Chapter 3 - THE FAMILY MEMBER STANDING BESIDE SABRINA
Ethan was my older brother’s son.
Forty-two.
Smart.
Controlled.
The kind of man who wore quarter-zips to football games and discussed EBITDA at Thanksgiving.
I hired him at Heartland when he was twenty-six.
Not because he was family.
Because he was excellent.
He became CFO five years ago.
Wyatt trusted him.
So did I.
Daniel said, “Do not call him.”
“I know.”
“Abraham.”
“I said I know.”
That usually meant I was considering the opposite.
He knew me too well.
We verified Ethan’s location before doing anything.
Security footage from Wyatt’s house showed him arriving at 9:14 p.m. on New Year’s Eve.
He carried a bottle of wine.
He kissed Sabrina on the cheek.
He spoke with Irving.
He left at 12:22 a.m., shortly before police arrived.
At no point did he go toward the basement.
That was not innocence.
It was one fact.
I called Heartland’s board chair at seven.
Not to accuse Ethan.
To preserve records.
Email.
Transfer requests.
Corporate files.
Badge access.
Anything involving Wyatt, Palmer Management, Northfield, and the family trusts.
By eight, Ethan’s system access was restricted pending review.
He called me nine minutes later.
“Uncle Abe, what the hell?”
“I’m at the hospital.”
“I heard about Wyatt.”
“How?”
“Sabrina called everybody.”
“Interesting.”
“What happened?”
“I’ll tell you after you tell me why your signature is on Wyatt’s trust revocation.”
Silence.
Long enough.
“Ethan.”
“I witnessed something for him.”
“When?”
“December eighteenth.”
“Where?”
“Heartland office.”
“Was Wyatt there?”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did he sign in front of you?”
“No.”
“Then what did you witness?”
“He told me he had signed.”
“That is not witnessing a signature.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew it then.”
He exhaled.
“Uncle Abe—”
“Who brought you the paper?”
“Sabrina.”
There it was.
“Why would you sign something Sabrina brought without Wyatt?”
“Because Wyatt called me.”
I froze.
“He called?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“That morning.”
“What did he say?”
“That he wanted Sabrina to have more control while he handled a health issue.”
A health issue.
“What kind?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Did he sound normal?”
Ethan hesitated.
“No.”
“What did he sound like?”
“Tired.”
“Drugged?”
“I don’t know.”
“Scared?”
Another pause.
“Maybe.”
“And you signed anyway.”
“I thought they were having marriage problems.”
I closed my eyes.
“So you helped his wife take legal control.”
“I thought I was helping him.”
People love that sentence.
“What else did Sabrina ask you for?”
“Nothing.”
“Wrong answer.”
“Uncle Abe.”
“What else?”
Silence.
Then:
“She asked questions about Northfield.”
“What questions?”
“Valuation. Transfer restrictions. What happens if Wyatt dies.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“And you didn’t think that was strange?”
“She said they were updating their estate plan.”
“Did you answer?”
“Some.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
I hung up.
Not because the conversation was finished.
Because my anger was becoming stupid.
Wyatt woke around noon.
His knee had been stabilized with an external frame.
The orthopedic surgeon warned us that reconstruction would take multiple procedures.
Walking normally again was possible.
Guaranteed?
No.
I sat beside him.
“Ethan says you called him December eighteenth.”
Wyatt stared at me.
“I did?”
“That’s what he says.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Think.”
“I can’t.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Everything after the fifteenth is pieces.”
“What happened the fifteenth?”
His eyes moved toward the door.
“Sabrina found the accounts.”
“What accounts?”
“My separate investment accounts.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“What was in them?”
“About two million.”
That was less than Sabrina imagined but enough.
“Then?”
“She started asking why I hid money.”
“Did you?”
“From her?”
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she was spending like crazy.”
No surprise there.
“We fought.”
“How did your knee happen?”
“Christmas Eve.”
“That’s nine days later.”
“I know.”
“What happened in between?”
He closed his eyes.
“She kept giving me something.”
“What?”
“Sleep medicine.”
“Why take it?”
“Because I thought it was melatonin at first.”
My stomach tightened.
“Then?”
“I got dizzy at work.”
“Did anyone see?”
“Ethan.”
I sat straighter.
“When?”
“Maybe the seventeenth.”
“Did he drive you home?”
“Yes.”
Ethan never mentioned that.
“Who was there?”
“Sabrina.”
“What did Ethan see?”
“I don’t know.”
Wyatt’s voice weakened.
“He left.”
I called Daniel.
“Get building access records for December seventeenth.”
Heartland’s office garage logs showed Ethan’s SUV leaving at 3:42 p.m.
Wyatt’s company vehicle stayed overnight.
Security footage showed Ethan walking Wyatt to the passenger side of his SUV.
Wyatt could barely stand.
Ethan physically helped him into the seat.
He then drove Wyatt home.
That was enough to destroy Ethan’s claim that he merely heard Wyatt sounded tired the next day.
He had personally seen my son impaired.
Then he witnessed legal documents for Sabrina anyway.
Daniel called again an hour later.
“We found another transfer request.”
“What?”
“Submitted by Palmer Management on December twenty-sixth.”
Wyatt was already chained by then.
“What asset?”
“His Ozark Fleet Leasing interest.”
“How much?”
“Estimated five-point-four million.”
“Processed?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Signature verification failed.”
I exhaled.
Then Daniel added:
“But the supporting valuation report came from Heartland.”
“Who produced it?”
He did not answer immediately.
“Ethan’s office.”
May you like
My nephew had not merely signed one paper.
Someone under his authority had prepared the numbers Sabrina needed to steal millions from my son.
