Chapter 9: Every Name on the List
The DA's investigator was a woman named Carla Reeves.
She arrived at the penthouse at two o'clock with a colleague and a digital recorder, and she sat across from Evelyn at the terrace table as if she had all the time in the world.
Nathaniel sat beside his mother.
Carla set the recorder between them and pressed play.
"Mrs.
Crane.
I want you to start wherever feels right.
Take your time."
Evelyn folded her hands on the table.
"I'll start at Christmas," she said.
"That's when I first knew something was wrong."
She spoke for forty minutes without stopping.
Her memory was exact.
Dates, conversations, the precise wording of things Isabella had said to her in private — things Nathaniel had never heard.
The lunch on the terrace where Isabella had told her she was becoming a burden.
The phone call in March where Isabella had suggested, gently and with great apparent concern, that Evelyn might want to consider moving to a care facility so Nathaniel could focus on building his future.
"She always said it softly," Evelyn said.
"That was the method.
Nothing she said could be called cruel if you repeated it to someone else.
It was always framed as concern."
Carla nodded.
"Did she ever say anything that felt like a direct threat?"
"Last night," Evelyn said.
"She said I wouldn't live long enough to complain."
"And your son heard that."
"He heard everything."
Carla made a note.
"Mrs.
Crane, I want to ask you about October.
Specifically the fourteenth through the seventeenth."
"I was in the hospital," Evelyn said.
"St.
Aurelius Medical Center.
A minor stroke.
I have all the documentation — I had my doctor send it to Marcus Hale this morning."
"Thank you.
That documentation is going to be important." Carla paused.
"The notary whose seal appears on the power of attorney — we've already spoken with her.
Her name is Diane Pollard.
She's been a licensed notary for nine years, no prior issues." Another pause.
"She says a woman came to her office, presented identification in the name of Evelyn Crane, and signed the document in front of her.
She says the woman was approximately seventy years old, silver-haired, and well-dressed."
Evelyn looked at Carla steadily.
"Someone impersonated me," she said.
"That's what the hospital records will confirm," Carla said.
"Ms.
Pollard is cooperating fully.
She's already provided a description and agreed to work with a sketch artist." She closed her notebook.
"Mrs.
Crane, I want to be direct with you.
What we're looking at involves fraud, forgery, and — given the incident last night and the communications Dr.
Harmon has provided — a pattern that suggests this was not the first time this group has operated this way."
"The two other women," Nathaniel said.
Carla looked at him.
"You know about them."
"Marcus told me there were two prior cases.
Similar structure.
One of the women d*ed."
"Her name was Frances Whitmore," Carla said.
"Seventy-eight years old.
Her conservatorship was granted fourteen months before she passed.
Her estate transferred to a trust managed by Aldgate Advisory Group.
We've had that case flagged for eight months — we couldn't find the connection to the people who set it up." She looked at the folder Nathaniel had placed on the table — Harmon's documentation.
"Until now."
The recorder hummed quietly between them.
"What happens next?" Evelyn asked.
"We move quickly," Carla said.
"We have enough for warrants.
Isabella Voss, Clifton Voss, Gerald Fitch, and a fourth individual — Lena Marsh — are all named in the documentation you've provided.
We'll be executing those warrants within forty-eight hours."
Evelyn looked out over the city.
"The woman who impersonated me," she said.
"Do you know who she was?"
"We have a strong suspicion," Carla said.
"Based on the description Ms.
Pollard gave us." She paused.
"We believe it was Lena Marsh."
Nathaniel thought about every dinner.
Every Sunday.
Lena Marsh sitting across from his mother, smiling, refilling her glass, asking about her garden.
"She was gathering information," he said.
"The whole time."
"Yes," Carla said.
"We believe so."
Evelyn turned back from the city.
"Well," she said quietly.
"She was very good at it."
Carla stood and collected her recorder.
At the door, she stopped.
"Mr.
Crane.
One more thing.
The email that referenced your Friday routine — the flowers." She looked at him carefully.
"That email was sent from an account registered to a device.
We've already traced the device.
It was purchased eleven months ago from an electronics store on Halcott Street." She paused.
"The purchase was made on a credit card in Isabella's name.
But the store's security footage from that day shows two people at the counter."
"Isabella and Lena," he said.
"Isabella and Lena," Carla confirmed.
She left.
Nathaniel sat with his mother in the quiet of the terrace.
The city below moved without knowing any of it.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
Evelyn considered the question seriously, the way she considered everything.
"I'm angry," she said finally.
"I've been frightened for months, and now I'm just angry.
I think that's an improvement."
He put his arm around her.
She leaned into him, just slightly.
"You came home early," she said.
"You never come home early on Fridays."
"I had a feeling," he said.
"You had tulips," she said.
"Same thing."
She made a small sound that was almost a laugh.
Below them, the city carried on.
May you like
Somewhere in it, four people didn't yet know that the warrants were being written.
By morning, they would.
