Page 76 of Paternal Instincts
“We asked ourselves the same question,” I said. “Our IT expert did some digging. He discovered that those deposits happen monthly and have been happening for many years.”
“There must be a mistake. Genie doesn’t have this kind of money. If she did, I would know.”
Nothing in Nixon’s body language indicated he was lying. The man seemed truly perplexed. We hadn’t even laid down all our cards yet.
I glanced at Quaid, who met my gaze. I indicated he should make the final reveal and see what happened.
“Mr. Davis.” Quaid’s tone was soft and gentle. “We traced where the payments were coming from.”
“And?” Nixon glanced anxiously between us.
“They’re from your father.”
Nixon blanched like he’d been unexpectedly slapped across the face. “My… What?” He looked at the printed forms, frown deepening. Alaugh of disbelief followed. “That’s not possible. It doesn’t make sense.”
Quaid handed him another form, one showing where the payments came from. “Your father is depositing thousands of dollars every month into this account in Imogen’s name. What can you tell me about it?”
Nixon’s shock was genuine. He seemed lost for words as his attention shifted between forms. He continuously glanced at us as though waiting for a punch line that never came.
“I have no idea. This makes no sense. Why would my father give her money? My parents don’t have massive savings. In fact, my dad’s RRSPs were abysmal when he…” Nixon’s face fell, and I had a sneaking suspicion he’d drawn the same conclusion we’d drawn back at headquarters.
Nixon moved to set the papers on the counter and missed. They fluttered to the ground, unnoticed by the distraught man whose life was spiraling out of control. “I… I have to… I need to… make a phone call. Excuse me.”
I blocked the doorway before Nixon could escape.
Quaid held up his hands in a placating gesture as he approached. “Nixon. I don’t want you to call anyone right now. I only wanted to verify if you knew anything about this.”
“Of course I didn’t.” The man had turned sickly gray and swayed on his feet. “What is happening? W-what aren’t you telling me.”
“We don’t know.” I took Nixon’s arm and directed him to a stool, but he pulled away and paced the kitchen, tearing a hand through his hair. “We’re going to sort this out, but we need you to stay calm.”
“Stay calm? I need to talk to my dad. Flynn,” he shouted. “Flynn!”
“Not right now,” Quaid said, holding up a hand. “Let us handle it for Crowley’s sake. We will head over to your parents’ place right now and ask them a few questions. In the meantime, I want—”
“Genie is gone! Where is my wife, Detective? Where is my son? Flynn! Flynn…”
“We’re working on it,” I assured him. The door at my back bumped me as someone tried to push through into the kitchen.
“Nix?” Flynn called from the other side. “Detectives, you might want to see this.”
Trembling, seemingly hanging on by a single thread of control, Nixon looked wildly around the kitchen like he’d been dropped on an alien planet. Over and over, he muttered, “Flynn… Flynn, I need you.”
“Nix?” The door hit my back again.
Using the power of silent conversation, I communicated to Quaid to get Nixon to sit down before he collapsed.
Once Nixon was occupied, I slipped through the door, closing it behind me.
Flynn glanced worriedly between me and the kitchen. “Is my brother okay?”
“He’s fine.” Flynn held a white cardboard envelope, and my stomach dropped. “What’s that?”
“FedEx just dropped it off.”
Chapter 18
Quaid
