Page 60 of Death on a Scottish Train
“How would you know anything? You haven’t spoken to him in a year,” the partner sneered. “We were more his family than you. All you want is money. You dinnae care a wit for your brother.”
She pointed at him. “You are a thief. How will your clients react when they find out you refused to give me what money is owed. I know he used some of his own funds for investments, and they were not all bad. The last time we talked he was telling me about some development happening outside of Edinburgh. He asked if I might be interested, to which I said no, given what happened the last time I invested my money with you.”
“You have no idea what you are talking about,” he said.
“Yes, and there is a difference between short term and long, where your money is supposed to accrue,” Kaitlyn Jacks said. “You wouldn’t have used the firm’s funds in your schemes. I know that because he told me. I want what rightfully belongs to our family. And I’ll sue to get it if I have to.”
Burns sneered again. “He always said the only thing you cared about was money. When that investment went bad, he knew you would never let him forget it. But that doesn’t mean he owed you anything.”
“We’ll see what my lawyer has to say about that.”
He laughed but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Waste your money, go ahead. He signed a contract when he joined the firm. You’ll find you aren’t owed a cent.” His tone was vicious and unnecessary.
He stormed away. He’d been smarmy when I’d seen him at his office. I didn’t trust him. But was he a killer? And what would be his motive?
Money. Maybe the forensic accountant would find something that would help us nail down the suspects.
Kaitlyn bent down and put her hands on her knees. It appeared she was having trouble breathing.
I went to her. “Are you OK?”
“I’m having trouble catching my breath,” she said between wheezes.
“Come sit down.” I guided her to one of the tables set up for people to eat.
Had Burns done something to her?
“Do you have any allergies, like your brother?” I asked. As I helped her to the chair.
She shook her head.
“My chest is tight,” she said between trying to take great gulps of air.
“Are you prone to panic attacks?”
“I dinnae know,” she said. “Never had one.”
“Lean onto the table and put your forehead on your hands. Count to four as your breath in, and I’ll do it with you. One. Two. Three. Four. Now breathe out. And again.”
It didn’t take long to regulate her breathing. She sat up, and the color returned to her face.
“Thank you,” she said. “That’s never happened to me before.”
“Do you suffer from anxiety? I only ask because if you do, it can make you prone to panic attacks, which is what you just experienced.”
She shrugged. “Not any more than the next person. We all have anxiety, right?”
I nodded. “True, but sometimes it can affect us emotionally and physically. I saw that you were arguing with Mr. Burns. That kind of stress could bring it on. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really. He’s a slimy—I have no idea why my brother went into business with him. From what I understood, he never liked the bloke. But he wanted to live here in Sea Isle and couldn’t see opening an accounting firm to compete. So, they joined forces.”
“That makes sense. We are a small town.”
“But now, he’s saying the family is owed nothing. That cannot be true. Yes, my brother made some bad investments, including with my retirement fund, but he also helped the firm to make money.”
“I’ll be honest,” I said. “I have no idea how any of that works. I’m lucky to have a great guy who handles all of my investments in the states.”
I pursed my lips. “I shouldn’t tell you this,” I whispered. “But the police have a forensic accountant who will be going through everything. I’m sure if you’re owed money, they will be able to figure that out. You should speak to the ACC, though, and let him know how you feel. That way he can make certain you receive what you’re owed, if the evidence proves your allegations. I have no idea about the financial side of things. I’m only thinking about your brother.”
