Chapter 9: Patricia Holt
Patricia Holt's office was on the third floor of a building near the town center, up a narrow staircase with a worn brass handrail.
She was a small woman in her sixties with short silver hair and reading glasses she kept taking off and putting back on as she worked through the documents.
David sat beside me.
Rosa sat on my other side.
We had agreed, the night before, that Rosa should be there.
These were her mother's documents.
She had carried them across a continent.
Patricia read everything twice.
She asked questions in a quiet, methodical way — dates, names, the sequence of events.
She didn't react visibly to any of it, which I found oddly reassuring.
When she finished, she set her glasses on the desk.
"The criminal statute of limitations on most of this fraud has expired," she said.
"I want to be direct with you about that.
A prosecution based solely on these documents, for events that occurred in 1985 and 1986, would face significant obstacles."
"What about Marsh?" I asked.
"He's still operating."
"That's the more interesting question." She picked up the company registration David had found.
"If Gerald Marsh is currently running a financial advisory business, and if there is reason to believe that business is operating fraudulently, then the relevant authorities would be very interested in these historical documents as evidence of a pattern of behavior." She paused.
"Pattern evidence can be used even when the original offense is time-barred."
"So the old fraud helps prove the new one," David said.
"Potentially.
Yes." She looked at Rosa.
"Your mother's records are detailed and credible.
The notebook in particular — the investor names, the dates, the amounts — that's the kind of documentation that investigators find useful.
It's not just historical.
It's a roadmap."
Rosa's hands were folded on her lap.
"What do we do?"
"I make a referral to the Financial Conduct Authority.
Today, if you authorize it.
I also contact the original investors — or their families, given the time elapsed — to inform them that documentation has come to light." She looked at me.
"And I'll need to speak with your father."
"He's ninety.
He's in a nursing home."
"I understand.
I'll need a statement from him about the nature of his involvement.
His cooperation — or lack of it — will affect how this proceeds." She paused.
"I should tell you that depending on what he confirms, there may be civil liability attached to his estate."
I had thought about this.
I had thought about it driving here.
"Do what needs to be done," I said.
Patricia nodded and reached for her phone.
That same afternoon, she made the referral.
Two days later, two investigators from the Financial Conduct Authority arrived at her office and spent three hours with the documents.
The following week, they executed a warrant on Gerald Marsh's business premises.
I wasn't there for any of it.
Patricia called me after each development, her voice the same measured, quiet tone every time, as though she were reading from a document.
I stood in my kitchen taking the calls, writing down what she said in a notebook, and then going back to whatever I had been doing before the phone rang.
On the Thursday after the warrant was executed, Patricia called again.
"They found current client accounts," she said.
"Significant irregularities.
The historical documents from your sister's lockbox have been formally entered into the investigation file."
"What does that mean for Marsh?"
"It means he's facing a current investigation with historical corroboration.
His solicitors have already been in contact with the authority.
He's not going to be able to walk away from this."
I looked out the kitchen window.
The garden.
The ordinary Tuesday afternoon.
"And my father?"
"He gave a statement yesterday.
He was cooperative." A pause.
"He confirmed everything your sister's documents describe.
His own role included."
I set the pen down.
"He didn't have to do that," I said.
May you like
"No," Patricia said.
"He didn't."
