I looked toward his photograph.
Then whispered, "Oh, Henry."
***
The next morning, Patricia reviewed the old transactions.
She found several payments made to a company connected to Malcolm's family.
Most were small enough to appear routine.
Consulting fees.
Development expenses.
Advisory payments.
But over seventeen years, they added up to more than three million dollars.
I stared at the total.
"How did nobody notice?"
Patricia looked ashamed.
"The payments were spread across different subsidiaries."
I shook my head.
Malcolm hadn't suddenly decided to steal.
He'd been taking money for years.
And when Henry began questioning him, something had changed.
I remembered Henry's final months.
He became unusually anxious.
He started locking his office.
He stopped allowing Malcolm to handle certain accounts.
At the time, I thought he was struggling with his illness.
Now I wondered whether he was trying to protect the company.
Or me.
***
Detective Grant called that afternoon.
