Chapter 12 - The Man I Called Brother
Marcus and I met freshman year at Arizona State.
Two broke kids in cheap apartments.
At least I thought we were both broke.
Dad had money by then, but I refused most of it.
Marcus admired that.
Or pretended to.
We studied together.
Started our first tiny investment partnership together.
When Dad invited me into Wentworth Capital, I brought Marcus.
“He's smarter than me,” I told Dad.
Dad smiled.
“Then keep him close.”
I had.
Too close.
Marcus attended every Thanksgiving.
Held Carla's daughter when she was born.
Helped me choose Irene's engagement ring.
When Dad died, Marcus stood beside me in the hospital hallway and said:
“You don't have to do this alone.”
Now federal agents were searching for him.
His phone was found in a parking garage.
His passport remained at home.
His wife had no idea where he was.
Then Irene remembered something.
“London.”
“What?”
“The trip.”
“What about it?”
“Why were you going?”
“Investor meetings.”
“Who scheduled them?”
My assistant.
At Marcus's request.
My stomach tightened.
The meetings were legitimate.
But unusually urgent.
Marcus pushed hard for me to attend personally.
I called our London contact.
One meeting had been canceled two days earlier.
Marcus never told me.
Another could have been handled remotely.
He had wanted me out of the country.
Not merely because Margaret and Carla planned to steal documents.
Because something else was scheduled.
The board's treasury committee had a routine authorization window the following morning.
With me traveling, Marcus had delegated emergency authority for certain overseas transfers.
Nobody would have questioned him.
Not before Irene's meeting.
He intended to move the remaining money.
Twenty-two million dollars.
The amount now missing.
We traced the attempted transfer.
Wentworth subsidiary.
Then Cayman intermediary.
Then a bank in Singapore.
The final transfer failed.
Why?
Because Irene's forensic accountant had quietly placed a fraud alert on the relevant account the previous afternoon.
I looked at my wife.
“You stopped it?”
“I didn't know how much.”
“You saved twenty-two million dollars.”
“I also nearly got myself killed.”
She wasn't proud.
That mattered.
“Both can be true.”
She nodded.
The transfer failed at 1:39 a.m.
Eight minutes before I opened our bedroom door.
Marcus discovered it.
That was probably why he fled.
But he wasn't done.
At 4:20 that afternoon, every board member received an email.
From Marcus.
Attached were documents showing Dad's unauthorized trust guarantee.
And several fabricated records implicating me.
His message read:
Austin Wentworth has concealed serious financial misconduct inherited from his father. I have left because I refuse to participate in a cover-up.
By five, business reporters had it.
By six, our lenders knew.
By seven, the board called an emergency meeting.
Irene sat beside me while I read headlines.
WENTWORTH CAPITAL CEO LINKED TO SECRET FAMILY FINANCING.
CFO DISAPPEARS AFTER ALLEGING COVER-UP.
FAMILY SCANDAL DEEPENS.
For years I believed reputation was built slowly.
That evening I learned how quickly it could be demolished.
The board chair, Elaine Porter, called.
“Austin.”
“I know.”
“We need you to step back temporarily.”
“You think I'm involved?”
“I think the company cannot investigate while you control the investigation.”
She was right.
I hated that she was right.
“I'll take leave.”
“Effective immediately.”
“Yes.”
“And Austin?”
“What?”
“Do not access internal systems.”
I closed my eyes.
A company carrying my family name was locking me out.
I thought of Dad's letter.
If it costs you the company, let the company go.
“Understood.”
After the call, I sat silently.
Irene reached for my hand.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I looked at her.
She almost smiled.
“You always say ‘fine’ when you're falling apart.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then someone knocked.
Police.
Detective Ruiz entered carrying an evidence bag.
Inside was a key.
Small.
Brass.
A storage key.
“Where did you find it?”
“In Margaret's belongings.”
“What does it open?”
“A private vault service in Scottsdale.”
My mother had never mentioned it.
“We executed a warrant.”
“And?”
Ruiz placed several photographs on the table.
Cash.
Gold.
Passports.
Backup drives.
Then one image stopped me.
A blue folder.
WENTWORTH LEGACY – ORIGINALS ONLY.
They had found it.
But when investigators opened the folder, the Phoenix letter wasn't there.
Neither was Dad's final trust amendment.
Someone had removed the two most important originals.
In their place was a handwritten note.
May you like
Three words.
ASK YOUR SISTER.
