Chapter 7 - Mason's Deal
Mason Cole was exactly as I remembered him.
Smooth.
Expensive haircut.
Expensive watch.
The exhausted eyes of a man whose lifestyle had been running ahead of his money for too many years.
His attorney approached prosecutors before questioning began.
Mason wanted immunity.
They laughed.
He lowered his demand.
A cooperation agreement.
That conversation lasted longer.
By evening, he started talking.
According to Mason, Desert Crown was originally legitimate.
He and Carla wanted to develop luxury desert communities.
Carla invested heavily.
Margaret secretly contributed money because she wanted her daughter to succeed without asking Dad for help.
The first project failed.
Then the second.
Debt accumulated.
Marcus Hale appeared.
Not as a villain.
As a savior.
He offered financing.
Introduced lenders.
Helped Desert Crown obtain consulting contracts with Wentworth subsidiaries.
At first, actual work occurred.
Then Marcus increased the invoices.
Five hundred thousand became eight hundred.
Eight hundred became 1.4 million.
Nobody questioned him because he was CFO.
Eventually Desert Crown became a pipeline.
Wentworth money entered.
Mason paid legitimate expenses.
Then transferred the excess through intermediary companies.
Money returned to accounts controlled by Marcus, Margaret, and eventually Carla.
It became embezzlement.
“Why did my mother participate?”
I asked through the prosecutor.
Mason's answer was painful.
“Because once the first fake invoice cleared, she couldn't admit what she'd done.”
One crime made the next easier.
Another human pattern.
“What about Carla?”
“She knew some.”
“Some?”
“She thought Marcus was moving money temporarily.”
“That's ridiculous.”
“Yes.”
“But she benefited.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Roughly $1.3 million directly.”
Enough to make her guilty.
Not enough to explain the violence.
“Why attack Irene?”
Mason looked away.
“Because Irene found the original guarantee.”
“What guarantee?”
“The Wentworth guarantee.”
My forged signature.
The one supposedly backing Desert Crown's biggest private loan.
“Who forged it?”
Mason hesitated.
“Marcus.”
I leaned back.
Finally.
Something direct.
“Why did he need the original documents destroyed?”
“Because Richard had handwriting experts review the signature before he died.”
The blue folder contained their reports.
Marcus had spent three years assuming those originals were gone.
Irene found them.
Then scheduled a meeting.
At nine that morning, three independent board members were supposed to receive copies.
Marcus learned about the meeting through my corporate calendar.
Not Irene's.
The outside directors' calendars.
He knew the scandal would explode.
“So he sent Mom and Carla?”
“Margaret volunteered.”
“What?”
Mason leaned forward.
“Your mother believed she could convince Irene to hand everything over.”
“And the hammer?”
“That wasn't the plan.”
“Whose plan was it?”
“Carla panicked when the code didn't work.”
“What was Marcus doing in my house?”
“Removing one specific document.”
“The blue folder?”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“What document?”
Mason swallowed.
“A letter from your father.”
“Which letter?”
“One that could destroy Marcus completely.”
“What did it say?”
“I never saw it.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because Marcus has been looking for it for three years.”
My father's letter in the office had mentioned signatures.
But apparently there was another.
“Where is it?”
“Richard hid it.”
“Where?”
“Marcus thought the Legacy file.”
“Did he find it?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
Mason almost smiled.
“Because if he had, I wouldn't still be alive.”
That sounded dramatic until he explained.
Mason had been blackmailing Marcus.
He possessed copies of the shell-company ledgers.
If Marcus turned on him, Mason would expose everything.
But the missing letter apparently proved something beyond financial fraud.
“What?”
Mason looked at the prosecutor.
Then at me.
“I think it proves Marcus had something to do with your father's death.”
The room went silent.
I stood so quickly the chair fell backward.
“My father died of heart failure.”
“I know.”
“Are you telling me Marcus killed him?”
“I said I think the letter explains what happened.”
“You either know or you don't.”
“I know Marcus was at your parents' house the night Richard collapsed.”
My mother had always told me she was alone with Dad.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You're lying.”
“Ask your security company for the old gate logs.”
“Those records are three years old.”
“Richard backed everything up.”
I called Harold.
He knew where.
Dad's private archive server.
We accessed it under police supervision.
The files were incomplete.
But at 7:51 p.m. on the night my father collapsed, a vehicle entered the Paradise Valley property.
Marcus Hale.
The vehicle left at 8:39.
The 911 call reporting my father's medical emergency was placed at 8:46.
Seven minutes later.
I stared at the screen.
Then at the original incident report.
My mother had told paramedics she found Dad unconscious at approximately 8:40.
That statement was false.
His smartwatch data gave us the next piece.
Richard Wentworth's heart rate became dangerously abnormal at 8:11.
Motion data showed him fall at 8:13.
The emergency call came thirty-three minutes later.
May you like
For thirty-three minutes, nobody called for help.
And according to the gate records, both my mother and my best friend had been inside the house.
