
“Because the locker was my father's.”
She stepped closer.
“He left it for me.”
“What is on the drive?”
“The proof.”
Vincent looked at Marcus.
“Open it.”
The drive contained hundreds of files.
Bank transfers.
Forged signatures.
Payroll fraud.
Identity theft.
Bribes.
And one spreadsheet.
At the top:
PROJECT CARTER.
Mom stared.
“What is that?”
Vincent scrolled.
My mother's name appeared.
Beneath it:
Employee selected for liability transfer.
Mom's face went white.
“What does that mean?”
Marcus went pale.
“It means they planned to make you responsible.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
The fraud had been designed so that if investigators discovered it, fake signatures and fabricated payroll records would make Mom look like the person who authorized the transfers.
She wouldn't just lose her job.
She could go to prison.
I looked at Mom.
“Would they send you to jail?”
She began crying.
Vincent knelt in front of me.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because we won't let them.”
He stood.
“We're going to turn everything over.”
Mom shook her head.
“Then they'll come after us.”
Vincent looked at her.
“Yes.”
She swallowed.
“But we'll be ready.”
That night, our apartment was attacked.
Not with guns.
With fire.
An alarm woke us.
Smoke filled the hallway.
Vincent arrived before the fire department.
He carried me down the stairs.
I was coughing.
Mom was behind him.
Outside, I watched flames swallow the apartment.
My mother started crying.
Vincent looked at the building.
Then at her.
“They're escalating.”
Mom whispered:
“What do they want?”
Vincent answered:
“You.”
“Why?”
“Because you're the only person who can prove how they used the restaurant payroll.”
Mom looked confused.
“I don't understand.”
Vincent did.
He took her hand.
“Your seventy-seven days weren't random.”
Mom stared.
“What?”
“They kept you working unpaid because they needed a record.”
“A record of what?”
Vincent looked at the burning building.
“They needed someone who would appear financially desperate.”
Mom froze.
“So they could make the fraud believable.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did they let me keep working?”
Vincent's voice became quiet.
“Because they expected desperation to make you cooperate.”
Mom looked at him.
“And when I didn't?”
May you like
He glanced at me.
“They used your daughter.”
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