Chapter 4 - The Refund Trail
By dawn, the rain had become sleet. Declan had not slept. He had spent the night in the living room with the security feeds and a list of employees who could access his accounts. Norah had gone to bed after insisting that he not stand guard outside her door. They had slept separately for weeks, but this time she had chosen the arrangement aloud.
At seven, she joined him wearing a comfortable maternity dress she had bought for herself at a neighborhood store. Blue cotton, loose at the waist, a tiny yellow flower printed near the hem. Declan recognized it because he had once passed her in the kitchen while she carried the bag. He had been on the phone and had not asked what she had purchased.
“You look comfortable,” he said.
“I am.” She opened the refrigerator. “Have you eaten?”
“No.”
“Then we should both eat before we try to understand numbers.”
They made toast and eggs without discussing the night. The quiet wasn't reconciliation; it was an agreement not to use exhaustion as a weapon. When Mara Ortiz arrived, Norah invited her to sit at the kitchen table instead of in Declan's office.
Mara was in her forties, with cropped silver-streaked hair and a voice that wasted no words. She had handled property disputes for legitimate businesses Declan owned, and she had repeatedly warned him that he needed independent criminal counsel for the rest. Today, she brought a forensic accountant named Priya Shah, whom Norah had specifically asked for after checking her credentials.
“I want to know where the refunds actually went,” Norah told them. “Declan says the company accountant found something suspicious. The boutiques say everything came back to the card. Both statements can't mean I'm hiding money.”
Priya laid out the card statement and corresponding merchant credits. “The purchases and refunds are real. Money returned to the account. Someone then logged each refund again as a reimbursement payable to South Basin Services. That's a separate entry on the corporate books. It's not something you did at a boutique.”
Declan stared at her. “How much?”
“Based on these examples, thirty-three thousand seven hundred dollars. There may be more across other cards. We need the original ledger and the bank's records to know.”
“And my accountant signed it?”
“A digital authorization belonging to his office signed it. That isn't proof he personally initiated it.” Priya tapped the printed line. “Another issue: the fake return pickup has the same job code as a truck maintenance invoice on Thursday evening. Somebody may be using these transactions as a cover for payments or to test your response to automated alerts.”
Norah looked at Declan. “You were ready to accuse me of stealing. They knew that would be believable to you.”
He did not argue. “Yes.”
Priya explained that a bank could preserve transaction histories and the merchants could provide delivery records through appropriate requests. She could help organize the documents, but she could not lawfully enter an employee's private accounts or pretend to be a police investigator. Norah appreciated hearing a limit spoken out loud.
Mara turned to Declan. “If these records intersect with the dock operations you keep insisting are none of my business, you need separate counsel. I will not help you conceal evidence.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Declan looked at Norah, who was watching him without either pleading or threatening. “I do now.”
They decided to copy the records through existing authorized account access and provide the suspicious courier information to the detective assigned to Imani's complaint. Norah asked Mara to arrange an independent security escort for Imani and Grace if the police believed the threat remained credible. The offer would be made through Imani's attorney, not imposed as another powerful man's favor.
Norah also asked the building to preserve the original access logs rather than merely emailing her screenshots. The supervisor admitted that a former employee's credentials had remained active after the employee left. He was embarrassed. Norah was less interested in his embarrassment than in whether anyone had fixed the problem. He confirmed the credentials were disabled and provided a written incident number for her records.
For Imani, the immediate concern was Grace. Mara explained that the child's family could choose its own legal support and would receive the threat documentation directly. Norah wrote a short note that offered help with transportation without asking Imani to share an address. She let Mara deliver it. She was learning that concern didn't give her ownership over somebody else's fear, any more than Declan's fear had given him ownership over hers.
At ten, the boutique in London replied to Norah's inquiry. The dress had been purchased through a broker and shipped to Chicago with a standard alterations consultation. No one had requested an updated fitting. The broker's message had specified her size from the previous spring.
Norah read the email twice. A year earlier, she would have teased Declan about that mistake and called a tailor herself. These months had changed the meaning of small oversights. He had not asked about the baby. He had not asked about her changing body. He had tried to buy back something he hadn't understood he had lost.
“Did Tommy submit the measurements?” she asked.
Declan shook his head. “I told the broker to use your usual size. That's mine.”
“Good. I need you to own that part. It isn't one more crime somebody committed against you.”
He folded the email and placed it beside the records. “I do.”
His phone buzzed. The gala director wanted to confirm the Sullivans' arrival time, seating arrangement, and security entrance. The event supported pediatric rehabilitation at Lakeshore Children's Hospital. Norah had cared about it long before she met Declan; her younger cousin had spent months there after an accident. She had helped choose the artwork for the silent auction, and the director was relying on her to introduce a nurse receiving an award.
“I still want the children to get their fundraiser,” she said. “I don't want Tommy deciding whether I show up.”
“Then we can arrange somewhere safer.”
“Maybe. First call the director and cancel the private side-door entrance. Tell her the hospital's own security should run access, with police advice. You won't bring your men into a room full of families.”
Declan called. The director was startled, then grateful to receive a discreet account of the security concern. She promised to consult the venue's professionals and said Norah could record her introduction if she preferred not to attend. Norah liked that option. Choice made courage possible.
At noon, Priya noticed a line in the authorization log that hadn't appeared on the printed statements. Three minutes before the bogus pickup alert went to Declan's phone, his corporate account had issued a one-time credential granting access to the gala's freight elevator.
The credential was associated with Package 8349.
May you like
Declan remembered the narrow service hallway he had been told to enter with Norah tomorrow night. He finally understood what the false pickup might have purchased: not a returned dress, but a way past a locked door.
The gala was still hours away, and someone already had the key.
