Page 108 of He Sees You
In 1998 alone, he moved three million dollars through various shell companies.
The codes are simple once you know Richard's psychology.
He used dates—not birthdays or anniversaries, but dates of acquisitions.
Each transaction tied to when he acquired a new child.
January 15th, 1997: $50,000.
March 8th, 1998: $75,000.
December 24th, 1999: $100,000.
Christmas Eve.
Even their depravity couldn't take a holiday.
I decode three pages before I have to stop, nausea rising.
The numbers are staggering.
Millions of dollars over decades, all built on children's suffering.
The second drawer is photographs.
Some innocent—town events, publicity shots.
Richard shaking hands with the governor at a fundraiser.
Patricia playing piano at a charity gala for missing children—the irony makes me want to vomit.
Them accepting an award for their "contributions to child welfare" from the state assembly.
But underneath those, wrapped in plastic like pornography—which I suppose it was to Richard—are different images.
Children.
Dozens of them.
Some at the estate, some at locations I don't recognize.
Their eyes are empty, already broken.
I recognize the background in several—our house.
The room next to mine.
The blue wallpaper with sailboats that Patricia chose because it was "cheerful."
I'd heard sounds sometimes, crying I thought was Juliette having nightmares.
But it wasn't always her.
Other children were kept there, sometimes for days, before being moved on.
And I was sleeping one room away, planning my parents' deaths while other children were living through hell inches from my bed.
One photo stops me cold.
