Chapter 4 - The Paper Trail
By eight o'clock that morning, the sun had finally dragged itself above the pine trees, casting a pale, yellow light over the snow-covered streets of Marshfield.
I dropped Noah and Sophie off at school. For the first time in months, Sophie was wearing brand-new, fleece-lined winter boots with heavy rubber soles that didn't let a drop of cold slush through. She had hugged my neck so tightly before running into the school building that her little coat buttons had pressed into my chin.
When I arrived at Marshfield Lumber, the gravel lot was full of contractor pickup trucks idling in the cold, blue exhaust smoke rising into the freezing air.
I walked into the administrative office, hung my coat on the brass rack behind the counter, and turned on my computer. I was the head bookkeeper, responsible for managing payroll, accounts payable, and contractor credit lines for a five-million-dollar annual operation. I knew numbers. I knew how paper trails worked. And I knew that when people like my mother made threats about "fiduciary duties," they were usually operating on bluff and bravado.
At 10:15 AM, my desk phone rang.
"Marshfield Lumber, accounting," I said, holding the receiver between my ear and shoulder while clicking through a lumber shipment invoice.
"Claire?"
The voice was low, cautious, and unmistakably masculine. It was my ex-husband, Eric.
I paused, my fingers hovering over the ten-key pad. Eric and I hadn't spoken more than ten words to each other since our custody agreement had been finalized three years ago. He paid his court-ordered child support on time through an automatic state transfer, picked up the kids every other weekend without drama, and kept his distance.
"Eric," I said, straightening up in my chair. "Is everything okay with the kids' schedule for this weekend?"
"The kids are fine, Claire," Eric said, clearing his throat. "I'm calling because your mother just left my office."
Eric worked as an insurance adjuster for a regional firm downtown.
"She went to your office?" I asked, feeling a cold knot form in my stomach.
"She didn't just come to my office, Claire. She sat in my waiting room for forty-five minutes until I came out, and then she started loudly demanding that I dock your child support payments directly to pay for the farm's property taxes."
I closed my eyes, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Eric, I am so sorry. I had no idea she would do that."
"I know you didn't," Eric sighed over the line. "Look, Claire... she was making a scene. She was telling my boss that you were stealing money from the kids, that you were mentally unstable, and that I needed to step in and take full custody before you ruined the family."
"What did you tell her?"
"I told her to get the hell out of my building before I called the private security guards," Eric said, his tone surprisingly firm. "And then I called my lawyer, Mark Henderson. Claire... what is going on with the farm deed?"
I sat back in my chair, looking out the office window at the forklift moving stacks of two-by-fours across the snowy yard.
"She came to my house at six this morning with Uncle Richard and Thomas Vance," I told him. "She told me if I didn't pay the $5,200 tax bill, she was going to sue me for breach of fiduciary duty because of my ten-percent share in the deed."
Eric let out a harsh, dry laugh. "Ten-percent share? Claire, did Vance actually stand there and let her say that?"
"Vance didn't say much," I replied. "He looked like he wanted to jump into a snowbank."
"He should," Eric snapped. "Because Vance knows damn well what happened ten years ago when your father died. Claire... do you still have the original financial records from 2014? The ones from when we paid off that forty-six thousand dollar second mortgage?"
"Of course I have them," I said. "I keep every bank statement in my metal filing cabinet at home."
"Get them out tonight," Eric instructed, his voice dropping into an authoritative tone I hadn't heard since we were married. "Bring them to Mark Henderson’s office tomorrow morning at eight. I already booked a consultation for you. I'm paying for it."
I blinked, stunned. "Eric... you don't have to do that."
"Yes, I do, Claire," Eric said quietly. "For five years while we were married, I watched your mother and sister bleed you dry. I watched you sacrifice our house savings, your peace of mind, and your sanity trying to keep that family happy. I couldn't stop you back then because you weren't ready to see it. But those are my kids she left out in the cold on Christmas Day. I'm not letting her touch you or my children ever again."
I sat in my office chair, listening to the hum of the computer monitor, tears suddenly burning behind my eyelids.
May you like
"Thank you, Eric," I whispered.
"Just bring the papers, Claire," he said softly. "It's time to close the book on County Road C."
