Chapter 7: The Warrant
Forty-one hours later, Voss called me while I was eating breakfast in the shelter's small common room.
"They executed the warrant this morning," she said.
"His office, his personal accounts, the storage unit in Coral Gables."
I set my fork down.
"Was he there?"
"He was at the office when they arrived." A pause.
"His attorney is already filing motions, but Reyes says the records are comprehensive.
The discrepancies go back further than four years, Skylar.
They're finding earlier accounts.
Different clients.
He may have been doing this at a previous employer."
The common room was quiet.
A woman at the far table was helping her daughter color in a book.
The crayon moved in slow, careful circles.
"Is he under arrest?" I said.
"Not yet.
Formal charges take time.
But his license has been suspended pending investigation.
Coastal Premier terminated his employment this morning." A pause.
"His attorney called Reyes an hour ago and asked whether your cooperation could be factored into any eventual agreement."
I was quiet for a moment.
"What does that mean?"
"It means Derek is already thinking about deals.
And he wants to know if you'll soften your position."
"No."
"That's what I told them you'd say." A brief pause that might have been a smile.
"There's one more thing.
Patricia called the station this morning.
Derek's mother."
My chest tightened slightly.
"What did she say?"
"She asked to speak with the officer handling her son's case.
She was transferred to Reyes." Voss paused.
"She told Reyes that she knew about Marisol.
She's known for three years."
The crayon at the far table kept moving.
Slow circles.
"She knew," I said.
"She knew.
She said Derek told her when Marisol became pregnant.
She said she told him to handle it quietly and not tell you." A pause.
"She also said — and Reyes noted this — that she told Derek you would never find out because, and I'm quoting, *Skylar doesn't look hard enough at anything.*"
I sat very still.
Patricia.
Who called me Brandon's wife for two years.
Who looked at me across every holiday table with that careful, pleasant distance.
Who had known, for three years, that her son had a child with another woman.
Who had decided I was too incurious to ever find out.
"Is she in trouble?" I said.
"Not legally.
Knowing isn't a crime.
But Reyes has her statement on record." A pause.
"Skylar, I think you should know — Patricia called Suzanne right after she spoke to Reyes.
Suzanne called Derek's attorney twenty minutes later.
They're coordinating."
"Of course they are."
"It doesn't change anything.
The records speak for themselves." Voss's voice was steady.
"But I wanted you to know who you're dealing with.
All of them."
I thanked her and hung up.
Dolores, the woman from the front desk, appeared in the doorway of the common room with a coffee pot.
She topped up my cup without asking.
"Bad news?" she said.
"Complicated news."
She nodded like that was a perfectly reasonable answer.
"Complicated news usually means things are moving." She set the pot down.
"You need anything?"
"No," I said.
"Thank you."
She left.
I wrapped both hands around the warm cup.
Patricia had looked me in the eye for three years.
Suzanne had asked me for money while knowing.
Derek had kissed me goodbye every morning and driven to Coral Gables and Hialeah and come home and sat across from me at dinner and said *how was your day* and meant none of it.
Three people.
One careful, coordinated silence.
And they had all decided I was too quiet to ever break it.
My phone buzzed.
A number I didn't recognize.
I answered.
"Is this Skylar?" A woman's voice.
Soft.
Careful.
"Yes."
May you like
A pause.
"This is Marisol."
