Chapter 5: Desmond’s Part
I didn’t open the May 14 email.
My attorney had told me to locate it, not answer it, and the difference felt important. I left the message on my screen while she made a note of the date and sender. The partial bank statement lay beside my phone, the unidentified deposit still only a line of ink and numbers.
“Don’t forward it or delete anything,” she said. “We’ll preserve the original and handle it carefully.”
Mom sat across from me, her hands folded over the folder of transfer records. She looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with the hour.
“Does finding that email mean Desmond knew about the money?” she asked.
“No,” my attorney said. “It means we have a question. We don’t have an answer.”
I copied the date onto a separate sheet, then slid my phone into my bag. I didn’t want a screen to become evidence in my mind before I knew what it showed.
That evening, I called Desmond.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“Fay.”
“I need to ask you about Ranata’s contact with the development company.”
The pause that followed was short but noticeable.
“I figured we’d get here.”
“I found an email from you dated May fourteenth. I haven’t opened it.”
“Why not?”
“My attorney told me not to reply and to preserve it. I’m following her advice.”
“That’s fair.”
“I’m not asking you to guess about the deposit in those bank records. I’m asking what you know about Ranata and the company.”
He breathed out slowly.
“Can we talk in person?”
“With my attorney present.”
Another pause.
“Okay.”
We set a time for the next afternoon at her office. I didn’t invite Mom. She wanted to come, but I asked her to wait until we had something more solid than suspicion to discuss.
“I don’t want you hearing an explanation and mistaking it for a record,” I told her.
She nodded, though the hurt in her face suggested she had already learned how costly that mistake could be.
Desmond arrived the next day alone. He carried no folder, just his phone and the strained expression of someone who had rehearsed a few answers but not all of them.
My attorney started by explaining that we were trying to make a careful record of what he personally knew. She wasn’t accusing him of anything. She was also not promising that his answers would settle anything.
Desmond nodded.
“I understand.”
I looked at him.
“Did you introduce Ranata to someone connected to the company?”
“Yes.”
The directness of his answer surprised me. I had expected a qualification first.
“When?”
“During the negotiations. She asked me if I knew anyone who could tell her what the company was doing in the area.”
“Why would she ask you?”
“I manage investments. I’ve met people in that world.”
The answer sounded plausible. It also sounded like the kind of sentence that could conceal more than it explained.
“What did she tell you she wanted?” my attorney asked.
“To speak with someone. She said she wanted to understand the project and see whether there was a way to earn a fee for making an introduction.”
“Did she say she was representing me?”
“No.”
“Did she tell the company she had authority to act for me?”
“I never heard her say that.”
My attorney made a note.
“Just to be clear, are you saying she didn’t say it, or that you weren’t present when she might have said it?”
Desmond looked down at his hands.
“I wasn’t present for every conversation she had with them. I’m saying I never heard her claim authority.”
That distinction landed harder than a simple yes or no. It left room for what he didn’t know, and it left me with the same question.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I sent an email introducing her to a contact. That was it.”
“What did you know about her agreement?”
“I knew she wanted an introduction fee. I didn’t know if they agreed to pay one.”
“Did you get any money?”
“No.”
He answered quickly, then glanced at my attorney as if he understood that quickness itself could sound rehearsed.
“I didn’t get paid,” he added. “I didn’t expect to.”
My attorney let the silence sit before continuing.
“Did you know my parents were sending Ranata money they believed was for Fay’s farm?”
“No.”
His eyes moved to mine.
“I swear I didn’t.”
I wanted to believe him. I also knew that wanting something didn’t make it true.
“What did Ranata tell you about the money?” I asked.
“She said your parents wanted to help you. That they were sending her money to pass along.”
“Did you ever see her pass it along?”
“No.”
“Did you ask?”
He rubbed his thumb across the edge of his phone.
“I didn’t think I had a reason to.”
That was not the same as being innocent of every part of the story. It was also not proof that he had helped her divert anything. For the moment, it was simply what he said.
My attorney turned to him.
“Let’s separate what you witnessed from what Ranata told you. You witnessed making an introduction. You heard her say she wanted an introduction fee. You did not witness a payment. And you say you did not know your parents’ transfers weren’t reaching Fay.”
“That’s right.”
“Did you see any document?”
Desmond hesitated.
“An email chain, maybe. Ranata sent me something at the time. I don’t remember exactly what was attached.”
“Can you find it?” I asked.
“I might be able to.”
He tapped his phone, then stopped.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Ranata told me to delete an attachment.”
My attorney’s pen paused above the page.
“When?” she asked.
“After she’d sent it to me. She said it wasn’t final and she didn’t want copies floating around.”
“What did she say it contained?”
“I don’t remember her exact words.”
“Did you delete it?”
“I thought I did.”
I kept my hands flat on the table.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because you asked me to give you the full account.”
“That isn’t the full account if you’re leaving out what you remember.”
“I’m not trying to leave it out.” His voice tightened. “I’m trying to remember it correctly.”
My attorney leaned forward slightly.
“Don’t speculate. If you can locate the original chain, we can preserve it and have counsel review it. Don’t alter or forward anything in the meantime.”
Desmond nodded. He opened an email app, scrolled, then switched to another screen.
“I’ve changed phones since then,” he said. “I may have archived it.”
He searched one term, then another. Each time, the screen returned to the same handful of ordinary messages. His jaw tightened.
“Could Ranata have access to the account?” my attorney asked.
“Not this one.”
He tried again. I watched his face rather than his screen. He had the look of a man who wanted the search to end with nothing, but not badly enough to stop searching.
Then he went quiet.
“What?” I asked.
“I found the chain.”
“Can you see the attachment?” my attorney asked.
“Not yet.”
He turned the phone toward himself and tapped the message. His thumb hovered over a small icon beneath the email.
“I thought this was gone,” he said.
“Don’t open or move it until we’ve documented where it is,” my attorney said. “Can you tell whether it’s still attached to the archived message?”
Desmond leaned closer to the screen.
“I think so.”
He tapped once, then pulled his hand back.
A file name appeared beneath the old email.
May you like
Desmond stared at it.
“That’s the attachment she told me to delete.”
