Chapter 7 - Lila Told Me Why She Really Stayed
There was still one mystery.
Lila.
I knew why Grant thought he needed her.
She was young.
Smart.
Connected.
Ambitious.
But there was something about her that he had not told me.
And one afternoon, she finally told me.
We were walking along the harbor.
“Grant didn’t hire me because of my skills.”
I looked at her.
“He hired me because of my father.”
“What?”
“My father was Daniel Warren.”
The name meant something.
I had heard it years earlier.
A Boston financial executive.
Former Donnelly & Finch investor.
He had died suddenly seven years ago.
“Your father had a dispute with Grant.”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“He accused Grant of falsifying project valuations.”
I stopped walking.
“He did?”
“He wanted to go public.”
“What happened?”
“He died.”
I stared at her.
“You think Grant killed him?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“Then why tell me?”
“Because Grant used his death.”
“How?”
“He told everyone my father was reckless.”
“He blamed him?”
“Yes.”
Lila looked down.
“I hated Grant for years.”
“Then why work for him?”
“Because I wanted to know the truth.”
That surprised me.
“You were investigating him?”
“Yes.”
“From the beginning?”
“Yes.”
“Did he know?”
“I don’t think so.”
I thought back to the anniversary dinner.
Her tense fingers.
Her lowered eyes.
The recording.
The folder.
She had not looked like a mistress celebrating an affair.
She had looked like someone waiting for a signal.
“You were never on his side.”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you come to me?”
“I was scared.”
I nodded.
“I understand.”
“There’s more.”
Of course there was.
“My father left something.”
“What?”
“A backup drive.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“He told me that if anything happened to him, I should never trust the company archive.”
“Did you look?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing?”
“No.”
She handed me a key.
“What is this?”
“Storage locker.”
“Your father’s?”
“Yes.”
We went that afternoon.
The locker contained boxes.
Old bank statements.
A camera.
A small tape recorder.
And photographs.
One photograph showed Daniel Warren with Richard and Grant.
On the back was written:
They know.
Another photograph showed a project site.
Another showed a meeting.
Then Lila found the tape recorder.
We played it.
A man’s voice filled the small room.
Daniel Warren.
Grant is falsifying land values. I confronted him today. Richard knows.
I froze.
The recording continued.
If anything happens to me, the records are in Blackwood.
I looked at Lila.
“That’s your father’s voice.”
She nodded.
Then another voice appeared.
Grant.
You should leave this alone.
My skin went cold.
The recording ended.
We stared at each other.
“Now we know,” Lila whispered.
“Maybe.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“This is why he kept lying.”
We gave the recording to Amelia.
She sent it to investigators.
Then something unexpected happened.
Richard asked to see me alone.
He sat across from me.
“I need to tell you the truth about Daniel.”
I waited.
“Daniel and I discovered the same thing.”
“What?”
“Grant had been manipulating project valuations.”
“And you?”
“I confronted him.”
“When?”
“Months before your wedding.”
I stared.
“You knew before I married him?”
Richard closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
“Why didn’t you stop it?”
“Because he convinced me he would change.”
“That seems to be everyone’s excuse.”
“I know.”
“What happened to Daniel?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never investigated?”
“I did.”
“What did you find?”
“Nothing.”
I looked at him.
“Then why are you telling me now?”
“Because there is one person I never questioned.”
“Who?”
Grant’s former chief accountant.
Her name was Margaret Hale.
“She retired ten years ago.”
“Where is she?”
“Vermont.”
We found Margaret two days later.
She was seventy-three and lived in a small farmhouse.
When she saw me, she started crying.
“I wondered when someone would come.”
“What do you know?”
She motioned us inside.
“Grant created a second ledger.”
“Like the ones Peter found?”
“No.”
She pulled out an old notebook.
“This one tracks bribes.”
My stomach dropped.
“To whom?”
“Officials.”
“Judges?”
“No.”
“Inspectors.”
“Planning officers.”
“Bankers.”
“Anyone who could delay or approve projects.”
I looked at Lila.
This was bigger than marriage.
Much bigger.
Margaret leaned toward us.
“But there is something he never touched.”
“What?”
“The original ownership register.”
“Where is it?”
She smiled.
“Blackwood.”
We laughed.
The answer had been sitting beneath our feet all along.
We returned to the estate.
In the hidden archive, Margaret found a loose floorboard.
Beneath it sat a leather-bound register.
It showed original ownership percentages.
And next to several properties was the notation:
Held in trust for Claire Bennett.
My maiden name.
I stared.
My grandmother had protected me before I even understood why.
Grant had spent eighteen years believing he owned everything.
He had never known the most important assets had never belonged to him at all.
Amelia looked at the documents.
“This changes the divorce completely.”
“How?”
“Grant cannot take what you never shared.”
I closed the register.
“Then we stop fighting over what is mine.”
“And?”
“We expose what he stole from everyone else.”
Lila looked at me.
“You’re not afraid.”
I smiled.
“I was.”
“When?”
“Eight months ago.”
“And now?”
May you like
I looked toward the window.
“Now I’m angry enough to be useful.”
