Ezoic
I had an account I kept separate from everything else. A small operating account, linked to my main investments, that I used for emergencies. Richard was not on it. Richard was not supposed to even know the login.
There was a withdrawal. Twelve thousand dollars. Labeled equipment.
I stared at it.
I went back through the previous months.
Nine thousand. Emergency vendor payment.
Seventeen thousand. Temporary loan.
Fourteen thousand. Eleven. Twenty-two.
Each amount was small enough to look like an honest mistake. Small enough that if you weren’t someone who read every line, you’d never notice.
Together, they added up to one hundred and eighty-six thousand dollars.
Ezoic
I sat in that office until two in the morning with the statements spread out in front of me.
The next night, at dinner, I asked him.
“Richard, do you know anything about some withdrawals from my emergency account?”
