Chapter 6: The Man in the Gray Jacket
Raymond Holt was found at a motel outside Poughkeepsie at eleven-fifteen that morning.
He had not run far.
Grace's contact in the district attorney's office confirmed that Holt had checked in two days earlier — the same day Dominic had left for Atlantic City, the same day, Grace noted without emphasis, that the padlock had appeared on the cellar door.
He had not been hiding.
He had been waiting.
Dominic rode in the lead SUV with Grace and Daniel.
Marcus followed in the second vehicle with two additional men.
They did not use sirens.
They did not need to.
The motel was a two-story building off Route 9, the kind of place that asked no questions and kept no reliable records.
Room 14 was on the ground floor, curtains drawn, a rental car parked directly in front of the door.
Grace got out first.
She knocked.
"Mr.
Holt.
My name is Grace Alderman.
I'm an attorney.
I'd like to speak with you about a civil matter."
A long pause.
Then the chain slid back.
Raymond Holt was sixty-one, shorter than the photograph suggested, with the gray jacket from the parking garage photo hanging on the back of the door behind him.
He looked at Grace, then at Dominic behind her, and the blood left his face in a single visible drop.
"Mr.
Vale," Grace said, "will wait outside."
Dominic stepped back without argument.
He stood by the SUV.
Daniel stood six feet to his left.
The curtain in room 14 moved once and was still.
Nineteen minutes later, Grace came out.
She walked to the SUV and spoke quietly.
"He confirmed the wire transfer.
He confirmed the contract.
He says he was told Elena Vale had discovered financial records that would have triggered a federal investigation.
He was approached by an intermediary — a man he knew only as R — and offered the money to close the accident investigation without further inquiry."
"Did he know she would be k*lled before the accident happened?"
Grace met his eyes.
"Yes."
The word landed in the space between them and stayed there.
"He wants a deal," Grace said.
"Full cooperation in exchange for reduced exposure.
He says he has phone records.
Texts.
A secondary account number that traces back further than anything in Mia's folder."
"To Claire?"
"To Claire's father." Grace paused.
"His name is Bennett, but he operates under three other names.
He has been building this for longer than Claire has been in your life, Dominic.
You were selected.
The relationship was engineered from the beginning."
He looked at the motel room door.
"How long?"
"Holt believes the approach to Claire began approximately two years before you met her."
Two years of preparation.
A woman placed carefully into his orbit.
A friendship built with Nathan, or deepened — Holt wasn't certain which.
An investigator bought.
A wife removed.
And then a four-year wait for a wedding that would transfer Elena's trust.
"Tell him he has until tonight," Dominic said.
"Full written statement.
Every record he has.
If his attorney contacts the DA's office before midnight, I'll instruct Grace to support the cooperation agreement.
If he runs, or if anything he's told us turns out to be incomplete—"
"I'll tell him," Grace said.
She went back inside.
Daniel moved up beside Dominic.
"What do you want to do about Claire?"
"She's moving toward her father.
That's the only place the protocol makes sense — she needs his network to disappear properly." Dominic looked down the road in the direction of the highway.
"She doesn't know we have Holt.
She doesn't know what he's already said.
She thinks she has time."
"Do we know where the father is?"
"Grace is working on it."
His phone buzzed.
A message from Marcus, who had stayed at the estate.
*She called the landline.
Asked for you.
Left a number.*
Dominic read the message twice.
Claire had called the house.
May you like
She was not running.
She was negotiating.
