Chapter 32 - The List Behind Nolan’s Wall
Simone had learned never to say, “It can’t get worse.”
She said lawyers who used that sentence were tempting God professionally.
So when I entered her office and saw three bankers’ boxes on the conference table, she only said, “Sit.”
I remained standing.
“What are those?”
“Copies from an investigative file connected to Nolan Price.”
“Why do you have them?”
“Because Grace Holloway’s counsel obtained records through a related proceeding and identified material concerning you.”
I sat.
Apparently my body had finally learned when Simone meant it.
The records came from Nolan’s old consulting office.
After his earlier criminal case, investigators had seized computers, paper files, and storage devices.
Much of it concerned conduct already known.
Some did not.
One spreadsheet listed twenty-three families.
Beside each name were columns.
PROPERTY.
LIQUID ASSETS.
CREDIT.
FAMILY PRESSURE.
DECISION MAKER.
EASE OF ACCESS.
I stared.
“People were categories.”
Simone nodded.
My family appeared on row eleven.
BENNETT.
Property: residence plus Mercer cottage.
Liquid assets: estate distribution.
Credit: Whitney strong.
Family pressure: Lorraine.
Decision maker: Lorraine.
Ease of access: HIGH.
I felt sick.
Then I saw Grace’s family.
HOLLOWAY.
Property: single-family residence.
Decision maker: Margaret.
Family pressure: daughter protective.
Ease of access: MODERATE.
Referral: L. Bennett.
I stopped breathing properly.
“My mother referred them.”
“It appears so.”
“Does Grace know?”
“Yes.”
I stood and walked toward the window.
Outside, traffic moved normally.
People crossed streets.
A delivery truck blocked an ambulance bay until security waved it forward.
The world had an irritating habit of continuing while your understanding of it changed.
“What else?”
Simone slid another page toward me.
Three additional names showed referrals attributed to my mother.
Not twenty-three.
Three.
That distinction did not make it small.
“Did she know he was committing fraud?”
“We don’t know what she knew when she made the referrals.”
“When?”
“Two happened before the cottage transfer. One after.”
After.
That word mattered.
After Mom had helped use my signature.
After Nolan’s methods should have frightened her.
I closed my eyes.
“Patricia Lane?”
Simone tapped one of the boxes.
“She’s the reason we’re meeting.”
Patricia had contacted Grace’s attorney after learning the Holloway property was being challenged.
She wanted to speak.
With counsel.
With protection.
And specifically, for reasons nobody yet understood, with me.
“No.”
Simone raised an eyebrow.
“No?”
“I don’t need to meet every person who helped destroy my life.”
“Good.”
I blinked.
“I expected an argument.”
“You’re allowed to say no.”
Personal growth remained deeply annoying when people used it against me.
“What does she want?”
“She says Nolan blamed her for documents she never witnessed.”
“That part I know.”
“She says the cottage transfer wasn’t the first time.”
I looked at Simone.
“She claims Nolan had been using a second person to structure the transactions.”
“Who?”
“She won’t say until she has an agreement about how her statement will be handled.”
I laughed once.
“Of course.”
Simone folded her hands.
“Whitney, none of this requires you to become an investigator.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
She waited.
I sighed.
“I’m trying.”
That afternoon, I called Desiree.
I expected panic.
Instead she became quiet.
“I remember Patricia.”
I gripped my phone.
“From the business?”
“Once.”
“Where?”
“Mom’s kitchen.”
“When?”
“Before Bennett Home and Lifestyle officially launched.”
“What was she doing there?”
Desiree hesitated.
“Arguing with Nolan.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Mom made me leave.”
“Did you hear anything?”
Another pause.
“Patricia said, ‘I’m not going to prison because Victor thinks he’s smarter than everybody.’”
I sat down.
“Victor who?”
“I never knew.”
I called Simone immediately.
She was already searching.
An hour later, she called back.
“Victor Hale.”
The name meant nothing to me.
That almost felt refreshing.
“He’s a financial consultant,” Simone said. “Corporate restructuring, distressed assets, private development.”
“Connected to Nolan?”
“Former business partner.”
“How former?”
“They stopped publicly working together about eight years ago.”
“Before Grandma died.”
“Yes.”
I stared at my dining room.
Grandma’s letter hung beside the kitchen door.
For your own feet.
“What does Victor say about Nolan?”
“Nothing publicly.”
“Any criminal record?”
“No.”
“Complaints?”
“Several civil disputes. All settled.”
That night Ethan searched his memory instead of the internet.
“Hale Development?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Victor Hale owns part of it.”
My head snapped toward him.
“You know him?”
“No.”
“You said his name like you do.”
“He buys historic properties.”
“So?”
“So his company requested a bid from me last month.”
Silence.
“For what?”
“A restoration project.”
“Where?”
“Vermont.”
My stomach tightened.
“How long?”
“I didn’t pursue it.”
“Why?”
Ethan looked uncomfortable.
“I didn’t want to be gone that much.”
Something old inside me immediately translated his answer.
He gave something up because of me.
Now I owed him.
I hated that voice.
“Do you want the project?”
He studied me.
“I don’t know.”
“Then figure it out.”
“Whitney—”
“I mean it.”
Before he could answer, my phone rang.
Simone.
When I picked up, her voice was different.
“Patricia Lane just arrived at my office.”
I looked at the clock.
Nine seventeen at night.
“Why?”
“She says someone broke into her apartment.”
My skin went cold.
“Did she call police?”
“Yes.”
“Is she safe?”
“For now.”
“What does she want?”
Simone paused.
“She brought a flash drive.”
I closed my eyes.
“What’s on it?”
“She says it proves Nolan wasn’t running the operation.”
I already knew the next name.
May you like
Simone said it anyway.
“Victor Hale was.”
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