Chapter 8: Everything on the Table
Graham called that evening.
"He contacted his own lawyer two hours ago," he said.
"Which means he knows you have representation.
He'll be moving quickly now."
"What does that mean for us?"
"It means we move faster." A pause.
"The forensics firm finished a preliminary review.
It's enough.
Combined with the recording and the documentary evidence from your source, we have what we need to file." He paused again.
"There's something else.
Patricia Holt's name came up in a separate context.
My contact at the police department recognized it.
She's been under a financial crimes investigation for the past eight months.
Unrelated to Daniel, at least on the surface.
But the investigating officer is very interested in the connection."
I sat with that for a moment.
"So Daniel was in business with someone already under investigation."
"Yes.
Which may explain why the payments stopped when he was hospitalized.
If she was already being looked at, continuing to receive transfers from him would have been a significant risk."
"And the timeline," I said.
"The payments starting six months before his kidneys failed."
"That part," Graham said carefully, "is now in the hands of people better equipped than either of us to determine what it means.
I want you to leave that thread entirely alone."
"I understand."
"I'm filing tomorrow morning.
I want you prepared for the fact that Daniel's lawyer will contact you directly.
Do not respond.
Refer everything to me."
"All right."
"And one more thing." He hesitated.
"Marcus called my office this afternoon.
He said he wanted to speak with you.
He left a number."
Marcus.
Who had sat at my table.
Who had taken money to stay quiet.
Who had then demanded more.
"What do you think he wants?" I said.
"I think he's frightened," Graham said.
"And I think frightened people sometimes do useful things."
Two days later, I met Marcus in a park near my mother's house.
He arrived before me.
He was sitting on a bench with his coat collar up, and he looked ten years older than the last time I had seen him.
I sat down at the far end of the bench.
"I didn't know about the kidney," he said.
"I want you to know that.
When I found out what he was planning — the timing of it — I told him it was too far.
That I wouldn't be part of it."
"But you took the money."
He looked at his hands.
"Yes."
"And then you asked for more."
"Yes."
"So your objection wasn't strong enough to make you give it back."
He had no answer for that.
"Why did you call my lawyer?" I said.
"Because Patricia Holt called me last week." He looked up.
"She told me to make sure you stopped asking questions.
She said if you kept digging, things would get complicated for people connected to Daniel." He paused.
"She said 'people connected to Daniel.' Not Daniel.
People."
"She was including you."
"And you.
And your children."
I looked at him steadily.
"Are you telling me this because you're frightened, or because you want to help?"
He was quiet for a long moment.
"Both," he said.
"I'm telling you because both are true and I'm tired of pretending they're not." He reached into his coat and took out an envelope.
"This is everything I have.
Every message Daniel sent me.
Every transfer confirmation.
Everything I kept because I thought I might need it someday." He held it out.
"I should have given this to you eight months ago."
I took the envelope.
"I know that doesn't fix anything," he said.
"No," I said.
May you like
"It doesn't."
I stood up and left him on the bench.
