Julian had lived in that house for years.
He had never asked why one section of the cellar had no inventory label.
I pressed the brass button.
The elevator opened.
I stepped inside.
Pulled the door shut.
The kitchen disappeared above me as the elevator descended.
For years, I had made sure Julian never had to ask where the money came from.
Now I was going to find out what he had done with it.
The elevator opened into the private Sterling office beneath the estate.
Arthur was waiting beside a desk with three bank statements spread in a row.
“You were right about the dates,” he said.
“The household ledger doesn’t contain this payment.”
I stepped closer.
The middle statement showed:
$41,200
Transferred four days earlier.
Arthur placed the closing statement from our lake-lot sale beside it.