Chapter 8
The evidence Patricia provided changed the investigation.
Daniel called me into his office two days later.
When I arrived, he was sitting beside a forensic accountant.
There were folders spread across the conference table.
Bank statements.
Invoices.
Copies of signed documents.
And records from Heritage Family Services.
Daniel looked serious.
"Marcus, we've made progress."
My heart quickened.
"What did you find?"
He pointed toward a statement.
Several transfers had been routed through Heritage Family Services and then into accounts connected to Walter's failed investments.
The money hadn't been used for legitimate cleaning services.
It had been diverted.
I stared at the numbers.
"How much?"
The accountant took a breath.
"Based on the records currently available, approximately one hundred and twelve thousand dollars."
My stomach dropped.
I sat back.
"One hundred and twelve thousand?"
Daniel nodded.
"That's the amount under review."
I covered my face.
For years, I'd worked twelve-hour days building my company.
I employed twenty-three people.
Men and women who depended on their paychecks.
Families who counted on me.
And Natasha and Walter had apparently treated the company like their personal bank.
I looked up.
"What about Lily?"
Daniel's expression softened.
"The child welfare investigation is continuing separately."
I nodded.
"Good."
Because no amount of money mattered more than my daughter's safety.
The forensic accountant explained that some documents appeared to have been prepared using copied signatures.
Others contained suspicious authorization records.
Electronic access logs supported concerns about unauthorized activity.
The evidence had been provided to investigators.
I felt relief.
But also anger.
Every new document confirmed how much I'd trusted the wrong people.
That evening, I sat alone in my office.
The same room where Natasha and Walter had taken Lily.
I looked around.
The framed photographs.
The awards.
The contracts.
The desk I'd bought after starting my business.
Everything felt contaminated by what had happened.
Then I noticed a small drawing tucked beneath my keyboard.
It showed a man holding a little girl's hand.
Above them were the words:
Daddy, you're my hero.
I recognized Lily's handwriting.
My eyes filled.
I had no idea when she'd left it.
Maybe before Natasha moved in.
Maybe during one of the Saturdays she was forced to enter my office.
I touched the paper.
My daughter still believed in me.
Even when I hadn't protected her.
I sat there crying for a long time.
Then I made a decision.
I couldn't change the past.
But I could change how I lived.
The next morning, I met with my business manager.
I explained that I needed to reduce my hours.
Not forever.
But enough to be present for Lily.
He looked surprised.
"Marcus, you've built this company yourself."
I nodded.
"I know."
He leaned forward.
"Are you sure?"
I looked at the drawing on my desk.
"More sure than I've ever been."
We reorganized responsibilities.
Promoted two experienced supervisors.
And created a schedule that allowed me to leave earlier most days.
I still worked hard.
But I stopped treating every late meeting like an emergency.
I started picking Lily up from school.
Attending her art classes.
Cooking dinner with her.
And listening when she wanted to talk.
At first, she seemed surprised.
One afternoon, she looked at me across the kitchen table.
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"Are you going to leave for work again?"
I smiled.
"Not tonight."
She stared.
"Really?"
"Really."
Her face brightened.
"Can we make pancakes for dinner?"
I laughed.
"Pancakes?"
She nodded enthusiastically.
"With strawberries."
I smiled.
"Absolutely."
We made a terrible mess.
Flour on the counter.
Batter on the floor.
Strawberries everywhere.
At one point, Lily accidentally dropped an egg.
It broke against the tile.
She froze.
Her face went pale.
"I'm sorry."
I immediately knelt.
"Baby, it's okay."
Her eyes filled.
"I'll clean it."
I touched her shoulder.
"We'll clean it together."
She stared at me.
For a moment, she looked confused.
Then she began crying.
I pulled her into my arms.
"What's wrong?"
She shook her head.
"Natasha used to get so mad."
My heart broke again.
I held her tightly.
"You're safe now."
She cried against my shirt.
I didn't rush her.
I didn't tell her to stop.
I simply stayed.
Later, we finished the pancakes.
They were slightly burned.
But Lily called them perfect.
And for the first time in months, I heard her laugh without looking over her shoulder.
The legal proceedings moved forward.
Authorities examined the financial misconduct allegations.
The child-protection findings were reviewed.
Natasha and Walter were required to respond to the evidence.
Patricia cooperated.
Carla provided testimony.
Other witnesses confirmed details of Lily's work at client properties.
But the hardest part came when Lily asked me a question.
We were sitting on the porch one evening.
She held her mother's blue blanket.
The sky was turning pink.
"Daddy?"
"Yes, princess?"
"Do you still love Natasha?"
I felt my chest tighten.
I thought carefully.
"I loved the person I believed she was."
Lily looked down.
"Do you hate her now?"
I shook my head.
"I don't want hate to control our lives."
She nodded slowly.
Then whispered, "I hate what she did."
I pulled her close.
"That's understandable."
She looked up.
"Will I have to see her again?"
My heart tightened.
I couldn't promise things I didn't know.
But I could promise action.
"We're working with the people whose job is to protect you."
She nodded.
"And I won't make you face anything alone."
Her eyes filled.
She leaned against me.
For several minutes, we watched the sunset.
Then she whispered something.
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"I think I'm starting to feel happy again."
My throat closed.
May you like
I kissed the top of her head.
"That's the best thing I've heard all year."
