Chapter 8: The Truth About Renee's Last Account
Malcolm spent the next two hours calling everyone who had helped manage Renee's affairs.
He called the insurance company.
He called the attorney who had handled the estate.
He called Renee's former accountant, a quiet man named Stephen Morris who lived forty minutes away.
Each conversation left him more troubled than the last.
By lunchtime, he'd learned that Renee had received a small settlement before her death. It had been intended to cover certain medical expenses and provide additional support for Isaiah.
The remaining balance had been transferred to an account established for the boy.
Not twenty-seven thousand dollars.
That amount included Malcolm's later contributions.
But enough to matter.
Enough to give a child options.
Enough to make the missing funds more painful.
Malcolm sat in his office with the phone pressed against his ear.
“So you're telling me the original settlement was deposited directly into Isaiah's account?””
Stephen's voice came through the speaker.
“Yes. The documents are clear. Renee specifically requested that the remaining funds be protected for Isaiah's benefit.””
“Did anyone else have access?””
“Not initially. You were the custodian.””
“Was there ever a request to change that?””
Stephen paused.
“There was a request to update certain account details. I remember the bank contacting our office because a form contained inconsistent information.””
Malcolm sat forward.
“What inconsistent information?””
“The signature didn't match the one on the original documents. The request was withdrawn before we completed the update.””
Malcolm looked at the scanned document on his desk.
“Who submitted it?””
“I'd have to look through the archived file.””
“Please do.””
After the call, he sat motionless.
I stood near the doorway.
“What did he say?””
Malcolm rubbed his face.
“The lawyer remembers a disputed form. Someone tried to change the account information not long after Tasha and I married.””
“Could that have been Tasha?””
“I don't know.””
He glanced at the clock.
“I'm taking Isaiah to school tomorrow. I want to talk to his teacher and find out what he actually needs.””
“Do you think the teacher knows anything about this?””
“I think I need to stop assuming everything is happening the way Tasha tells me.””
That afternoon, we drove to Isaiah's elementary school.
His teacher, Mrs. Bennett, greeted us outside her classroom. She was a woman in her fifties with silver hair and a collection of colorful pins on her cardigan.
When Malcolm explained that he wanted to discuss Isaiah's school supplies and tutoring, her expression changed.
“Tutoring?”” she asked.
“Yes. My wife said he was enrolled in an academic support program.””
Mrs. Bennett frowned.
“Isaiah receives extra reading support through the school when needed. But we haven't recommended private tutoring.””
Malcolm looked at me.
“Did anyone request a private assessment?””
“Not through the school,” she replied.
“I did receive an email from Tasha asking for a report describing Isaiah's academic difficulties. She said the family needed it for a private program.””
“Did you send one?””
“I explained that I couldn't provide a report for a program I hadn't evaluated. I offered to meet with both parents instead.””
“Did she come?””
Mrs. Bennett hesitated.
“No.””
Malcolm leaned back.
“Was Isaiah struggling academically?””
“He had some difficulty concentrating during the first half of the year. That's understandable after losing his mother and adjusting to a new household. But his grades improved steadily.””
“Was he ever assessed for a learning disability?””
“No.””
“Did he attend summer camp?””
Mrs. Bennett looked confused.
“Not the school program. We sent information home about our free summer activities, but I don't believe Isaiah registered.””
Malcolm stared at the desk.
Three different expenses.
Three different explanations.
None of them matched what he'd been told.
May you like
Mrs. Bennett folded her hands.
“Mr. Reed, can I ask
