Chapter 13 - THE GARRISON DEAL
Michael Garrison agreed to meet investigators only after they served him with a subpoena.
He was fifty-two.
Polished.
Wealthy.
Controlled.
He denied knowing anything about forged documents.
He claimed Mercer Strategic Holdings had approached his firm with an investment opportunity.
“Did you know Gloria Parker?”
“Socially.”
“Did your father know her?”
“My father knew many people.”
Detective Cole showed him Dad’s letter.
Michael’s attorney ended the interview.
That told us enough.
But not everything.
Daniel remembered hearing Gloria mention “Victor’s agreement.”
Louise remembered Victor Garrison too.
“He was a lender.”
“What kind?” I asked.
“The kind who didn’t advertise.”
Private loans.
Cash.
Pressure.
Gloria had borrowed from him when Dad’s business suffered during a downturn.
Dad did not know.
When Gloria couldn’t repay, Victor demanded access.
Invoices.
Vendor contracts.
Land information.
Eventually Gloria began moving money from Dad’s company.
At first, perhaps, to cover the debt.
Later because stealing had become normal.
“You’re saying she was trapped?” Rachel asked.
Louise shook her head.
“No.”
“She had chances to tell Harold.”
“Why didn’t she?”
“Pride.”
Louise looked at me.
“Your mother would rather burn down a house than admit she misplaced the match.”
Victor died.
Michael inherited his businesses.
And apparently the arrangement.
The low-price sale of Parker Ridge was not random.
It was the final transfer of something Gloria believed the Garrison family was owed.
But why now?
Because of the mineral survey.
Michael Garrison’s company stood to make tens of millions if the mineral rights proved valuable.
We finally understood the urgency.
Then Aunt Linda disappeared.
Police searched her home.
Closets empty.
Passport missing.
Computer gone.
But she left behind a tablet.
Deleted files revealed dozens of messages with Gloria.
One read:
E HAS TO BELIEVE H IS THE PROBLEM.
Another:
IF THEY SPLIT, WE CONTROL ACCESS TO C.
E.
Ethan.
H.
Hannah.
C.
Caleb.
I felt sick.
The marriage sabotage had been deliberate.
Other messages were worse.
MAKE SURE H DOESN’T GET ENOUGH CASH TO LEAVE.
TELL E SHE SPENDS TOO MUCH.
TELL H E DOESN’T TRUST HER.
SEPARATE THEM BEFORE RIDGE CLOSES.
For almost a year, Mom had been telling each of us different lies.
To Hannah:
Ethan doesn’t trust you.
To me:
Hannah is overwhelmed.
To relatives:
Hannah is lazy.
To Rachel:
Ethan stole your inheritance.
To Claire:
Everyone already agreed.
She isolated people, then controlled the information moving between them.
Hannah read the messages beside me.
“I thought our marriage was failing.”
I looked at her.
“So did I.”
“We were both angry at the wrong person.”
That realization was painful.
Gloria had manipulated us.
But she could only manipulate fractures that already existed.
I worked too much.
I dismissed Hannah’s concerns.
Hannah withdrew rather than confronting me harder.
If we wanted our family back, blaming Gloria would not be enough.
We had to change too.
That evening we made a rule.
No secret resentment.
No family messenger.
If someone claimed the other spouse said something, we verified directly.
Simple.
Obvious.
And somehow revolutionary after years around Gloria.
At 9:40 p.m., Detective Cole called.
A vehicle registered to Linda had crossed into Alabama.
Police believed she might be headed toward Mobile.
Gloria, however, remained in Nashville.
She appeared almost calm.
That bothered Cole.
“People usually run when the case collapses.”
“Mom doesn’t run.”
“What does she do?”
“She makes someone else run.”
At midnight, someone broke into Samuel Lowe’s home.
The retired attorney was not injured.
But his study was destroyed.
Files scattered.
Cabinets emptied.
One thing missing.
The original certified copy of Dad’s trust amendment.
Fortunately, police already had scans.
But whoever entered Samuel’s house had taken something else.
An old client index.
It contained every lawyer, accountant, surveyor, and financial institution connected to Parker Ridge.
Cole stared at the empty drawer.
“They’re cleaning the trail.”
“Who?”
“Whoever is still helping your mother.”
I thought of Linda.
Jacob.
Michael Garrison.
Then Samuel spoke from the doorway.
“There was one person Harold trusted besides me.”
“Who?”
“His accountant.”
“Name?”
“Peter Walsh.”
“Where is he?”
Samuel’s expression darkened.
“He disappeared after your father died.”
“Disappeared?”
“Closed his office.”
“Moved?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
May you like
Samuel looked directly at me.
“No one ever found him.”
