Chapter 5 - The $26,400 That Vanished
“TESSA DIDN'T GET FORTY THOUSAND DOLLARS TO BUILD A BUSINESS! SOMEONE TOOK MORE THAN HALF OF IT—AND THE PERSON WHO AUTHORIZED THE TRANSFER WAS HER OWN PARTNER!”
Savannah Price was waiting at a small coffee shop near downtown Raleigh when I arrived the following morning.
She looked exhausted.
Her dark hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, and a stack of documents sat beside her untouched cappuccino.
She was twenty-nine, a freelance photographer who had spent six years building a respectable client base.
Unlike Tessa, Savannah didn't appear interested in looking wealthy.
She was interested in making a living.
“Thank you for coming,” she said.
I sat across from her.
“Why contact me instead of Tessa?”
Savannah glanced toward the window.
“Because Tessa won't listen to anything that makes Grant look bad.”
She opened her laptop.
BrightFrame Studio's bank records appeared.
“As one of the company owners, I can see the account activity. I wasn't handling payments because Grant said he had an accountant.”
“Does he?”
Savannah gave a bitter laugh.
“I haven't found one.”
She turned the laptop toward me.
The forty-thousand-dollar loan had arrived in BrightFrame's business account eight days earlier.
Two days later, Grant authorized a transfer of $26,400 to a company called Mercer Media Holdings.
“What was the transfer for?” I asked.
“Equipment rental, production services, and marketing development. At least, that's what Grant told us.”
“Did you receive those services?”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“None of them?”
Savannah shook her head.
“The studio still has folding chairs. We rented two cameras for a weekend, and the lighting equipment hasn't arrived.”
I examined the remaining transactions.
There were payments for the warehouse deposit, promotional materials, furniture, and software subscriptions.
Some expenses were legitimate.
Others were unclear.
But the largest transaction was unmistakable.
Nearly two-thirds of the borrowed money had gone to Grant's separate business.
“Did Tessa approve it?”
Savannah hesitated.
“Grant told her it was necessary.”
“That's not what I asked.”
She lowered her eyes.
“Yes. She approved it.”
The answer hurt more than I expected.
I had hoped that discovering Grant's involvement might mean Tessa was simply an inexperienced young woman manipulated by someone older.
But the evidence was becoming more complicated.
Grant might have exploited her ambition.
He might have lied to her.
He might even have stolen money from the studio.
Yet Tessa had still agreed to use our father's identity to obtain financing.
Those were separate wrongs.
One did not erase the other.
Savannah pulled another document from her bag.
“This is what made me contact you.”
It was a copy of an invoice from Mercer Media Holdings.
The business address belonged to a shared office building.
The invoice charged BrightFrame for a complete production-equipment package.
But Savannah had personally called the supplier whose equipment was supposedly included.
The supplier had never heard of Mercer Media Holdings.
“I think the invoice is fake,” she whispered.
“Have you told the police?”
“Not yet. I was afraid Grant would find out.”
I gently pushed the document back toward her.
“Savannah, don't let fear make your decisions for you. The bank records need to be preserved, and investigators need to know what you've found.”
She nodded.
“I'll cooperate.”
Then she looked at me with an expression I recognized.
Shame.
“I should have checked everything before agreeing to this partnership.”
I understood that feeling.
The belief that if you had simply been smarter, more careful, or less trusting, nothing terrible would have happened.
But Savannah hadn't forged my father's signature.
She hadn't created the false endorsement letter.
And she hadn't authorized that enormous transfer.
“You're responsible for your own decisions,” I told her. “Not for every lie someone tells you.”
She blinked.
Then she whispered, “Thank you.”
After leaving the coffee shop, I called Officer Ortiz.
Savannah had already agreed to provide the records directly.
The officer asked us not to confront Grant or interfere with the investigation.
I promised we wouldn't.
But I couldn't stop thinking about Tessa.
For the first time, I wondered whether her smug social media posts were covering a different kind of fear.
Perhaps she had realized the business was collapsing.
Perhaps she had discovered Grant was taking the money.
Perhaps humiliating me had been her desperate attempt to convince herself that she was still successful.
Understanding those possibilities didn't excuse her behavior.
But it gave me a clearer picture of how the disaster had developed.
That evening, Tessa called.
I considered ignoring her.
Instead, I answered.
“What do you want?”
Her voice sounded smaller than usual.
“Is Dad okay?”
“He's frightened, Tessa.”
“I never wanted him to get hurt.”
“Then you should have asked permission before using his identity.”
A long silence followed.
Finally, she asked:
“Did Savannah contact you?”
I sat upright.
“How do you know?”
“Grant told me she was asking questions.”
“About the missing money?”
Tessa stopped speaking.
I waited.
Then she whispered:
“He said it was temporary.”
I closed my eyes.
“You knew about the transfer?”
“He told me it would come back after the production contracts were finalized.”
“Were there contracts?”
She didn't answer.
“Tessa.”
“No.”
I stared at the wall.
The truth was worse than I had imagined.
She had placed Dad's financial security at risk based on promises that weren't supported by a single signed customer agreement.
And now the money was disappearing.
“Tell the police what you know,” I said.
She began crying.
“Lauren, if I tell them everything, I could go to jail.”
I felt the familiar pull to comfort her.
To offer a solution.
To tell her I would make a few phone calls.
But I remembered Dad's pale face.
I remembered the forged signature beneath my name.
And I remembered the satisfaction in Tessa's voice when she displayed my paycheck to strangers.
“You need a lawyer,” I said quietly. “And you need to stop lying.”
She hung up.
Ten minutes later, Savannah forwarded one final document.
It was a message from Grant to Tessa, dated before the loan had been approved.
The lender won't proceed without a verified personal guarantee. Don't tell me your father is still refusing. We need to solve this today.
I stared at the timestamp.
Tessa had always claimed the financing paperwork was rushed and confusing.
But this message suggested the problem had been explained before the money was issued.
She knew her father hadn't agreed.
She knew the lender required his consent.
And she went forward anyway.
Then Savannah sent the next message in the conversation.
May you like
It was Tessa's reply.
Don't worry. I'll take care of Dad's signature.
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