Chapter 10 - Sloan Finally Says the Word
The flash drive contained scanned documents.
Old ones.
Business bank statements from Whitmore Advisory.
Credit-card records.
A settlement agreement.
And emails dating back twelve years.
Naomi’s forensic consultant verified there was no obvious malware before opening them.
Merritt read until her eyes burned.
Judson had used client retainers to cover business operating expenses during cash shortages.
Not necessarily illegal by itself depending on the account arrangement—but one set of records showed a serious problem.
A client had prepaid $95,000 for a consulting project.
Judson moved most of it into another company account.
Then into household expenses.
When the client canceled and demanded a refund, Judson could not immediately repay it.
He borrowed from three sources to fill the hole.
One of those sources was Harbor House Consulting.
Blythe’s company.
Another was a personal line of credit.
The third was Merritt.
She had been twenty-two.
Fresh out of graduate school.
Judson had asked her for $7,500 to “cover a tax timing issue.”
She had forgotten.
The spreadsheet had not.
Merritt sat back.
“He started using me before I had anything.”
Naomi said, “The documents suggest he used everyone around him as liquidity.”
“Who sent this?”
“No clue yet.”
One email included a name Merritt recognized.
Graham Bell.
Judson’s former business partner.
They had split bitterly eight years earlier.
Merritt called.
Graham answered cautiously.
When she identified herself, he went silent.
“I sent the drive,” he said.
“Why now?”
“I heard about the wedding.”
“How?”
“Newport is small if you know event people.”
Merritt looked at Naomi.
“Why warn me?”
“Because I should have twelve years ago.”
Merritt did not know what to say.
Graham continued.
“Your father always repaid money eventually. That’s how he convinced himself he wasn’t stealing.”
“Bridge financing.”
A humorless laugh.
“He still calls it that?”
“Yes.”
“He borrowed from accounts he had no right to touch, patched them later, and acted offended if anyone questioned him.”
“And my mother?”
“She knew enough.”
Merritt’s chest tightened.
“How much?”
“Enough to keep separate spreadsheets.”
The family ledger.
Of course.
After the call, Merritt sat in silence.
Naomi said, “This doesn’t directly prove the ArcLight fraud.”
“No.”
“But it establishes a pattern relevant to motive.”
Merritt’s phone rang.
Sloan.
Merritt answered.
“What?”
Sloan was crying.
“Mom told me to say you gave me permission.”
Merritt closed her eyes.
“For the charge?”
“Yes.”
“Did I?”
“No.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“Because she said if I don’t, Dad could go to prison.”
Naomi began writing.
Merritt said, “Where are you?”
“At my apartment.”
“Are they there?”
“No.”
“Is Thatcher?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Sloan inhaled shakily.
“Mom said the police might ask whether you agreed to cover the venue and changed your mind after the fall.”
Merritt felt something inside her harden.
“They want you to lie.”
“Yes.”
“And blame me.”
“Yes.”
Sloan sobbed.
For years Merritt had imagined this moment differently.
She had wanted Sloan to finally understand.
To finally see the favoritism.
To recognize every insult Merritt had absorbed.
But now Sloan sounded less like a villain than a woman standing in the ruins of a system that had always rewarded her for not looking closely.
“Don’t lie for them,” Merritt said.
“They’re my parents.”
“They’re mine too.”
Sloan was silent.
Merritt continued.
“And they were willing to destroy my career to save themselves.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“No. I don’t think you do.”
Sloan breathed unevenly.
Merritt’s voice became quieter.
“You kicked me because my brace annoyed you.”
“I know.”
“You laughed.”
“I know.”
“You watched Mom pull me off the floor.”
“I know.”
“You knew something was wrong with the wedding money.”
“I know.”
Each answer sounded smaller.
Merritt waited.
Then Sloan said it.
“I assaulted you.”
Merritt’s eyes filled.
Not because the word fixed anything.
Because it was the first time Sloan had stopped hiding behind joke, accident, misunderstanding.
“I’m sorry,” Sloan whispered.
Merritt did not forgive her.
Not yet.
Maybe never in the way Sloan wanted.
But she said, “Tell the truth when the police ask.”
“I will.”
“And don’t call me asking me to rescue you from the consequences.”
Sloan cried harder.
“I won’t.”
When the call ended, Naomi looked at Merritt.
“You did well.”
Merritt shook her head.
“I feel terrible.”
“That doesn’t mean you did badly.”
Merritt looked at the old financial records on the screen.
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For most of her life she had mistaken guilt for proof that she was wrong.
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