Chapter 9: The Man Who Knew He Was Losing
Dana made three calls before we reached the highway.
The first was to Arthur.
The second was to her contact at the financial crimes unit.
The third was to a colleague whose name I didn't catch, and all I heard from that call was: "File it today.
Don't wait for Monday."
She drove and talked and I sat in the passenger seat watching the landscape change from pine lanes to open road, and I thought about a man eleven miles away who had spent twenty-five years believing he had gotten away with it.
The financial crimes unit moved faster than Dana had expected.
By the following morning, a formal inquiry had been opened.
Asset transfers filed within a certain window of an investigation trigger could be flagged and, in some cases, frozen.
Dana's colleague had filed the necessary paperwork the same afternoon.
Two days later, Gerald Marsh called Arthur Reeves.
Arthur told me about it that evening, sitting in his front room with his tea actually going cold this time.
"He was calm," Arthur said.
"Controlled.
He said he understood there were some questions being raised about old business matters and he wanted to address them directly before things went any further." He paused.
"He asked if there was a number he could call to speak with the family."
"He wanted to offer a settlement," I said.
"He used the word 'resolution.'" Arthur looked at me over his glasses.
"I told him I would pass the message along."
"What do you think he's actually offering?"
"Money.
Quiet.
The suggestion that pursuing this would be painful and expensive and ultimately inconclusive." Arthur set down his cup.
"He's done this before.
The settlement three years ago.
He knows the shape of it."
"He doesn't know the shape of this one," I said.
"No.
He doesn't." Arthur paused.
"Do you want to speak with him?"
I thought about it for a moment.
"Yes," I said.
"But not on the phone.
And not alone."
Arthur arranged it for the following Thursday.
A neutral location — a conference room in a solicitor's office neither party used.
Dana would be present.
Arthur would be present.
Gerald Marsh could bring whoever he chose.
He brought a lawyer I didn't recognize and no one else.
He was older than the photographs.
Heavier.
His hair was white now, and he wore it combed back from a wide, smooth face.
He sat down across the table from me and he smiled — the practiced smile of a man who had been smiling at difficult situations for decades — and he said:
"Claire.
I'm glad we could do this in person."
I looked at him.
"I don't think we've met before," I said.
"No.
But I knew your parents." The smile didn't waver.
"I was very sorry about what happened to them."
"Were you."
Something shifted almost imperceptibly in his expression.
He had expected grief, or anger, or nerves.
He hadn't expected flat.
"I understand there are some concerns about historical business matters," he said.
"I want you to know I take those concerns seriously.
If there were any irregularities in the way the partnership was managed—"
"The word you're looking for is fraud," I said.
His lawyer put a hand on the table.
"My client is here in good faith—"
"Your client is here because he filed an asset transfer the morning after he found out a formal inquiry had been opened," Dana said.
"Which suggests his good faith has a fairly specific definition."
Marsh looked at Dana.
Then back at me.
"What is it you want?" he said.
"I want you to say it," I said.
"Out loud.
In this room."
He was quiet for a moment.
"Say what?"
"What you did.
To my father's company.
To my father."
The smile was completely gone now.
What was underneath it was harder and older and not particularly interested in being looked at.
"I'm not going to do that," he said.
"Then we have nothing to discuss," I said.
I looked at Dana.
She opened her folder.
"Mr.
Marsh.
We have your company's original transaction records cross-referenced against your grandfather's documentation.
We have a property transfer linking Officer Roy Calhoun to your company fourteen months after the accident.
We have a witness statement — formally recorded — from a driver who was on the road that night and observed a deliberate vehicular impact." She looked up.
"We also have an anonymous communication received by the family shortly after the accident, which has been submitted for forensic analysis." She paused.
"The financial crimes unit opened a formal file four days ago.
Asset freezing orders are being reviewed."
Marsh's lawyer leaned in and said something quietly.
Marsh didn't look at him.
He was looking at me.
"You were eight years old," he said.
It wasn't quite a threat.
It wasn't quite anything else either.
"I was," I said.
"And my grandfather spent the last months of his life making sure that when I was old enough, I would have everything I needed."
Something moved across his face.
For just a moment, behind the hardness, something that might have been the beginning of understanding what he was actually facing.
Then his lawyer stood up.
"This meeting is over," the lawyer said.
"My client will be in contact through proper legal channels."
Marsh stood.
He buttoned his jacket.
He looked at me one more time.
"You should think carefully about what you're starting," he said.
"It was started twenty-five years ago," I said.
"I'm finishing it."
He left without another word.
The door closed behind him.
Dana exhaled slowly.
Arthur folded his hands.
May you like
"He'll fight," Dana said.
"Good," I said.
