Too Good to Be True - Kristan Higgins [108]
Obediently, I took a bite of the omelet, which was hot and fluffy and utterly delicious. Giving him what I hoped was an encouraging smile, I waited.
Cal put his plate down and turned his chair so it faced me better. He sat leaning slightly forward, his big hands clasped loosely in front of him, and stared at me for a minute, which made chewing a bit awkward. Then he sighed and looked down.
“I didn’t exactly embezzle the money. But I knew about it, I didn’t report the person who did embezzle it, and I helped it stay hidden.”
“Well, then, who took it?” I asked.
“My brother.”
I nearly choked. “Oh,” I whispered.
For the next half hour, Callahan told me a pretty fascinating story. How he and his brother, Pete, owned a large construction company. About Hurricane Katrina and an endless supply of reconstruction the government was paying for. About the frenetic nature of the business, the orders that went missing, the insurance claims, the criminal underbelly of New Orleans. And then, one night, how he found a Cayman Islands account under his own name with $1.6 million in it.
“Holy crap, Cal,” I breathed.
He didn’t answer, just nodded.
“What did you do?”
“Well, it was four in the morning, and I was fairly stunned, seeing my own name there on the computer screen. I was afraid to look away, too, thinking my brother—because it couldn’t have been anyone but him—that he might move the money. Or spend it. God, I don’t know. So I opened another account and transferred the whole amount.”
“Aren’t those accounts password protected and all that?” I asked. (I did read John Grisham, after all.)
“Yeah. He used our mother’s name. He never was really smart when it came to PIN numbers and that kind of thing. Always used his birthday or our mom’s name. Anyway, I figured I’d confront him, and we’d find a way to get the money back to where it belonged. We were working in the Ninth Ward, rebuilding neighborhoods, and I figured we’d just slip the money back in.”
“Why didn’t you call the Feds or the police?” I asked.
“Because it was my brother.”
“But he was cheating all those people! And he was using you to do it! God, the Ninth Ward was hardest hit of anyone—”
“I know.” Cal sighed and scrubbed his hand through his hair. “I know, Grace. But…” His voice trailed off. “But he was also the brother who let me sleep in his room for a year after our mom died. The one who showed me how to hit a baseball and taught me to drive. He always said we’d go into business together. I wanted to give him a chance to make things right.” Cal looked at me, his face looking older, and sad. “He was my big brother. I didn’t want him to go to jail.”
Yes. I also knew about putting family before common sense, didn’t I? “So what happened?” I asked more quietly. “What did he say?” I set my empty plate aside.
“Well, what could he say? He was sorry, he got caught up in it all, everyone else was doing it…But he agreed that we’d just funnel the money back into the projects and make things right.” He paused, remembering. “Unfortunately for us, the Feds had been watching the company. When I moved the money, I gave them a trail, and they pounced.” He looked down and shook his head.
“Did your brother go to jail, too?” I asked softly.
Cal didn’t look up. “No, Grace. He testified against me.”
I closed my eyes. “Oh, Cal.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you…what did you do?”
Another weary sigh. “My brother had taken steps, you know? My name was all over this, and it was his word against mine. And I was the accountant. Pete said even if he’d wanted to, he wouldn’t have known how to do it, I was the college boy and all that. The prosecutors found him a lot more convincing, I guess. My lawyer said the world wasn’t going to go easy on someone who stole from Katrina victims, so when they offered a plea, I took it.”
Angus jumped onto my lap, and I petted him, thinking. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this before, Cal? I would’ve believed you.”
“Would you?” he asked. “Doesn’t every convict say he’s innocent?