Page 19 of Irish

Makenzie sighed. “Exactly what I found.”

“We need to dig deeper, find out where the money went,” Arrow said.

“I have an idea, but I don’t like it. Irish told me his son, Wyatt, was here over Christmas break from high school and he let him do some of the accountings.”

“Wyatt is a good kid,” Arrow said with a frown. “If you are going to make accusations pointing to him, you need to be damn sure.”

“That’s why I came to you and not Irish. The money went missing when Wyatt was here, doing the books. Is it possible someone else manipulated Wyatt into taking it? Or maybe Wyatt left the computer unsecure somewhere and someone hacked the account? There’s a lot of possibilities.”

“Agreed. There are a lot of possibilities.” Arrow closed the laptop a little too hard, drawing curious glances from the people at the next table. “Irish's office will have the full records and receipts. We'll go through everything, line by line.”

“Tomorrow?” Makenzie suggested, wanting to get this over with.

“First thing. I’ll clear my schedule.” Arrow nodded.

“Thank you,” she murmured, feeling the weight of the impending confrontation tighten around her chest. She couldn't shake the image of Irish, being betrayed and possibly by his own son.

“Hey,” Arrow's tone softened, as if sensing her distress. “We're gonna sort this out, Kenzie. Trust me.”

Makenzie met his gaze. She drew a deep breath, allowing herself a small nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

Makenzie's eyes flickered open to the predawn dimness, her mind already racing with the day's goal. Slipping out of bed, she suppressed the shiver that crept up her spine as the morning chill brushed against her skin. She dressed quickly, in a pair of snug jeans and a top that hugged her curves modestly. She left Irish a quickly scribbled note next to the coffee pot, afraid a text would wake him. After grabbing the office keys from the hook by the door, she headed to the small car she’d been loaned, grateful when it came to life quietly and she headed to meet Arrow.

She arrived at Irish’s office while the world was still hushed. The door creaked gently as she pushed it open, the sound slicing through the silence like an unwelcome guest. The room smelled faintly of leather and pine, the remnants of Irish’s presence. Makenzie got to work making a fresh pot of coffee as she waited.

She heard Arrow’s bike roaring outside before he strode in, his stride purposeful, a man accustomed to command. His nod was all the greeting she needed. “Coffee smells good,” he said.

“Already on it.” She handed him a mug while sipping her own.

“Ready?” Arrow asked.

“Let's do this,” Makenzie responded, more steel in her voice than she felt.Please don’t let it be Wyatt’s fault.She didn’t want to be the one to break it to Irish.

They settled into their chairs, side by side. Before them lay stacks of financial records and receipts. Arrow's fingers flew across the calculator, punching numbers with a precision that bordered on aggressive. Makenzie flipped through receipts, her eyes scanning for anomalies, her intuition guiding her.

“Okay, so here, on this receipt, it says they spent two thousand in lumber, but on the bank account it shows twenty-two hundred,” Arrow said, pointing to the screen.

Makenzie scowled down at the receipt. “It shows cashback at the bottom of the receipt.”

“Go through the receipts and find any others that have cash back.”

Within a few minutes, Makenzie had a stack of receipts that showed cash back amounting to several thousand dollars. It was something but didn’t equal twenty thousand.

Time lost meaning as they worked, the sun climbing stealthily into the sky outside.

“Look at this pattern,” Arrow pointed to a series of entries, his brow furrowed in concentration. “It doesn't add up.” She peered into the sheet and saw it to. A transfer to a Venmo account for a nonprofit.

“Again,” he muttered, his voice low and steady, “the same amount, to the same place.”

“Have you ever heard of this person or company before?” Makenzie asked. “Maybe we were wrong, maybe Irish has been donating to another nonprofit and just forgot to tell us.”

“I don’t think so,” Arrow said. “See, he has all of his donations listed here. It wouldn’t make financial sense, and not for this amount.

“If he didn’t make them, then all of these are unauthorized withdrawals,” Makenzie said, her voice sharper than she intended.

“Damnit. I didn’t want to believe it but look who authorized this one. He didn’t remember to switch usernames before authorizing it.” Arrow's hand hovered over a name, a shadow crossing his features.

Her throat tightened as she read the name of the user. It was Wyatt and there was a signature on the account it went to. A signature—a name scrawled with a familiarity that twisted her insides. Irish's ex-wife. The dates, the amounts—they aligned with their son's stay in December.

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