Frank Delaney lived above a hardware store in Cicero.
Police found him there Wednesday evening.
He did not run.
That surprised everyone.
According to Grant, Frank opened the door, looked at the officers, and said, “Took you long enough.”
I did not meet him immediately.
For almost three hours, I sat with Daniel in a conference room while investigators questioned him.
The emergency hearing over Halsted had been delayed until Thursday morning because Whitaker's lawyers filed additional documents challenging the trust.
Everything seemed to be happening at once.
Caldwell's debt deadline remained Friday.
Claire was under protective supervision.
Rourke was missing.
Whitaker had withdrawn the merger and called the loan.
My father had stopped answering calls from the audit team.
And Frank Delaney apparently had been waiting to be arrested.
Grant finally entered at 9:10 p.m.
“He admits accessing box 714.”
My heart accelerated.
“Six weeks ago?”
“Yes.”
“Did he take the ledger?”
“Yes.”
I exhaled.
For the first time, one question had a clean answer.
“Where is it?”
“Whitaker has it.”
Of course.
“Frank gave it to him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Money.”
“How much?”
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
Daniel shook his head.
“Grandma's evidence was worth more than that.”
“To us,” Grant said.
“What about the signed statement Claire had?”
“Frank denies involvement.”
“Do you believe him?”
“We haven't finished.”
“Why was he at the bank yesterday?”
“Whitaker sent him.”
“To do what?”
“Determine whether anything remained in the box after Elaine accessed it.”
My mother had been watched.
The entire family had become pieces on Whitaker's board.
“Did he know Mom was going?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Whitaker knew.”
“Because Dad told him?”
“Frank doesn't know.”
“Or says he doesn't.”
“Yes.”
I stood.
“What else?”
Grant looked toward Daniel.
“Frank wants to speak to Mara.”
“No,” Daniel said.
I looked at him.
He shrugged.
“You don't have to agree.”
“Why?”
Grant answered.
“He says Evelyn once told him that if everything went wrong, Mara would understand why he kept one page.”
My pulse jumped.
“One page of what?”
“The second ledger.”
“Where?”
“He'll tell you.”
“Why not tell police?”
“He says he wants to explain first.”
Grant clearly disliked that.
“So do I,” I said.
Frank looked nothing like the man I remembered.
As a child, I thought he was enormous.
Now he seemed diminished.
Gray hair.
Heavy eyelids.
Left little finger missing at the second knuckle, lost years earlier in a construction accident.
When I entered, he stood.
“Mara.”
“Sit.”
He did.
Grant remained beside the door.
Daniel sat near me.
“You stole Grandma's ledger.”
Frank nodded.
“Yes.”
“For fifty thousand dollars.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“My wife was sick.”
I felt anger rise.
“Don't.”
He stopped.
“Don't give me the reason first. Give me the choice.”
He looked down.
“I took the money.”
“Good.”
His eyes lifted.
“That doesn't mean my wife wasn't sick.”
“I didn't say it didn't.”
The distinction mattered to me now.
Reasons were not absolution.
“Whitaker approached you?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Two months before I opened the box.”
“How did he know you could?”
“I used to maintain Evelyn's properties. Richard knew I still spoke to Sam.”
“Did Sam give you the key?”
“No.”
“How did you get it?”
“Richard.”
My father again.
“He copied Sam's access key?”
“I don't know how. He gave me what I needed.”
“So Dad helped steal Grandma's evidence.”
Frank hesitated.
“He said it was family property.”
“And you believed him?”
“No.”
At least he was honest.
“What did Whitaker want?”
“The black ledger and two envelopes.”
“Did you take them?”
“Yes.”
“What were the envelopes?”
“One had property records. The other had Evelyn's signed instructions.”
“Not her statement?”
“No.”
“Where did you deliver them?”
“A private office.”
“Whitaker's?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see him receive them?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“He checked everything.”
“Then?”
“He burned one envelope.”
Grant moved forward.
“Which?”
“The instructions.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“He said they were sentimental garbage.”
Grandma's final instructions reduced to ash because Whitaker did not think they mattered.
“What about the ledger?”
“He kept it.”
“And the property documents?”
“Kept those too.”
“You said you saved one page.”
Frank reached neither into his pockets nor toward the table.
He knew better.
“It's with my attorney.”
“What page?”
“One Evelyn hid in the back cover.”
“Why did you keep it?”
Frank looked at me.
“Because I read it.”
“What did it say?”
He swallowed.
“It wasn't numbers.”
“What was it?”
“A note.”
“To who?”
“You.”
My heart accelerated.
“What did Grandma write?”
“I don't remember every word.”
“Try.”
Frank looked down at his hands.
“She said if Whitaker ever got the ledger, then Richard had already failed.”
I stared.
“Failed at what?”
“Protecting the company from him.”
“That doesn't sound like Dad was innocent.”
“She didn't say he was.”
“What else?”
“She said Charles would eventually call the debt because he never wanted repayment.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“What did he want?”
“Default.”
The exact situation we were in.
Frank continued.
“Evelyn wrote that the debt was designed to make Caldwell surrender assets.”
“Halsted.”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“The riverfront parcels. Two apartment portfolios. Development options.”
Whitaker had not been rescuing Caldwell.
He had been positioning himself to acquire it through failure.
