Vance pointed to the line directly below mine.
“The secondary guarantor is listed as Eleanor Miller,” she said.
I stared at my mother’s name, written in her sharp, elegant script.
“She signed this?” I asked.
“It was notarized at a branch in Queens,” Vance said. “The notary is currently being questioned.”
“Did you ever lease a property at eighty-two Northern Boulevard?” Vance asked.
“No,” I said. “That is an industrial park. I have never done business there.”
“A payment of twelve thousand dollars was sent to a firm called Queens Concrete and Supply from that account,” Vance said. “Do you know them?”
“No,” I said. “We do not do concrete procurement. We only write the design specifications.”
Julian leaned forward, his hands flat on the table.
“This goes far beyond a stolen vacation fund, David,” he said.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“A commercial line of credit requires an asset audit,” Julian said. “If Mark used your company credentials to back these loans, he had to provide active contracts to prove cash flow.”
“I have three municipal contracts,” I said. “They are public record.”
“And they are now tied to an unauthorized account that is forty thousand dollars overdrawn,” Vance said.
I looked at Julian, but his face was completely blank.
“If the state regulatory board sees an active fraud investigation on your license, they will suspend your engineering credentials immediately,” Julian said. “You will not be able to sign off on any projects.”
“How do we stop it?” I asked.
“We have to open your entire corporate ledger to the state,” Julian said. “Every contract, every invoice, every personal bank transfer you have made in the last five years.”
“That will take weeks,” I said.
“It will take as long as it takes,” Vance said. “And if we find that you had any knowledge of this account before today, the state will file its own charges.”
She took a single sheet of paper from her folder and laid it in front of me, alongside a black ballpoint pen.
“This is the authorization for a full forensic audit of Miller Engineering Associates,” Julian said.
I picked up the pen, its plastic cold in my fingers.
My hand hovered over the signature line.
“If I sign this, everything is public?” I asked.
“Everything,” Julian said.
I pressed the pen to the paper.
The ink on the forensic audit authorization was barely dry when my mother called, her voice uncharacteristically soft, asking me to come to the brownstone.
I stood by the mantelpiece in her parlor, my hand resting near a silver-framed portrait of my father.
Eleanor sat on the edge of her green velvet sofa, holding a damp handkerchief.
“I was wrong, David,” she said, her voice trembling. “The stress of the holiday, the winter weather, it made me lose my head.”
I rubbed my gold wedding ring, saying nothing.
“Please let me see my grandson,” she added, looking up at me. “Just for an hour.”
She reached out, but I stepped back toward the door.
“Maya is still in the hospital,” I said.
“I know,” Eleanor said, wiping her cheek. “I want to make things right with her too. I wrote her a letter.”
She handed me a folded piece of heavy cream stationery.
“Give her this,” she said. “Please.”
I took the envelope and slipped it into my coat.
“We will talk after the bank finishes the audit,” I said.
My mother stopped wiping her eyes and looked up, her expression tightening.
“That is still going forward?” she asked.
I did not answer her as I walked out the front door.
By the afternoon, I was back at Methodist Hospital, standing in the doorway of Maya’s room.
Chloe was already inside, sitting on the vinyl guest chair with three shiny shopping bags at her feet.
“I bought these little footed pajamas,” Chloe said, her words rushing together as she pulled out a tiny blue sleeper. “And some cotton caps, Maya. They are organic cotton, the very best kind.”
Maya lay in the adjustable bed, her right hand pressed flat over her surgical incision.
“Thank you, Chloe,” Maya said softly.
“We just want to be a family again for the baby’s sake,” Chloe said, her voice dropping to a rapid whisper.
She leaned closer to the bed, her fingers twisting air where her jewelry usually sat.
“Mark is so incredibly sorry,” Chloe said. “He did not understand how sick you were, Maya. If you could just talk to David, tell him to drop this nonsense with the bank. It is ruining us.”
I stepped into the room, my boots heavy on the linoleum.
Chloe jumped, nearly dropping the baby clothes back into the bag.
“David,” she said, her breath catching. “I was just telling Maya about the baby gifts.”
“You need to leave, Chloe,” I said.
