Chapter 7: The Woman on the Inside
Her name was Diane Colter.
She was listed as a senior paralegal at Ashworth & Merritt — the same firm where Ryan's brother-in-law, Patrick Merritt, was a partner in estate law.
Her profile photo showed a woman in her mid-forties, professional, unremarkable.
She had been at the firm for six years.
He stood in the hallway outside Lily's room and stared at the screen.
The watch had been a gift from her to Ryan.
A woman who worked inside the law firm that managed estate transfers.
A woman with access to filing systems, client records, the procedural knowledge of exactly how a trust document needed to look to pass review.
He called Grace at eleven-fifteen at night.
She picked up.
"Diane Colter," he said.
"Paralegal at Ashworth and Merritt.
She bought the watch."
A pause.
Then: "Say that again."
He said it again.
He heard her writing.
"How did you find this?"
"The receipt was on Lily's floor.
She must have picked it up at some point and kept it the way she kept the watch."
"Your daughter," Grace said slowly, "has single-handedly built half our evidence file."
"She's four."
"I know." A breath.
"Okay.
Diane Colter.
If she's a paralegal at Ashworth and Merritt, she has access to client intake records.
She would know which accounts are flagged, which are dormant, which have transfer authorizations on file.
She could have identified your father's trust as a target and fed that information to Ryan."
"And Ryan used it to plan the approach."
"Yes.
Six months of access to your home.
Enough time to locate the documents, practice the signature, understand the trust structure, and prepare a transfer request that would look legitimate — because it would be built on real document knowledge from inside the firm."
He sat down on the top stair.
"Can we prove the connection?"
"The receipt proves she bought him a gift.
That's a personal relationship.
Combined with the deleted valuation document, the camera footage, the traced signature, and her position at the firm — it's a pattern.
It won't be enough on its own, but it's enough to take to the authorities and let them compel the rest."
"When?"
"I want one more day.
I'm going to speak to the trust management firm first thing in the morning and get that flag in place.
I also want to pull Diane Colter's employment record and see if there are any complaints or irregularities.
If she's done this before—"
"Has she?"
"I don't know yet.
But people who build this kind of scheme don't usually build it once." Grace paused.
"Tomorrow afternoon, if everything is in order, I want to go to the financial crimes unit.
I have a contact there.
This is their territory — trust fraud, document forgery, insider access.
They move faster than civil court and they can compel records we can't touch."
"And Ryan?
He'll notice if I don't come in."
"Go in.
Act normal.
One more day."
He looked at the receipt in his hand.
"He asked me how Lily was," he said again.
"I heard you the first time," Grace said.
"I know."
He went in the next morning.
Ryan was already at his desk, coffee in hand, reviewing a contract.
He looked up and smiled.
"You look terrible," Ryan said.
"Didn't sleep?"
"Not much." He sat down.
"Lily had a rough night."
"Poor kid." Ryan shook his head.
"You find a new housekeeper yet?"
He looked at his partner.
"Working on it," he said.
The morning passed.
He answered emails.
He took a call with a client in Denver.
He did everything he was supposed to do and felt the whole time like he was watching himself from a slight distance, a man going through the correct motions while something enormous moved underneath.
At twelve-thirty, Ryan stood up and said he was going out for lunch.
"Client thing," he said.
"Might be a couple hours."
"Take your time," he said.
Ryan left.
He waited five minutes.
Then he went to Ryan's desk.
He didn't open drawers.
He didn't touch the laptop.
He looked only at what was already visible — the papers stacked on the left side of the desk, the way Ryan always kept them, the same stack he had walked past a thousand times without looking.
On top of the stack was a printed email.
The sender was Patrick Merritt.
The subject line read: *Ready when you are.*
The body of the email was three lines.
*D confirms the authorization format is correct.
Transfer window opens end of month.
Once you have the signed page, we can move within 48 hours.*
He photographed it with his phone.
He walked back to his desk.
His hands were steady.
He was slightly surprised by that.
He sent the photo to Grace.
Her reply came back in four minutes.
*That's enough.
I'm calling my contact now.
Don't confront Ryan.
Don't give any indication.
Go home at your normal time.
I'll call you tonight.*
He looked at the clock.
Four hours until his normal time.
He went back to his emails.
At three o'clock, Ryan came back from lunch.
He was in a good mood — expansive, easy, the way he got when something had gone well.
He dropped into his chair and said the client meeting had been productive.
"Good," he said.
"You know what I keep thinking?" Ryan leaned back.
"We should take on a bigger office.
We've outgrown this space."
He looked at his partner of ten years.
"Maybe," he said.
"Let's talk about it next week."
Ryan nodded, satisfied, and turned back to his screen.
He thought about the email.
May you like
*Ready when you are.*
End of month was eleven days away.