“Why did you keep that page?”
“Because it included a list.”
“What list?”
“Loan numbers.”
Grant's expression sharpened.
“Which loans?”
“All the private financing Whitaker arranged.”
“And?”
“One column said ‘funded by.’”
“Who funded them?”
Frank looked at me.
“Caldwell.”
I did not understand.
“What?”
Daniel did first.
His face changed.
“Whitaker loaned Richard Caldwell's own money?”
Frank nodded.
“Some of it.”
The room became very quiet.
“Explain,” I said.
“Northbridge transferred company money into entities Whitaker controlled. Those entities loaned part of it back to Caldwell at high interest.”
I stared at him.
It was almost elegant in its cruelty.
My father and Derek siphoned money out.
Whitaker controlled entities receiving it.
Then Whitaker returned some of the same money as debt.
Caldwell owed interest on money that had originally belonged to Caldwell.
“And the collateral?”
“Company properties.”
Daniel whispered, “Jesus.”
Grant asked, “Does the page document this?”
“Loan numbers, entity names, transfer dates.”
“Enough to trace?”
“I think so.”
“Where is it?”
“My attorney has instructions to deliver it if I'm charged or harmed.”
Grant's patience ended.
“You are in police custody. Call your attorney.”
Frank did.
The page arrived by secure electronic copy forty minutes later.
Grandma's handwriting filled both sides.
At the top:
CHARLES'S LOOP.
Below were columns.
Northbridge transfer.
Receiving entity.
Loan-back amount.
Interest.
Collateral.
I recognized Halsted.
The numbers were staggering.
Millions moved out.
Smaller millions returned.
Interest accumulated.
Assets pledged.
The debt itself was partly built from stolen company funds.
“If this is verified,” Daniel said, “can Whitaker still call the loan?”
Grant looked at him.
“That's for lawyers and courts.”
But even she looked different.
This was no longer merely evidence that Whitaker knew about the trust.
It suggested the debt he intended to enforce had been constructed through the same hidden transfers under investigation.
I called Gerald.
He arrived within an hour despite the time.
He read the page.
Then again.
His expression became almost cheerful.
“I want this authenticated immediately.”
“It will be,” Grant said.
Gerald pointed at one loan number.
“This is the Halsted financing.”
“Yes.”
“If the source funds came from Caldwell through Northbridge—”
“The lender may have serious problems,” Daniel said.
Gerald looked at him.
“You may become a lawyer after all.”
“No chance.”
I looked at Frank.
“Did Whitaker know Grandma understood the loop?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“When he saw the ledger, he laughed.”
“Why?”
“He said Evelyn had numbers but no mechanism.”
“No mechanism?”
“Nothing proving where the lending entities got their money.”
“But this page does.”
“Yes.”
“And you kept it.”
“Yes.”
For the first time, Frank's theft had a consequence he had not intended.
He betrayed Grandma for money.
Then fear, guilt, or instinct made him preserve the one page Whitaker most needed destroyed.
Grant's phone rang.
She answered, listened, and looked at Patel.
“What?”
I asked.
She ended the call.
“Rourke has been found.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Hospital.”
“What happened?”
“Gunshot wound.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who shot him?”
“He's conscious.”
“And?”
“He says Whitaker.”
Nobody spoke.
Grant continued.
“Rourke claims Whitaker confronted him at Heritage Storage about cooperating with police. They argued. Whitaker took his phone. Rourke tried to leave through a rear service corridor.”
“The blood.”
“Likely his.”
“How did he get away?”
“He says another person entered the building.”
“Sam?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“Rourke doesn't know. The interruption gave him time to escape through a loading area.”
“Where has he been?”
“Hiding with a relative.”
“Why go to a hospital now?”
“Infection and blood loss.”
Daniel said, “Will he testify?”
“He says yes.”
“About the pills?”
“Yes.”
“Whitaker?”
“Yes.”
“Derek?”
“Yes.”
I looked at Frank.
One witness had betrayed Grandma and kept a page.
Another had sold Derek the medication and now accused Whitaker of shooting him.
The people my father and brother treated as disposable were becoming witnesses.
Grant's phone rang again.
This time her expression hardened immediately.
“Patel.”
He crossed the room.
She showed him the screen.
“What happened?” I asked.
Grant looked at me.
“Officers went to locate Charles Whitaker.”
“And?”
“He isn't home.”
“Office?”
“Empty.”
“Where is he?”
“We don't know.”
My phone vibrated.
Everyone looked at it.
The anonymous messages were over; Sam had admitted sending them.
This message came from my father.
I opened it.
One sentence.
CHARLES KNOWS YOU FOUND THE PAGE.
Then another.
DO NOT GO HOME.
I looked at Daniel.
Grant was already calling the officers stationed outside our apartment.
No answer.
Her face changed.
She called dispatch.
Patel reached for his radio.
My father sent one final message.
MARA, HE'S NOT RUNNING.
HE'S COMING FOR THE TRUST.
Click here to continue reading: PART 16: Whitaker Came for Grandma’s Trust Before Police Could Stop Him, and My Father Finally Chose Which Side of the Family He Would Save
Thirty Minutes Into My Wedding Reception, My Brother Learned the Champagne He Had Tampered With Was No Longer Mine
Part 15 of 24
