When I Asked My Son If He’d Moved Into The House I Paid $240,000 For, His Wife Said, “We’ve Been…

Investigating the Vanishing Funds

The $240,000 was structured as a personal loan. Raymond and I had discussed it like adults.

He had shown me a business plan that was more thorough than some municipal budget proposals. We agreed on a repayment schedule with a formal written agreement.

I transferred the money in two installments. I still have the bank records.

What I did not have was any idea what had been happening in the 8 months since the second transfer. The Monday after Celeste’s phone call, I drove to Toronto.

I didn’t tell Raymond I was coming. I parked on the street and walked to the bakery on Roncesvalles Avenue.

The place had a hand-painted sign that read Vance and Co. Artisan Breads. My last name.

I stood outside for a moment looking at that sign. A woman at the counter told me Raymond was in the back.

When he came out and saw me, something moved across his face. Not quite guilt, not quite surprise, but something in between.

“Dad,” he said, “this is unexpected.” “It is,” I agreed, “for both of us, I imagine.”

We went to a cafe down the street. Raymond explained the bakery was too loud with the ovens running.

I noticed he didn’t invite me to sit at one of his own tables. I asked him directly why I hadn’t been invited to the opening.

He gave me a version of what Celeste had said. I might find it overwhelming. He wanted it low-key.

Each sentence came out smoothly, which told me they had been rehearsed. “Raymond,” I said, “I gave you $240,000.”

“I know, Dad.” “The written agreement your accountant was supposed to draft—I’ve been waiting for that for 14 months.”

He looked at his coffee. “There were delays. The accountant had some personal things going on. It’s been a complicated year.”

“How much of the 240 has been spent?” I asked. He looked up. “Most of it. Startup costs were higher than projected.”

“How much is left?” “Maybe 12, 13,000.”

I nodded and picked up my coffee. “Okay, let’s talk about the repayment plan.”

He said he’d have something to me by the end of the month. I drove back to Barrie and started making some phone calls.

The first call was to my friend Dennis Kowalc, a retired commercial real estate lawyer. I explained the situation to him.

He told me that without a signed loan agreement, recovering the money in court would be complicated but not impossible. The bank transfers created a paper trail.

I checked my email that evening. In one sent 16 months ago, Raymond wrote, “Thanks again Dad. We’ll get the repayment schedule sorted as soon as the renovation is done.”

The second call was to my nephew Stuart, who worked in forensic accounting. I asked him to help me understand where $240,000 could go in 18 months.

He called back 4 days later with “interesting” observations. Renovation costs were real, but there were also irregular transfers from the business account to a personal joint account.

Stuart couldn’t say exactly what those transfers were for. There were large amounts and uneven timing with no correlation to renovation milestones.

“The total transferred out into the joint account over 14 months is about $68,000,” I noted. I wrote down $68,000.

I didn’t say anything to Raymond yet. I kept our phone calls normal and listened to him describe his sourdough program with genuine enthusiasm.

About 6 weeks later, Celeste called me again. This time she was warmer.

She hoped I wasn’t upset about missing the opening. Then she said, “Harold, we’ve run into a bit of a cash flow issue.”

She claimed they were $8,000 short for espresso equipment repairs and a supplier payment. I let the silence sit for a few seconds.

“Celeste,” I said pleasantly, “I’d love to help. Can you send me the invoices for the espresso repair and the supplier?”

“And while he’s at it,” I added, “can he also send me the drafted loan agreement?” She said, “Of course, absolutely.”

The invoices never came. The loan agreement never came.

Three weeks later, she called again asking for 11,000 for a refrigeration unit. I said the same thing: “Send me the invoices. Send me the agreement.”

“Of course,” she said. I never heard back.