When It Was Time to Confess

Chapter 2: The Rules

I woke at six to the sound of Nate making coffee.

For a few seconds, I didn't know where I was. Then I saw the unfamiliar ceiling, the suitcase by the wall, and the photograph of my mother on the nightstand. The house was so quiet I could hear the heater rattling in the hall.

I found Nate in the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a dark green sweater. He had two mugs on the counter.

"Coffee?" he asked.

"Please."

He poured one and slid it toward me. The mug had a chipped handle. I held it with both hands.

"Did you sleep?" he asked.

"Enough."

"Did anyone contact you?"

"My father sent a text before I left."

"What did it say?"

I hesitated, then held out my phone. Nate read the message without touching it.

"I'm handling it. Don't speak to anyone."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

"Did you answer?"

"No."

He handed the phone back. "Good."

"I'm not a witness in a spy movie, Nate."

"No. You're someone who just lost her home, with a father who's telling her not to speak to anyone. I'm not sure why that sounds harmless to you."

"It sounds like him."

"That's not the same thing."

I took a drink. The coffee was strong and bitter. "What did he ask you to do that you couldn't?"

Nate leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "He wanted me to collect your phone and laptop from the office after the receivers took control."

"Why?"

"He said you'd left important documents behind."

"That doesn't sound unreasonable."

"He wanted them before the auditors arrived."

I set the mug down. "And you refused."

"Yes."

"Did you tell him why?"

"I told him I wouldn't remove company property without authorization."

"You could have at least told me."

"I didn't know what he was trying to get."

"That hasn't stopped you from making decisions on my behalf before."

His jaw shifted. "I'm not making decisions for you now."

I looked at the rules on the door. "You taped up a list."

"You can ignore it."

"Then why write it?"

"So you would know what I was asking."

"I wasn't asking you to ask."

The silence stretched. Outside, a truck rolled past on the wet road.

Nate picked up his mug. "There are eggs in the fridge. I have to go to the hardware store."

"Are you going to keep tabs on me?"

"I'm going to work."

"At the hardware store?"

"I took a job there last month."

I'd expected something grander. He had once spent his days outside my father's office, managing drivers and security staff, moving through the hotel as if every doorway belonged to him. The idea of him stacking paint cans was hard to fit around the man I remembered.

"Why did you leave Mercer Hospitality?" I asked.

"I didn't. They laid off the whole security team."

That answer was too neat. I didn't press. Not yet.

After he left, I sat at the kitchen table and opened my laptop. The wireless connection worked. My bank balance was low enough to make me close the app before I could count the digits.

I needed work. I needed a place to live. I needed to know whether my father was planning to disappear and leave me with his mess.

The phone rang. The screen showed a number I didn't recognize.

I almost let it go to voicemail. Then I remembered the rule about telling Nate if anyone contacted me. I answered.

"Claire Mercer?"

"Yes."

"This is Laura Haines from Barlow & Fenwick. We represent your father."

"Where is he?"

"I'm not able to discuss his location. I'm calling about a document that requires your attention."

"What document?"

"A statement of responsibility connected to the company's payment process. Your father would like you to review and sign it."

"What does it say?"

"We can email it to you."

"Do that."

"I would advise against sharing it with the receiver until you've spoken with us."

"Why?"

"There are complicated issues here, and the statement could affect the family's position."

"I'm not worried about the family's position. I'm worried about what it says."

"I understand. The document would establish that you approved a certain number of transfers. Your father believes it will help prevent unnecessary accusations."

My fingers tightened around the phone. "I didn't approve any transfers."

"There may be internal records showing your credentials."

"That's not the same thing."

"No. But it's important to address before the receiver draws conclusions."

The call ended after she promised to send the file.

When Nate came home that afternoon, I was at the kitchen table with the document open on my screen. He put a paper bag on the counter.

"What happened?"

"I got a call from my father's lawyer."

Nate came to stand behind my chair. "Did you tell her you'd sign?"

"No."

He read the page over my shoulder. The document was titled Statement of Approval. It said that I had personally reviewed and approved four emergency transfers, all processed during the last two months of the company's operation.

The total was just under eight hundred thousand dollars.

"Did you approve any of these?" he asked.

"No. I've never seen these amounts before."

The fourth transfer was dated the day my father had asked me to visit him at the flagship hotel. I remembered arriving with a report about a broken elevator. He had sent me away before I made it to his office.

I scrolled to the bottom. My name was typed above a blank signature line.

"They want you to sign this," Nate said.

"Yes."

"Don't."

"I wasn't planning to."

"Send a copy to the receiver. Tell them you've never seen it."

"If I do, my father will say I'm turning on him."

"He put your name on it."

"You don't know that he did."

"I know someone wants your signature on a statement that could make you responsible."

Nate walked back to the counter and began unloading the bag. His hands were steady. Mine weren't.

"Can I have the laptop you refused to take?" I asked.

He stopped.

"I need to see the records you said he wanted."

"They're in the company office."

"Can you get them?"

"No."

"Because it would be against the rules?"

"Because I don't have access anymore."

"Then the rules don't matter."

"I didn't say that."

He put a carton of eggs in the fridge. "The receiver has an office at the hotel. Ask for a copy of anything with your name on it."

"I will."

"And don't go alone."

I faced him. "I'm going to ask the receiver for records. Not walk into a dark alley."

"People who want a signature don't need an alley."

"You can't protect me from everyone."

"No. I can help you make fewer mistakes."

I wanted to tell him I didn't need his help. Instead, I turned back to the screen and printed the statement. The printer shuddered in the hall.

Nate stayed in the kitchen, quiet and near enough that I could hear him breathe.