Chapter 6: The Trail Collier Left Behind
Grace didn't like it.
"You've already given the prosecutor everything they need for the fraud case," she said.
We were in her office, two days after the wedding that wasn't.
She had her reading glasses pushed up on her head and a coffee she hadn't touched.
"Adrian is looking at federal charges.
Celeste is under investigation.
The shell companies are being unwound as we speak.
Why are you pulling on another thread?"
"Because Diane nearly dr0wned," I said.
"And the prosecutor has the accident report—"
"The prosecutor has a report that says she lost control of her vehicle on a wet road." I set my laptop on her desk and turned it toward her.
"This is Elliot Collier's consulting firm.
Registered in Delaware.
Twelve employees on paper, two of whom I can verify actually exist.
In the last eleven years, this firm has received wire transfers from six different shell companies."
Grace leaned forward and looked at the screen.
"Three of those shell companies," I said, "are registered under names I recognize from Adrian's ledger."
She was quiet for a moment.
"How long did this take you?" she said.
"Since Thursday."
She took her glasses off her head and set them on the desk.
"You slept?"
"Some."
"Ate?"
"Grace."
She looked at the screen again.
Her finger moved to trace one of the transfer lines without touching it.
"This is enough to take to Reeves," she said.
"It's enough to open a door," I said.
"It's not enough to walk through it yet.
Collier's firm is clean on the surface.
The transfers are labeled as consulting fees.
I need the underlying contracts — if they exist — or testimony from someone inside the firm."
"That's the prosecutor's job."
"The prosecutor doesn't know to look for Collier yet.
We hand them this, they look, they find the same surface layer I found, and they move on." I closed the laptop.
"I need one more week."
Grace studied me.
"You're not doing this just for Diane," she said.
I didn't answer immediately.
"He told me, the night before the wedding," I said, "that if I ever tried to leave him, I would regret it in ways I couldn't imagine.
He said it very quietly.
The way he said everything that mattered." I looked at Grace.
"I want to know if Collier was already a name he had in mind."
The office was quiet.
"One week," Grace said.
"And you sleep."
I found the contract on day five.
It wasn't in any of the shell company records.
It was in the personal archive of a retired paralegal named Sondra Vane, who had worked for Collier's firm for three years before leaving and keeping, as she put it when I reached her by phone, "insurance."
"I don't want trouble," she said.
"I have a daughter in college.
I have a mortgage."
"I understand," I said.
"I'm not asking you to testify to anything.
I'm asking if you'll let me look at what you have."
A long pause.
"How did you find me?" she said.
"Your name appears on two of the internal memos I found in Collier's filing system.
You were the one who formatted the contracts."
Another pause.
Longer.
"Come on Thursday," she said.
"Come alone."
The contract was four pages.
Dated eleven years ago.
The language was deliberately vague — *resolution of personal matter, asset recovery, logistical coordination* — but the payment amount was not vague.
And the signatory on behalf of the client was not Adrian.
It was Celeste.
I photographed every page.
On the drive back, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
"Ms.
Voss." A man's voice.
Smooth.
Unhurried.
"My name is Elliot Collier.
I think we should speak before you do something that complicates both our lives considerably."
May you like
My hands stayed steady on the wheel.
"I'm listening," I said.
