Chapter 5: What Ryan Was Really Looking For
Grace called back at noon.
"Step outside," she said.
He told Ryan he had a client call and took the stairs to the lobby.
"The property documents in that folder," Grace said.
"I had my colleague look at them.
The survey records, the utility details — those are consistent with someone doing due diligence on a property.
But there's something else in there.
Did you look at all of it?"
"I sent you everything I found."
"There's a document at the bottom.
A valuation report.
Dated four months ago.
It's not for your house."
He stopped walking.
"What is it for?"
"It's for the full estate.
Your father's estate.
The house, the land, the investment portfolio attached to the property trust." A pause.
"Your name is on the trust as sole beneficiary.
Ryan's name is not.
But someone commissioned that valuation, and it wasn't you."
He stood in the lobby of his own office building and felt the floor shift slightly under him.
His father had died fourteen months ago.
The estate had gone through probate without complication.
He had inherited everything — the house, the trust, the portfolio — and Ryan had known about it because Ryan had been his partner for a decade and he had not thought to hide it.
He had not thought there was anything to hide it from.
"Grace."
"I know."
"He wasn't coming to see her.
He was—"
"Looking for something.
Yes.
That's what it looks like." Her voice was careful.
"I don't want to speculate further until I know more.
But I want you to go back to the house tonight and look at your father's study.
Anything related to the trust documents, the portfolio, any physical paperwork.
Look for anything that's been moved, copied, or is missing."
"He had access to the house for six months."
"I know."
He thought about the camera blind spots highlighted in yellow.
He thought about the housekeeper opening the door before Ryan even rang the bell.
He thought about his daughter on the floor, kept busy, kept out of the way, while a man moved through the rooms of her home looking for something he had no right to take.
"What could he actually do with it?" he asked.
"Even if he found the documents."
"Depends what he found.
Trust documents can be contested if someone believes there's grounds.
Portfolio transfers can be initiated with the right paperwork and the right signatures.
It would take more than just finding the documents — he'd need either a forgery or a cooperative insider." Grace paused.
"Does Ryan know anyone at the firm that manages the trust?"
He thought.
"His brother-in-law works in estate law."
Silence.
"Grace."
"Go home tonight," she said.
"Look at the study.
Call me the moment you find anything."
He went back upstairs.
Ryan was on the phone, laughing at something, feet up on the edge of his desk.
He raised a hand when he saw him come in — the easy wave of a man with nothing on his conscience.
He sat down.
He spent the rest of the afternoon watching Ryan without watching him, the way you watch something you are only now understanding you should have been watching all along.
At five-thirty Ryan stood up, put his jacket on, and said he was heading out early.
"Big plans?" he asked.
"Dinner with the in-laws." Ryan made a face.
"You know how it is."
"I do," he said.
Ryan left.
He waited ten minutes, then went to the shared drive and checked the folder again.
The valuation document was gone.
Ryan had deleted it while he was sitting six feet away.
He called Grace from the car.
"He deleted it," he said.
"I already have a copy," she said.
"I pulled it the moment you sent me the folder.
He doesn't know that."
He exhaled slowly.
"What do we do now?"
"Now," Grace said, "we find out how far this actually goes.
I'm going to contact the trust management firm first thing tomorrow.
Tonight, you go home and check that study.
And one more thing."
"What?"
"Don't tell anyone else yet.
Not a friend, not a family member, not anyone from the office.
If Ryan has an inside contact, we don't know who else might be passing information."
He pulled into his driveway.
The lights in his daughter's room were on.
He could see her shadow moving behind the curtain — probably arranging her stuffed animals in whatever elaborate order she had decided was correct this week.
He sat in the car for a moment.
Then he went inside, went upstairs, knocked on her door.
"Daddy." She said it the way she always did — like it was the answer to a question she'd been waiting to be asked.
"Hey, bug." He sat on the edge of her bed.
"Did you eat dinner?"
"Mrs.
Pearce made pasta." Mrs.
Pearce was the neighbor he had called that morning to stay with Lily for the day.
"She let me put the cheese on myself."
"Good." He smoothed her hair back.
"I need to go look at something downstairs for a little while.
But I'll check on you before you sleep."
"Okay." She paused.
"Daddy.
Is the bad stuff over?"
He looked at her.
"Not yet," he said.
"But it will be."
She considered this with the gravity of someone who has learned that honesty, even when it isn't comfortable, is better than the alternative.
"Okay," she said again.
And went back to her animals.
He went downstairs to his father's study.
May you like
The third drawer of the filing cabinet was unlocked.
He always kept it locked.
