Chapter 10 - The Second Folder
|
"I don't know what you're talking about," Gloria whispered, her voice trembling so violently she could barely form the words. She clutched the armrests of her chair until her knuckles turned white.
Detective Harris didn't blink. He slowly broke the red evidence tape on the second folder.
"We initially assumed the hidden trust fund was just another repository for the stolen charity money," Harris explained, walking around the table to stand directly in front of Gloria. "But the forensic accounting didn't match the timeline of the recent thefts. This trust fund was established nearly twenty-eight years ago."
Marcus blinked through his tears, looking utterly confused. "Twenty-eight years? I wasn't even born yet. Tessa wasn't born. What money are you talking about?"
"Exactly," Harris nodded grimly. "These specific accounts, which contain over two million dollars in heavily laundered, untaxed assets, do not belong to you, Marcus. And they do not belong to Tessa."
Everyone in the room stared in stunned silence. The FBI agents paused their handcuffing protocol, sensing the profound gravity of the revelation.
"What?" Gloria gasped, her face draining of the last drops of color.
"These accounts belong to an entirely different beneficiary," Harris stated quietly, his eyes locked onto Gloria's terrified face. "Another child."
The room fell into an oppressive, suffocating silence.
Marcus wiped his nose, shaking his head. "That's impossible. Tessa and I are her only biological children. Daniel was adopted. There is no one else."
Detective Harris slowly shook his head. He looked at Marcus with a mixture of pity and resolve.
"No, Marcus," Harris corrected him. "You are not her only biological children."
Gloria let out a strangled, horrific sound—a noise somewhere between a sob and a dying gasp. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away from the detective, unable to look at the paperwork he was holding.
Harris reached into the thin folder and pulled out a single, aged piece of paper. It was yellowed at the edges, carefully preserved in a clear plastic evidence sleeve. He placed it gently onto the dining room table, right next to the damning bank statements.
"When we dug into the origin of the trust fund to determine the source of the capital," Harris explained, his voice echoing in the quiet room, "we had to unseal several heavily classified state adoption and birth records from the late nineties."
Daniel leaned forward, his brow deeply furrowed. He stared at the yellowed document on the table, trying to make sense of the chaotic turn of events.
May you like
"What is that?" Daniel asked.
"It's a birth certificate," Harris replied softly.
