Chapter 8: The Others
Her name was Patricia.
She was fifty-four, a retired school administrator from the same county my parents lived in, and she had found my number through a mutual contact she wouldn't name yet.
She asked to meet the following morning at a diner near her home.
I called Hargrove first.
"Let her talk," Hargrove said.
"Don't share what you know.
Just listen and document.
If she has evidence, tell her to bring it to me directly."
Patricia was already at a corner booth when I arrived.
She was a compact woman with reading glasses pushed up on her head and the kind of stillness that comes from having been very angry for a very long time and deciding to be calm about it instead.
"You're Kevin's sister," she said.
"I am."
"He told me about you.
He said you were estranged.
That your family had cut you off because you'd become difficult after your military career." She paused.
"He said you'd threatened to contest your parents' estate and that the family was protecting itself."
I kept my face still.
"He used that story to justify the account," she said.
"He told me he was managing a family protection fund.
That your parents needed help because of legal threats from you.
That he was quietly raising money from people who cared about the family." She set her hands flat on the table.
"I gave him nine thousand dollars over fourteen months."
Nine thousand dollars.
I thought about the spreadsheet columns.
Six names at minimum.
If the amounts were similar across all of them —
"How did you meet him?" I said.
"Through my church.
He volunteered there for about four months, two years ago.
He was charming.
He knew everyone's names.
He remembered details." She looked at the table.
"He's very good at making you feel seen."
"Did he ask you directly, or did it come up gradually?"
"Gradually.
Over months.
By the time he asked, I felt like I already knew the family.
Like I was helping people I cared about." She looked up.
"I'm not a foolish woman, Ms.
Dani.
I want you to know that.
I have a master's degree.
I ran a school district budget for eleven years."
"I know," I said.
"He did the same thing to my parents.
To people who knew him their whole lives."
Something in her face shifted.
Not relief — something more complicated.
The particular expression of someone who has been blaming themselves and has just been handed a reason to stop.
"Are there others?" she said.
"I believe so.
I can't confirm details yet."
"What's going to happen to him?"
"I can't tell you that either.
But I can give you the name of the detective handling this, and I can tell you that what you bring her will matter."
I wrote Hargrove's name and number on a napkin and slid it across.
Patricia looked at it.
Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a small accordion folder, the kind you'd use to organize household receipts.
"I kept everything," she said.
"Every transfer confirmation.
Every text message.
Every email." She set it on the table.
"I kept it because I knew something was wrong and I couldn't prove it and I didn't know who to tell."
I looked at the folder.
"You can tell Detective Hargrove," I said.
"Today, if possible."
She nodded and tucked the folder back into her bag.
We sat for another few minutes.
She ordered coffee she didn't drink.
I watched the door out of habit.
Before we left, she said, "Your brother told me you were the villain of the family."
"I know."
"I want you to know I never fully believed it." She picked up her bag.
"People who are actually difficult don't usually pay everyone else's bills."
She walked out.
I sat alone at the corner booth for a moment.
Kevin had built a story about me — a specific, detailed, useful story — and he had deployed it to make strangers feel safe handing him money.
He had used my name to deceive my parents.
He had used my reputation to deceive his victims.
He had used my absence, all those years deployed and working, as the empty space he could fill with whatever version of me he needed.
My phone buzzed.
Hargrove.
"The fiancée came in this morning," she said.
"Her documentation is solid.
We're moving on the warrant for the storage unit this afternoon."
"Patricia will call you today as well," I said.
"She has fourteen months of records."
A pause.
"How many more are there?"
"I don't know yet.
At least five more names on that spreadsheet."
"Okay." Hargrove's voice was steady.
"Lieutenant Colonel, I want you to go back to your hotel and stay close to your phone.
Don't contact your brother today.
Don't contact your parents.
Let us work."
"Understood."
"One more thing," she said.
"When we execute the warrant — is there any chance he goes to your parents' house?"
I thought about it.
"Yes," I said.
"If he panics, that's where he goes."
"Then I'm going to ask you to be there," she said.
"Not to confront him.
Just to be present.
Your father may need support, and I'd rather have you in the room than have him face that alone."
May you like
I looked out the diner window at the parking lot.
"I'll be there," I said.
