Chapter 6 - The Man Who Sold My Family's Secrets
By Monday, December 7, I had stopped thinking of Richard Hensley as simply my mother's financial adviser.
He was beginning to look like the center of an elaborate network of secrets, debts, and manipulation.
But Rebecca refused to let me get ahead of the evidence.
“Suspicions aren't convictions,” she reminded me as we sat in her conference room. “We have to establish which transactions actually occurred, who authorized them, and whether the documents are genuine.”
She had brought in a colleague, Daniel Brooks, an attorney with experience in securities litigation.
Daniel was forty-six, soft-spoken, and so meticulous that he checked dates twice even when they appeared on the same page.
He studied the records from my father's office.
“This is concerning,” he said, examining the $287,000 authorization.
“Concerning?” I repeated.
He looked up.
“Jake, I understand why that word sounds inadequate. But there are several possibilities. The transfer could have been completed, rejected, reversed, or entered into a misleading document. We need the custodian's records.”
“Can we get them?”
“We can request them through the proper legal channels. Your status as the named account holder may help establish what you're entitled to access. We also need to examine the trust's accounting provisions.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“And we should notify the relevant institutions that a signature may have been forged.”
That afternoon, we began the process.
I completed identity-verification forms, submitted written inquiries, and preserved the original documents in the condition I'd received them.
Rebecca contacted the successor trustee of Grandma Margaret's educational trust.
Daniel began reviewing Richard's investment advisory firm and its public registration history.
By evening, we had our first important finding.
Richard's firm had changed names three times in twelve years.
Each change followed a period of client complaints or regulatory scrutiny.
Not every complaint had been substantiated.
But the pattern was troubling.
One former client alleged that Richard had convinced her to invest in a private real estate partnership that never purchased the property it advertised.
Another alleged unauthorized transfers.
A third claimed Richard pressured him to sign documents he hadn't been allowed to review.
The complaints didn't establish guilt.
Still, they gave us reason to investigate further.
Daniel called me at six-fifteen.
“Jake, did Richard ever encourage your family to invest in something called Blue Ridge Heritage Development?”
I searched my memory.
“I remember the name. Mom mentioned a property development outside Charlottesville.”
“Did she invest?”
“I don't know.”
Daniel sighed.
“We found references to it in the documents your father provided. Richard appears to have been associated with the entity.”
“How much money?”
“That's what we're working to determine.”
After the call, I sat alone in my apartment.
For years, I'd blamed my mother for treating Paige like royalty and me like an afterthought.
That resentment hadn't disappeared.
But now I was facing another possibility.
My mother might have been both a willing participant in wrongdoing and a victim of Richard's manipulation.
Those possibilities weren't mutually exclusive.
And neither excused what she'd done to me.
At eight-thirty, somebody knocked on my door.
I checked the peephole.
Paige stood in the hallway.
She wore a long beige coat, black boots, and the pearl earrings Marcus had given her years earlier.
Her face looked tired.
I opened the door but didn't invite her inside.
“What do you want?”
She glanced down the hallway.
“Can we talk?”
“About what?”
“About Richard.”
I felt my pulse quicken.
“I'm listening.”
She looked at me.
“Please, Jake. Not out here.”
I stepped aside.
Paige walked into my apartment as though entering a stranger's home.
She looked around.
I'd lived there for six years, but she'd visited only twice.
Once to borrow my truck.
Once to ask for money.
She stopped beside my bookshelf.
“You still have Grandma's picture.”
“Yes.”
Her expression tightened.
“I miss her.”
I didn't respond.
Finally, she turned toward me.
“Mom says you've hired lawyers.”
“I have.”
“Are you really going to sue our family?”
“I'm trying to find out what happened to money that was supposed to be mine.”
She crossed her arms.
“You make it sound like somebody robbed you.”
“Did somebody?”
Her eyes dropped.
I waited.
Paige sat on the edge of my couch.
