“Does your doctor know?”

“My rehabilitation physician does.”

“Your mother?”

He shook his head.

“Douglas?”

Another shake.

I pulled the therapy stool closer.

“Why are you hiding it?”

Garrett looked toward the locked door.

“Because I want to know who in this house actually wants me to stand up again.”

The Offer on My Bed

Garrett didn’t tell me everything that night.

He told me enough.

Before his accident, he had started questioning several procurement contracts totaling more than sixty million dollars.

The numbers themselves weren’t necessarily criminal. What bothered him was how often the same vendors appeared and how quickly certain contracts had been approved.

Then the accident happened.

While Garrett was hospitalized, Douglas took over day-to-day operations.

By the time Garrett was alert enough to ask questions, files had been moved, some electronic records had changed, and people who used to call him directly were suddenly going through Douglas.

“Do you think Douglas caused your accident?” I asked.

Garrett answered immediately.

“No.”

That surprised me.

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying an accident put me in a hospital bed, and somebody found that very convenient.”

That distinction mattered.

So did what happened five nights later.

I returned to my room after helping Garrett get ready for bed and found Gertrude sitting in my chair.

A thick white envelope rested on the comforter.

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

She stood.

“Relax.”

She tapped the envelope.

“Twenty thousand.”

I stared at it.

“For what?”

“Nothing complicated.”

She wanted to know when Garrett’s attorney visited.

Which executives called him.

What they discussed.

Whether Garrett was requesting company records.

“You’re asking me to spy on him.”

“I’m asking you to help this family avoid unnecessary problems.”

I picked up the envelope and held it out.

“Take it.”

She didn’t.

I placed it against her arm until she took it.

“I’m paid to take care of Garrett. I’m not paid to sell his privacy.”

Her face changed.

Not dramatically.

The friendliness simply disappeared.

“You haven’t known him very long.”

“Long enough.”

She walked out carrying the envelope.

I locked my bedroom door.

That night, I understood why Garrett had locked his.

A week later, his attorney brought several folders into the library.

I was leaving after bringing Garrett coffee when one page slipped from the top folder.

I bent down to pick it up.

There were perhaps fifteen names on it.

Employees connected to transactions being reviewed.

Halfway down the page was one I knew better than my own.

Christopher Miller.

My husband.

Technically, by then, my soon-to-be ex-husband.

I handed the page back without saying anything.

But that evening my phone rang six times.

Christopher.

I ignored the calls.

Then a text arrived.

Rebecca, stay out of things you don’t understand.

I read it twice.

Then I took a screenshot.

And for the second time in two months, Christopher had given me exactly what I needed by assuming I wouldn’t know what to do with it.

The Numbers Christopher Didn’t Want Me to See

Garrett’s attorney expanded the review.

I stayed out of it unless Garrett needed help accessing something physically.

But some facts became impossible not to notice.

High-level electronic credentials connected to Garrett’s office had been used while Garrett was in the hospital and barely able to manage basic communication.

The questionable transactions under closer review totaled nearly eight million dollars.

Christopher called again.

This time, I answered.

“What?”

He exhaled.

“Rebecca, you need to listen to me.”

“I’m listening.”

“Garrett Corbin doesn’t understand what happened while he was gone.”

“Gone?”

“Incapacitated. Whatever.”

I waited.

Christopher lowered his voice.

“There were decisions people had to make.”

“Did you make some of them?”

Silence.

“Rebecca, this is corporate finance. It’s complicated.”

“Then explain it.”

Another silence.

“Just don’t get involved.”

I ended the call.

Two days later, Florence arrived at the Corbin house.

Seeing her standing beneath that enormous front portico was almost strange.

She looked smaller than I remembered.

“Christopher could lose everything.”

I didn’t invite her farther inside.

“Why?”

“Because this Garrett person is turning the company upside down.”

“It’s his company.”

Florence pressed her lips together.

“Christopher says people are being blamed for decisions they didn’t make.”

“Then the audit should clear that up.”

She stared at me.

“You could speak to Garrett.”

There it was.

Not an apology.

A request.

“If Christopher didn’t do anything wrong, he doesn’t need me to protect him from an audit.”

Florence’s expression hardened.

“You really have changed.”

I closed the door after she left.

The next person who contacted me was the last one I expected.

Brenda.

Brenda Brought a USB

We met at a coffee shop twenty minutes from the Corbin house.

Brenda looked nothing like the woman I’d imagined.

She wore gray slacks, a navy blouse and no makeup. She kept checking the door.

She placed a USB drive beside my coffee.

“Christopher told me to alter some balance sheets.”

I didn’t touch it.

“Why are you telling me?”

“Because they’re asking questions now.”

“And you’re scared.”

She nodded.

At least she didn’t lie.

Brenda had kept original versions of several accounting files.

Christopher had asked her to make adjustments.

Payments had been broken into smaller amounts that attracted less internal scrutiny.

The instructions, according to the emails she had saved, repeatedly traced upward toward the executive office Douglas controlled after Garrett’s accident.

One vendor receiving substantial payments was also connected to a relative of Gertrude.

I slid the USB back toward Brenda.

“Give this directly to Garrett’s attorney.”

“Will you come with me?”

I looked at her.

This was the woman Christopher had chosen while I was driving his mother to medical appointments and washing his shirts.

But that wasn’t why we were sitting there anymore.

“I’ll give you his number.”

Brenda nodded.

The official accident report was also reviewed again.

There was no conspiracy hidden inside it.

Heavy rain.

A slick road.