Chapter 13 - Daniel’s Last Bet
Daniel told himself he had never been a gambler.
Gamblers relied on luck.
Daniel relied on plans.
That distinction had comforted him through years of increasingly reckless decisions.
At Greenline Brokerage, compliance officer Aaron Pike placed a transaction history on the desk.
“One hundred eighty-six thousand transferred September seventeenth.”
Daniel nodded.
“To your Northgate business account.”
“Yes.”
“Then wired to Summit Ridge Recovery Fund.”
“Yes.”
Aaron looked over his glasses.
“What exactly is Summit Ridge Recovery Fund?”
“A recapitalization vehicle.”
“Related to your prior failed investment?”
Daniel hated the word failed.
“Restructured investment.”
Aaron made a note.
“And source of the Greenline funds?”
“Personal investments.”
“Some deposits originated from Northgate.”
“Yes.”
“Your wholly owned company.”
“Yes.”
Aaron pushed a form forward.
“We need additional source-of-funds documentation.”
Daniel’s chest tightened.
“Why?”
“Routine review.”
It was not routine.
The timing was too precise.
Vanessa.
Or his mother.
Someone had started asking questions.
Daniel signed nothing.
“I’ll have my attorney respond.”
Aaron nodded.
Outside, Daniel sat in his car without starting the engine.
The September 17 transfer had been his final attempt to fix everything.
Summit Ridge’s founder, Caleb Moss, had contacted him with an opportunity.
The original Florida property had been sold to a new developer.
Existing investors could buy discounted participation interests before restructuring.
Put in $186,000 now, Caleb said, and you could recover $500,000 within six months.
Daniel had believed him.
Needed to believe him.
The next morning Vanessa demanded Eleanor leave.
Daniel had convinced himself the house sale would cover whatever happened.
One successful property transaction.
One refinance.
One major DLC project.
One Northgate return.
Every crisis required only one future event.
But future events kept becoming new crises.
His phone rang.
Caleb Moss.
Daniel answered immediately.
“I was about to call you.”
Caleb sounded strained.
“That isn’t good.”
“What happened?”
“The recovery vehicle has been frozen.”
Daniel gripped the steering wheel.
“What?”
“There’s litigation involving the managing partner.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“My money?”
“Locked temporarily.”
“Temporarily how long?”
“I said I don’t know.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“You told me the capital was protected.”
“I said it was secured by participation interests.”
“You said six months.”
“That was projected.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
He had heard himself say exactly the same things to other people.
Projected.
Temporary.
Expected.
He ended the call.
For several minutes he sat motionless.
Then a memory surfaced.
He was twelve.
Robert had taken him fishing.
Daniel lost a lure in weeds and secretly attached another from the tackle box rather than admitting it.
Then another disappeared.
Then another.
By the time Robert noticed, six expensive lures were gone.
“Why didn’t you tell me after the first?” Robert had asked.
Daniel cried.
“I thought I could get it back.”
Robert had knelt beside him.
“Son, losing the first thing was an accident. Hiding it cost five more.”
Daniel had remembered that sentence his whole life.
Apparently not enough to obey it.
His phone showed twenty-three missed messages.
Employees.
Vendors.
Vanessa’s lawyer.
A lender.
His mother.
Eleanor’s message contained only four words.
We need the truth.
Daniel laughed bitterly.
Truth had become a luxury.
He drove to DLC.
His operations manager, Luis Herrera, waited inside.
“Payroll?”
Daniel avoided his eyes.
“Tomorrow.”
“You said today.”
“Funds are moving.”
Luis crossed his arms.
“People are scared.”
“I know.”
“Two suppliers put us on hold.”
“I know.”
“And I got a call from Wexler’s attorney.”
Daniel looked up.
“Why?”
“They’re filing.”
“For what?”
“Misuse of deposit funds.”
Daniel’s stomach dropped.
“How would they know?”
Luis stared at him.
“That question worries me.”
Daniel walked into his office.
On his desk was the archive box Vanessa had searched.
The E.C. folder sat open.
He saw copies missing.
His world was no longer compartmentalized.
Every wall had been removed.
Luis appeared in the doorway.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“Tell me something.”
Daniel looked at him.
“Is the company solvent?”
Daniel almost lied.
The lie reached his mouth.
Then stopped.
“I don’t know.”
Luis’s shoulders dropped.
Twenty-three years of employment experience passed across his face.
He knew what those words meant.
“Do we need to send people home?”
“No.”
“Daniel.”
“No.”
“Can you make payroll?”
Daniel whispered, “Not today.”
Luis nodded slowly.
“Then I’m telling the crews.”
“You can’t.”
“I’m operations manager.”
“You work for me.”
“And eighty people work for you.”
Luis’s voice hardened.
“They deserve to know whether their checks clear.”
Daniel stood.
“I can fix it.”
Luis looked at him with sadness.
“You’ve been saying that for months.”
Then he left.
Daniel sank into his chair.
He opened the bottom drawer.
Inside lay the fresh pen he had taken from Eleanor’s house.
He had not stolen it intentionally.
At least that was what he had told himself.
He had seen it beside the repayment agreement and slipped it into his pocket while furious.
Later, in the hotel, he realized the pen contained no special ink.
No useful signature sample.
Nothing.
Yet he had kept it.
A ridiculous object from the moment his mother finally said no.
Daniel held it now.
Then looked at his desk scanner.
For one terrible second, the old instinct appeared.
Could he create one more document?
One more extension?
One more authorization?
He stared at the pen.
Then opened his hand.
It fell onto the desk.
Daniel buried his face in both hands.
When he looked up again, a man stood outside the glass office door.
Grant Hale.
Daniel’s former lender.
The man Eleanor had paid.
Hale entered without waiting.
“We have a problem.”
Daniel laughed weakly.
“Get in line.”
Hale closed the door.
“No, Daniel.”
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His expression was serious.
“You and I have a criminal problem.”
