Chapter 8 - The Trap Inside the EvidenceCalvin became the most wanted man in Charleston by morning.
That made it worse.
If someone falsely accused me of stealing $640,000 from my best friend, I would have chased them through traffic to deny it.
Margaret stayed in the lobby.
Explaining herself to Detective Ramirez.
I walked three blocks before my legs finally stopped working properly.
I sat on a bench near the waterfront.
Boats moved silently across the dark harbor.
My father had trusted Margaret for thirty years.
So had I.
She handled Mom’s estate.
My marriage agreement.
My divorce.
Dad’s company documents.
Everything.
Had Calvin known she could be bought?
Was that why he always seemed one step ahead during our divorce?
My phone rang repeatedly.
Margaret.
Ramirez.
Then Tabitha.
I nearly ignored that one.
Instead, I answered.
“What?”
“Calvin knows you met Evelyn Ross.”
I stood.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is he?”
“He left the house twenty minutes ago.”
“Where did he go?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t care what you believe anymore.”
Her voice cracked.
That surprised me.
“Why are you calling?”
“Because he has a gun.”
Every thought vanished.
“What?”
“I found the case open in his closet.”
“What kind of gun?”
“I don’t know. A handgun. He keeps it locked up.”
“Did he threaten someone?”
“No.”
“Call the police.”
“I did.”
“Then stay away from him.”
“I’m leaving.”
“Good.”
“No, Claire. I mean I’m leaving him.”
I almost laughed at the absurdity.
“That’s your problem.”
“He lied to me.”
“So?”
“You warned me.”
“I didn’t warn you. You came into my father’s garden to throw me out of my own house.”
“I know.”
For the first time, there was no arrogance in her voice.
“I know what I did.”
A pause.
“I thought I had won.”
“Congratulations.”
“Claire.”
“What?”
“I found something.”
I didn’t speak.
“In Calvin’s office.”
“What?”
“A folder with your name.”
My skin prickled.
“What’s inside?”
“Copies of your divorce financial statements. Medical information about your father. Old signatures. A photocopy of your passport.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is it?”
“With me.”
“Do not take it to the house.”
“I’m not.”
“Take it directly to Ramirez.”
“I will.”
Then she said:
“There’s another folder.”
“Whose?”
“Margaret Shaw.”
I closed my eyes.
“What’s in it?”
“Bank statements.”
That changed things.
“Tabitha, photograph every page before you hand anything over.”
“I already did.”
Maybe I had underestimated her.
Or maybe fear had finally made her intelligent.
“Send them to me.”
My phone vibrated seconds later.
Twenty-three images arrived.
I opened the first.
A bank transfer.
Monroe Strategic Consulting to Shaw Legal Advisory LLC.
$80,000.
Four years ago.
Another.
$120,000.
Another.
$55,000.
Until the total approached the figure Evelyn had listed.
But one thing immediately seemed strange.
The account receiving the money wasn’t Margaret’s law firm.
Shaw & Greene.
It was Shaw Legal Advisory LLC.
I searched the state business registry.
No Margaret Shaw listed.
The registered owner was—
“Jesus.”
Thomas Shaw.
Margaret’s younger brother.
I called her.
She answered immediately.
“Claire.”
“Is Thomas involved?”
Silence.
That was enough.
“Where are you?”
“Still at the hotel.”
“I’m coming back.”
When I returned, Margaret sat beside Ramirez.
She looked twenty years older.
Evelyn had left under police escort.
I placed my phone on the table.
“Your brother received Calvin’s money.”
“Yes.”
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Three months.”
Rage flashed through me.
“You let me sit in your office today believing you didn’t know?”
“I was trying to protect an active investigation.”
“That phrase again.”
“Claire—”
“Stop protecting me.”
Everyone in my father’s life seemed to have decided ignorance was some kind of gift.
“What did Thomas do?”
Margaret looked at Ramirez.
He nodded.
“My brother has struggled financially for years. Four years ago Calvin approached him with consulting work.”
“What kind?”
“Thomas has a cybersecurity company.”
My stomach dropped.
“The estate archive.”
“We believe he may have helped build the unauthorized access route.”
“Your own brother tried to hack Dad’s files?”
“I don’t know whether he made last night’s attempt.”
“But he helped Calvin.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell Dad?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“Three months ago, after I discovered the transfers.”
“Is that why Dad changed his will?”
“Partly.”
“And why did Evelyn put your name on the list?”
“Because the shell company paid an LLC containing my surname. Arthur initially thought the payments were mine too.”
“But he learned they weren’t?”
“Yes.”
“Prove it.”
Margaret reached into her briefcase and removed a sealed envelope.
Ramirez inspected it first.
Then handed it to me.
Inside was a handwritten letter from Dad.
Margaret,
I owe you an apology.
I believed the money led to you. It did not.
Thomas’s choices are his own.
I have known you thirty-one years. I should have remembered that integrity is not inherited, but neither is guilt.
Thank you for telling me the truth when it cost you your brother.
—Arthur
My anger dissolved into something else.
Shame.
Relief.
Exhaustion.
“I’m sorry.”
Margaret shook her head.
“You had every reason to doubt me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes.”
She looked toward my father’s letter.
“Arthur wanted you to doubt everyone until the evidence told you otherwise.”
Trust Claire.
Now I understood.
Dad hadn’t meant that I should trust no one.
He meant I should trust my own judgment.
Ramirez’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He stood.
“Where?”
Then:
“Secure the scene. I’m coming.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Patrol located Calvin’s car.”
“Where?”
“Outside Evelyn Ross’s apartment.”
My blood froze.
“Is she there?”
“No. We moved her.”
“Calvin?”
“Gone.”
“What was inside the car?”
Ramirez looked at me.
“A gun case.”
“Empty?”
He nodded.
“And something else.”
“What?”
“A prescription bottle.”
My father’s name was printed on the label.
The bottle that had disappeared before he died.
Tabitha had been right.
Calvin had taken a gun.
And now police had found my father’s missing medication inside his abandoned car.
It looked like the case was finally becoming obvious.
Maybe too obvious.
Because Calvin Monroe was many terrible things.
But he was never careless.
And the more I stared at that neat little pile of evidence pointing directly toward my ex-husband, the more one thought bothered me.
May you like
Someone wasn’t trying to hide Calvin’s guilt.
Someone was trying very hard to prove it.
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