“Leonard is dead.”
Chance drew back. “Dead? How did that happen?”
“He walked out in front of a bus.”
“No shit?”
“I saw it. I recognized him. I thought he was following me, that he was one of the bad guys trying to find Mom.”
“Maybe since Leonard came to such a bad end, The Carver won’t send someone else to take me out.” Maybe they’d just wait until he got back to Atlanta and shoot him in the head then.
“I don’t get it—can’t you just tell The Carver you didn’t know the money was fake and go back to owing him? Don’t you work for him anyway?’
Wes frowned. “How do you know about that?”
Carlotta blanched. “That slipped out.”
“Jack has a big mouth.”
“So why can’t you just go back to owing him?”
Wes had to find a nail to chew on to think about Chance’s exact words the day he’d visited. “Actually, now that think about it, Chance said it wasn’t The Carver who was pissed at me, it was his son Dillon…he said I’d gotten him in a lot of trouble when I paid his dad with the counterfeit money.”
“How would that get him in trouble with his father?”
The answer exploded into his head. “Because Dillon printed it? The Carver isn’t a nice guy, but his business is on the up and up—if he thought Dillon was counterfeiting, he’d be furious.”
“Because it would expose The Carver’s entire operation to federal scrutiny.”
Wes nodded.
Carlotta shook her head. “But why would money Dillon counterfeited be in the wall of the townhome?”
Wes’s first thought was the time Mouse and his guys had come to install the security alarm—but the bag was in a part of the wall they didn’t touch. Then he remembered something. “It was in a black plastic bag that had a design on it.” He closed his eyes to think. “B…T…C, I think.”
“Buckhead Tennis Club,” Carlotta said. “It’s where Dad played. In fact, I remember a conversation with a doctor who told me he was Dad’s doubles partner. Dad told him someone in his firm was trying to frame him. He’d asked if he could bring something to him for safekeeping, but before it happened, Randolph had been arrested, then disappeared. I’ll bet Randolph was planning to take him the bag of counterfeit money.”
Wes scratched his head. “But how could counterfeit money be evidence that someone was trying to frame him?”
The answer slid into his head so quietly and so beautifully, it was almost poetic. And from the look on Carlotta’s face, it had fallen into her head, too.
“Holy shit,” he said.
“Those bastards—”
“—at Mashburn & Tully—”
“—were literally printing money.” Carlotta steepled her hands over her nose.
“And I’ll bet they were getting Dillon Carver to launder it for them,” Wes said. “So when the money popped back into circulation, The Carver probably thought Dillon was up to his old tricks.”
“So when Dad was accused of taking all that money,” Carlotta said, “hundreds of millions of dollars…”
“He did take it,” Wes said, “but it was fake!” He gave a whoop and a fist-pump. “Go, Dad!”
“Hey,” the guard said, “keep it down. And you got ten minutes left.”
“Oh, my gosh,” Carlotta said. “Yesterday Mom said they had to leave because men were trying to kill them. At the time, it seemed fanciful, but now…”
“People would kill for a lot less,” Wes said.
“I just remembered something else Mom said—that Dad was always bringing her these ‘paper things’ home from work.”
“Paper things?”
“It’s how she describes things when she can’t remember the right words. I thought she meant books, but what if she meant paper money?”
“You think she knows where the rest of the counterfeit money is?”
“Could it be in our townhouse—in other walls?”
“No,” Wes said. “I, uh, used a studfinder to cover every inch of the drywall and didn’t find any more.”
Carlotta massaged her temples. “I have to talk to Jack, and tell him everything.”
“And I’m calling Liz, pronto. When we expose Mashburn & Tully, the Secret Service isn’t going to care about prosecuting me.”
He might be out of jail in time to go on that date with Meg after all.
Chapter 23
CARLOTTA GLANCED at her watch to see exactly twenty seconds had passed since she’d last checked the time. She scanned the hotel lobby for Jack, but no dice.