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"Nate, I really—"
"I said I'm fine!" he barks, and I jerk my head up and down. I'm not going to argue with him.
He comes over to where I piled the statements for Payton's and the family accounts, and I hand him one containing the transaction amount.
My brother scans the papers, reaching for another and another before looking up. "He transferred the money for whomever he was paying off out of the joint account he and my mother kept for the property expenses." His expression ranges from confused to pissed off.
I nod and whisper, "Does that mean Payton knew about it?"
Nate’s mouth turns down. "I always assumed the family accountant took care of most of the stuff. Both my parents had their own money, and they shared a joint account for all the big expenses—properties, cars, etc. My college tuition came out of the trust my grandfather set up when I was born. Audrey had her own. After my grandmother passed away, my grandfather called a family meeting where he went over everything the Altman's own. During that, my parents also laid out to me how our family's finances were set up. But they never specifically told me who managed them. After my father..." His hands tighten on the stack he's holding. "After he died, our accountant handled everything and just handed me the papers. I never read any of them. I was too—"
"It’s okay," I interrupt him. He doesn’t have to spell it out. "Do the accounts still exist?"
Nate looks up. "No. Everything got consolidated into mine or your trust, which is why I didn’t recognize the account number the money came from. But—" Then his eyebrows scrunch together.
"What?" I ask, unable to follow his thoughts.
"Frank knew."
"Who?"
"Frank. Our accountant. He handed me all the papers, which means he at least saw the will if not even had something to do with setting your trust up. That motherfucker. He kept that to himself all these years."
"Are you sure about that? Why would he keep that from you?"
Nate jumps up and starts moving between the door and the desk. "I will find out." He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials someone. The other person picks up after several rings.
"Hank! I—" Hank cuts him off, and my brother gazes at the ceiling. The voice on the other end is raised, but I can’t make out what he says. Nate barks, "Yes, I can read the clock, asshole." He pulls the phone from his ear and glances at the screen before holding it back up. "It's 6:23 on a Monday; you should be up by now. Stop whining. Now, what I was going to say is I need you to find me the number for Frank Hollancomp." Nate listens. "I know he retired three years ago, but since we still send checks his way, his number and address are—" The knuckles on his fists turn white. "Because I’m busy. Just do it."
Nate hangs up without saying goodbye.
"Do you always talk to Hank that way?" I ask carefully with a raised eyebrow. I've seen so many sides of my brother by now, but this one is new, and I'm not sure how to react to it.
"Huh?" He focuses back on me. "Oh. Hank’s been exceptionally bitchy lately. No clue what crawled up his ass."
"You sure that has nothing to do with you?" I keep my voice low and prepare myself for another outburst. I don't want to directly accuse him of being at fault for how Hank acts; I haven't seen much of it firsthand. But Nate has been absent a lot, and I assume Hank has had to pick up a lot for him.
He shakes his head, starting to flip through the statements again. "No, it started a few months ago."
"Hmm...okay then." I’ll leave it at that.
My brother gives me a hug and informs me that he'll work on tracing the money. He hasn't done anything on that end since he ran into a dead end with the last shell corporation. He tells me he'll be at his house for a bit, and I should call if I need anything. He'll be back in a few hours.
