Chapter 5 - The EnvelopeJordan read the document three times.
He understood enough to know it was bad.
The heading said:
MEMBER AUTHORIZATION — HAWTHORNE PROPERTY LLC.
Below it, the document claimed Marcus had approved a commercial loan secured against the rental property he owned with Adrian.
At the bottom was Marcus's signature.
Jordan knew his father's signature.
This looked like it.
Too much like it.
Behind the authorization were photocopies of deposit slips totaling thousands of dollars.
Different amounts.
Different dates.
Several had handwritten notations:
REPAIR RESERVE.
TENANT IMPROVEMENT.
EMERGENCY PLUMBING.
Jordan remembered carrying two of the envelopes connected to those dates.
He felt sick.
He had never looked inside.
Adrian had told him he was saving time.
Helping with family business.
Being treated like an adult.
Jordan now understood that being treated like an adult was different from being used like one.
A knock came.
“Jordan?”
Rachel.
He shoved the papers back into the envelope.
“Yeah?”
“Can I come in?”
He hesitated.
“I'm doing homework.”
There was a pause.
“All right.”
Her footsteps retreated.
Jordan sat with the envelope on his knees.
Tell them.
The thought came clearly.
Then another followed.
What if Dad thinks I knew?
His phone vibrated.
Adrian.
Jordan declined.
A second call.
Declined.
Then a message.
Do not open that envelope.
Jordan's breath stopped.
How did he know?
Another message:
I'm serious.
Jordan turned the phone facedown.
Downstairs, Marcus studied the storage access card.
Rachel searched the kitchen trash, pizza box and entryway.
Nothing else had been left.
“Maybe Adrian dropped it accidentally,” she said.
“Adrian doesn't accidentally write Jordan's initials on things.”
Marcus called Westbridge Storage.
The employee who answered explained that unit details could only be released to the renter or pursuant to proper legal process.
Marcus did not push.
He was angry, not stupid.
He would not trespass into a storage unit because he suspected his brother.
When he ended the call, Rachel nodded.
“Good.”
“What?”
“You didn't go full Marcus.”
He looked offended.
“What does that mean?”
“It means twenty-five-year-old you would've driven there with bolt cutters.”
Marcus almost laughed.
“Twenty-five-year-old me was an idiot.”
“Sometimes forty-three-year-old you visits him.”
The tension eased for a moment.
Then Rachel became serious.
“We need to check the property accounts.”
Marcus went to his study.
Hawthorne Property LLC had one operating account used for rent, repairs, taxes and insurance.
Marcus handled major decisions.
Adrian oversaw maintenance because he lived closer.
It had worked poorly, but it had worked.
Marcus logged in.
He scanned six months of transactions.
At first nothing seemed wrong.
Then Rachel pointed.
“What is Northline Property Services?”
Marcus frowned.
“No idea.”
Payments appeared almost monthly.
$1,800.
$2,400.
$3,200.
$950.
“Could be contractors Adrian hired,” Marcus said.
“Could be.”
Rachel pulled out her phone.
“No website.”
“That doesn't mean anything.”
“No state listing coming up quickly either.”
Marcus opened older statements.
The payments went back eighteen months.
His pulse quickened.
Total transfers exceeded twenty-eight thousand dollars.
Rachel whispered, “Marcus.”
“I see it.”
“Did you authorize these?”
“No.”
He opened the LLC's digital document folder.
Invoices existed.
Northline Property Services had billed them for roofing patches, pipe repairs, debris removal and emergency electrical work.
Marcus knew some repairs had happened.
But not that many.
Not at those prices.
Rachel pointed to one invoice.
“Look at the mailing address.”
Marcus read it.
A post office box.
Then another.
Same address.
Rachel searched the number printed beneath it.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
She turned the screen.
The phone number belonged to a prepaid wireless account according to a reverse-search directory.
No business identification.
Marcus leaned back.
For the first time, the issue moved beyond Jordan.
Beyond cigarettes.
Beyond teenage lying.
Someone had been pulling money from a family business.
Marcus whispered, “Adrian.”
Rachel did not respond.
“You think I'm wrong?”
“I think we need proof.”
Marcus looked upstairs.
“My son has been making trips for him.”
“Yes.”
“To a storage unit.”
“Yes.”
“To a bank.”
“Yes.”
Marcus's hands curled.
Rachel put her palm over his fist.
“Proof.”
He exhaled and opened his hand.
Upstairs, Jordan slid the forged authorization under his mattress.
But when he lifted the envelope, another item fell out.
A photograph.
It showed Adrian standing outside the Hawthorne duplex beside a man Jordan did not recognize.
Between them was a real-estate sign that had never been placed on the property.
On the back, Adrian had written:
Once Marcus signs, we're done.
Jordan stared at the handwriting.
His father had not signed.
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Someone had signed for him.
And Jordan had been carrying the evidence beneath the same roof as the man being betrayed.
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