Chapter 17 - The Day They Searched Grant’s Office
Grant’s office was searched on a Tuesday morning.
I learned about it from Ruth.
Cedric learned about it from Grant.
The message arrived at 8:13.
YOU DID THIS.
Cedric forwarded it without answering.
At 8:19 another arrived.
YOU THINK SHE’S GOING TO GIVE YOU THE MONEY?
At 8:24:
SHE’LL CUT YOU OUT AGAIN.
That one hurt him.
I could tell.
We were sitting in Ruth’s conference room waiting for an update when Cedric pushed his phone across the table.
“He knows where to aim,” he said.
I read the words.
Then I handed the phone back.
“Does it work?”
He looked at me.
“A little.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“It means you’re telling the truth.”
He frowned.
“I don’t understand.”
“People don’t stop having old wounds because they improve. They stop letting the wounds drive the car.”
Ruth looked over her glasses.
“I’m stealing that.”
“You’ll bill me for it later.”
“Absolutely.”
The search recovered computers, financial files, and several boxes from Raymond’s old insurance agency.
It also uncovered something nobody expected.
Two other questionable deeds.
One involved a seventy-six-year-old widow.
Another involved Raymond’s former business partner.
Both had been recorded through Hartwell Filing Services.
Jessica’s old employer.
When investigators told her, she nearly collapsed.
The two thousand dollars Grant had paid her suddenly looked more sinister.
Her attorney advised her to disclose everything.
Every conversation.
Every email.
Every memory.
She spent six hours answering questions.
When she came home, Cedric was waiting.
I know because he called me later.
“She told them everything.”
“That’s good.”
“She may have helped him.”
“That’s possible.”
“She didn’t know.”
“That’s also possible.”
“How do I decide what I believe?”
I looked at the phone.
“You stop asking belief to do the work of evidence.”
He went quiet.
“Ruth say that?”
“No.”
“You’re getting annoyingly wise.”
“I charge less.”
Jessica’s old emails showed that Grant had described the deed as a routine late recording from a deceased relative’s estate.
Nothing in writing suggested she knew the signature was forged.
But investigators found something else.
After the deed was recorded, Grant transferred $2,000 from a business account to a payment app registered to Jessica.
The memo read:
consulting.
Jessica had never declared consulting income.
The tax problem was small compared with the fraud investigation, but it was real.
She cried when her attorney explained it.
“I was such an idiot.”
Cedric replied, “Yes.”
Then apparently they both laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because sometimes a marriage reaches a point where honesty becomes less frightening than pretending.
The children were struggling.
Owen became defensive at school.
Lily stopped wanting to attend soccer practice after another parent asked Jessica whether “the criminal investigation” was about her.
That made me angrier than the threats.
Adults had built the problem.
Children were paying social interest on it.
I asked Cedric and Jessica whether I could take the kids to the coast for two nights.
They agreed.
No bargaining.
No attempt to turn the trip into free childcare.
Just gratitude.
Martha came with us.
At the beach, Lily collected shells.
Owen pretended he was too old to enjoy anything until a wave knocked him down and he came up laughing.
That night we ate fried shrimp from paper baskets near the pier.
Owen asked, “Did Grandpa Daniel know Grant was bad?”
“No.”
“Was Uncle Raymond bad?”
“I don’t know.”
“You say that a lot.”
“It’s a useful sentence.”
He considered that.
“Dad says Grandpa Raymond helped Grant become like this.”
“Maybe.”
“Because he gave him everything?”
I looked at him.
Children hear more than adults realize.
“Giving someone everything can hurt them,” I said, “if what they really need is to learn responsibility.”
Owen dipped a french fry in ketchup.
“Like Dad?”
My heart tightened.
“Your father would probably tell you yes.”
He nodded.
Then he said, “Dad is better now.”
“He is.”
“Mom too.”
“Yes.”
“Does that mean Grant can get better?”
I looked toward the black ocean.
Waves moved under the moon, arriving and disappearing.
“I hope so.”
“Even if he goes to jail?”
“Yes.”
Owen seemed satisfied.
The following morning, Ruth called.
Investigators had recovered a draft document from Grant’s computer.
It proposed transferring the Dalton acreage into a company owned by Grant and an investor.
The date on the draft was six months before the developer ever made its official offer.
Grant had known the property would become valuable.
He had forged my signature before anyone thought I would discover it.
But the investor’s name was what shocked Ruth.
Stephen Tatum.
May you like
Daniel’s younger brother.
The man who had told me he knew nothing.