“I made mistakes.”
“That doesn't answer my question.”
“Jake, please.”
“Did you know Richard was using my account to secure your loans?”
She looked up sharply.
“Who told you that?”
I almost smiled.
It was becoming the family's favorite question.
“Answer me.”
She stared at her hands.
“Not at first.”
I felt a painful pressure in my chest.
“So eventually you did.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
She swallowed.
“After the business failed.”
I sat across from her.
“Paige, that was years ago.”
“I know.”
“And you never told me.”
“No.”
I waited, hoping she'd say more.
She didn't.
“Why?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Because I was scared.”
“Of what?”
“Richard.”
I studied her face.
“Were you afraid of Richard before the affair?”
She nodded.
“He handled everything. My investments, business loans, tax paperwork. Whenever I asked questions, he made me feel stupid.”
“Did Marcus know?”
“Marcus wanted me to stop working with him.”
“And you refused.”
She nodded again.
“Then Richard started telling me Marcus didn't respect me. He said Marcus would leave the moment I stopped bringing money into the marriage.”
I thought about Marcus driving through a thunderstorm to help me change a tire.
The idea of him abandoning Paige because of money seemed ridiculous.
But emotional manipulation didn't have to be convincing to outsiders.
It only had to exploit an insecurity someone already carried.
“When did the affair start?”
Paige wiped her face.
“Last year.”
“While you were still married.”
“Yes.”
“Did Richard promise to solve your financial problems?”
She nodded.
“He said he'd forgive the loans. He said we could start over somewhere else.”
“And did he?”
Her mouth twisted.
“No.”
I leaned back.
“What happened instead?”
“He kept asking for money.”
“From Mom?”
“From both of us.”
“Why?”
“He said certain investments had failed and that he needed funds to settle obligations before anyone noticed.”
I felt anger rising again.
“Paige, you had access to Marcus's money, your parents' money, Grandma's trust, and apparently mine. At what point did you decide enough was enough?”
She began crying harder.
“I know what I've done.”
“Then tell me.”
She looked up.
“You think I've never felt guilty?”
“I think guilt hasn't stopped you from letting other people pay for your choices.”
She flinched.
For a moment, I regretted the sharpness of my words.
But I didn't take them back.
Paige wiped her cheeks.
“Richard has documents.”
“So Dad says.”
“He says some of them could make it look like I committed fraud.”
“Did you?”
She stared at me.
I felt a sinking sensation.
“Paige.”
“I signed things.”
“What things?”
“Account instructions. Loan papers. Receipts.”
“Using your own name?”
Her silence answered.
I stood.
“Did you sign mine?”
“No.”
I looked directly at her.
“Don't lie to me.”
“I didn't forge your signature.”
“Then who did?”
She opened her mouth.
Stopped.
And looked away.
I moved toward the front door.
“I think you should leave.”
“Jake, wait.”
“No. You've had years to tell me the truth.”
She rose quickly.
“Richard has copies of your driver's license.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“He asked Mom for them years ago. He said he needed them for account verification.”
I felt my stomach turn.
“He has my identification?”
“Old copies. Maybe other things. I don't know.”
I stared at her.
“Why are you telling me now?”
Paige looked terrified.
“Because he called me this morning.”
“What did he say?”
Her voice dropped.
“He knows you've hired Rebecca Sloan.”
I felt a chill.
“How?”
“I don't know.”
Paige reached into her purse and removed a folded piece of paper.
“He told me to give you this.”
I didn't touch it.
“What is it?”
“I haven't opened it.”
I took the paper by its edges.
Inside was a printed photograph.
It showed me leaving Rebecca's office the previous afternoon.
Someone had taken it from across the street.
On the back was a handwritten message.
Your grandmother tried to investigate me, too. Ask yourself what happened next.
I looked at Paige.
May you like
She had gone white.
“Jake,” she whispered, “I think Richard is watching you.”
