Chapter 13 - Victor’s Second Chance
Victor Alden was stacking shipping invoices when the federal agents arrived.
Six months earlier, he had occupied a corner office overlooking Chicago.
Now he worked in a converted warehouse office outside Milwaukee, dispatching regional freight for a company whose annual revenue was smaller than one of his former quarterly bonuses.
His supervisor looked nervous when Agent Rebecca Sloan displayed her credentials.
“Mr. Alden?”
Victor set down his pen.
“I figured eventually someone would come.”
Sloan studied him.
“Why?”
Victor glanced toward his supervisor.
“Can we speak privately?”
Ten minutes later, Victor sat in a cramped conference room opposite Sloan and an assistant U.S. attorney.
There was no mahogany.
No executive assistant.
No bourbon cart.
Only fluorescent lights and a coffee machine that sounded like a dying lawn mower.
Sloan placed Grant Ward’s photograph on the table.
“You know him?”
Victor’s face tightened.
“Yes.”
“How well?”
“Not well enough.”
The prosecutor leaned forward.
“We need more than clever answers.”
Victor rubbed his forehead.
“Elise introduced us about a year ago. She said Grant handled international investments.”
“Did you ever transfer money directly to him?”
“Once. Maybe twice. Elise usually gave me instructions.”
“Did Grant ever discuss Rachel’s property?”
Victor froze.
Sloan noticed.
“What?”
Victor looked down.
“I thought it was a joke.”
“What was a joke?”
“A dinner in Dallas.”
His voice had changed.
“Elise had been drinking. Grant called during dinner. She put him on speaker.”
Victor swallowed.
“He asked whether Rachel still owned the Joliet acreage.”
Sloan sat forward.
“What did you tell him?”
“I said technically yes, but that it didn’t matter because the company controlled the facilities.”
“And Grant?”
Victor closed his eyes.
“He laughed.”
The prosecutor waited.
Victor continued.
“He said, ‘Nothing is more valuable than land owned by someone who doesn’t understand what she has.’”
A muscle moved in Sloan’s jaw.
“Anything else?”
“Elise told him Rachel kept old family records in a blue folder.”
Rachel’s blue folder.
The lease.
Victor suddenly understood.
His face drained.
“Oh, God.”
“What?”
“I told Elise where Rachel kept it.”
Sloan’s voice turned colder.
“When?”
“Months before the divorce. Elise asked me why Rachel had separate property. I was angry. I told her about William’s inheritance.”
“And the records?”
“I said Rachel stored family documents in a cedar chest at the Lake Forest house.”
Sloan stood.
“Was anyone ever inside that house while Rachel was away?”
Victor’s breathing became shallow.
“Elise.”
“When?”
“Last summer.”
He looked sick.
“I took her there when Rachel was visiting Maya.”
The prosecutor exchanged a glance with Sloan.
Victor whispered, “I gave them everything they needed.”
“You gave them information,” Sloan corrected. “Whether they committed fraud with it is their responsibility.”
Victor laughed bitterly.
“That distinction might help in court. It doesn’t help when I look in the mirror.”
Sloan packed the documents.
“Mr. Alden, Grant Ward is currently challenging Rachel’s ownership of the Joliet property.”
Victor looked up sharply.
“He’s doing what?”
Sloan explained.
By the time she finished, Victor’s expression had transformed.
Not into the old rage.
Something quieter.
Fear.
“For Rachel?”
“For Rachel and possibly Maya.”
Victor pushed back his chair.
“Someone followed Maya?”
“We’re handling it.”
“No.”
Victor stood.
“You don’t understand Grant.”
Sloan’s eyes narrowed.
“You said you barely knew him.”
“I didn’t know him personally. But I watched him negotiate.”
Victor paced.
“He doesn’t threaten people because he’s angry. He creates leverage. Every conversation is leverage. Every weakness becomes leverage.”
“Sit down.”
Victor did.
“What else do you remember?”
Victor stared at the photograph.
Then his face changed.
“There was another conversation.”
“When?”
“The night before Rachel confronted us at the Drake gala.”
Sloan waited.
“Grant called Elise. She stepped into the hallway, but I followed because we were arguing.”
“What did you hear?”
Victor spoke slowly.
“Grant said something about an old recorder’s office in Mercer County, Ohio.”
Sloan wrote it down.
“Continue.”
“He told Elise that if things became ugly, William Vance had left more than one door unlocked.”
Sloan’s pen stopped.
“Exact words?”
“As close as I can remember.”
“Did he mention a person?”
Victor concentrated.
“Yes.”
A name surfaced from somewhere beneath months of humiliation and regret.
“Calvin Rusk.”
The prosecutor typed rapidly.
“Who is Calvin Rusk?”
“I don’t know.”
Sloan stood.
“We’ll find out.”
Victor looked at her.
“Agent Sloan.”
She stopped.
“If I cooperate completely, will you tell Rachel I’m trying to fix this?”
“No.”
Victor absorbed that.
“You don’t get to use federal cooperation to repair your marriage.”
“I know.”
Sloan headed toward the door.
Victor spoke again.
“Then don’t tell her for me.”
Sloan looked back.
“Tell her because she needs to know that Grant may have been planning this before the divorce ever started.”
That evening, Rachel was having dinner with Maya and Daniel when Sarah called.
“Rachel, we have a name.”
“What name?”
“Calvin Rusk.”
Rachel stopped chewing.
The name meant nothing.
Sarah continued.
“He worked in the Mercer County recorder’s office in Ohio seventeen years ago.”
Rachel’s heart accelerated.
“The same year the deed was supposedly signed.”
“Yes.”
“Where is he now?”
“That’s the problem.”
Sarah hesitated.
“Calvin Rusk disappeared from public records twelve years ago.”
Maya lowered her fork.
“Disappeared how?”
“No tax filings. No property. No driver’s license renewal.”
Rachel looked toward the dark windows.
“Dead?”
“We don’t know.”
Then Sarah added something Rachel had not expected.
“Victor remembered the name.”
Silence.
Rachel stared at the phone.
“My Victor?”
“Yes.”
“He’s cooperating with investigators.”
Rachel looked down at her hands.
She did not forgive him.
May you like
She did not suddenly miss him.
But for the first time since the divorce, she allowed herself to believe that maybe losing everything had finally forced Victor Alden to become useful to someone besides himself.
