Chapter 8 - David Hawthorne
David Hawthorne had been my father's attorney.
That was the connection.
He died nine years earlier.
But his law firm still existed.
More importantly, his son, Matthew Hawthorne, currently represented Mercer Residential.
Andrew's company disputes.
Claire's estate questions.
Everything seemed to pass through that firm.
Thomas eventually called back.
He'd disconnected because someone entered his house.
A neighbor.
Nothing sinister.
Once calmer, he explained.
David Hawthorne discovered Andrew stealing from Mercer Residential as a teenager.
Not William.
David.
He helped William document it.
That led to Andrew's removal.
Years later, Andrew became convinced David had fabricated evidence to force him out.
Was that true?
Thomas didn't know.
But Claire investigated it.
Then she found payments from William to David spanning twenty years.
Legal fees?
Maybe.
Some were too large.
One payment:
$180,000.
Exactly the amount on the Bellweather receipt.
The money moved:
Mercer Residential → Bellweather Consulting → Hawthorne Legal Services.
Why route legitimate legal fees through a shell?
Maybe they weren't legal fees.
We requested historical records.
The description attached to one payment was chillingly simple:
CARTER SETTLEMENT.
My family again.
What settlement?
Thomas finally admitted Robert had threatened to sue William over the forged share transfer.
They settled privately.
That meant Robert knew his signature had been forged before he died.
“Who forged it?”
Thomas said:
“Robert never told me.”
“Did he know?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“He said he couldn't expose the person without destroying his family.”
My family.
Not William's.
So someone close to my father.
Thomas?
My mother?
Me?
I had been a teenager.
Then Thomas said:
“Daniel, there was one other Carter working at Mercer Residential.”
I stopped.
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
My mother, Susan Carter, died when I was thirty-four.
She had been an interior designer.
At least that's what I believed.
Apparently she also consulted on Mercer properties.
She had access to Robert's office.
His signatures.
His documents.
But motive?
Unknown.
Then Nora found an old photograph online.
A Mercer Residential opening ceremony.
William.
Robert.
Susan.
David Hawthorne.
And a teenage Andrew.
Standing at the edge was a young woman I recognized from childhood photographs.
My aunt Rachel.
Thomas's wife.
She wasn't merely attending.
She was wearing a Mercer Residential employee badge.
Thomas had just omitted his own wife's involvement.
I called again.
This time he didn't answer.
Then Lily walked toward me.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“The gray-haired man said Aunt Rachel would know.”
My blood chilled.
“When did he tell you that?”
“This morning.”
May you like
Andrew had spoken directly to my daughter.
Inside my house.
