Chapter 7: The Woman With the Flowers
Her name was Renata Cole.
Warren found her by Tuesday afternoon.
She was a notary public — or had been, until her license was suspended eighteen months ago following a complaint about improperly witnessed documents.
The kind of complaint that, on its own, looks like an administrative error.
The kind that looks very different when it sits next to a forged power of attorney and a pending wire transfer.
Warren called me while I was at my desk.
I had come into the office Monday morning because sitting at home felt like waiting, and I had never been good at waiting.
"Renata Cole," he said.
"Forty-three.
Previously licensed in the state.
She and Clifton Marsh share a former employer — a private wealth management firm that closed under regulatory pressure four years ago."
"So they've worked together before."
"Long enough to know each other's methods.
She's done this before, is my read.
Different names, different families.
Small enough amounts that most people don't pursue it."
"Eighty-four thousand isn't small."
"No.
Which tells me they got greedy, or they believed you were exactly who you appeared to be."
A retired accountant who argued over grocery coupons.
"What's the exposure?" I said.
"For them?
Fraud.
Forgery.
Potentially wire fraud given the interstate account structure, which pulls in federal jurisdiction.
I've spoken to a contact at the DA's office.
They're interested.
They've seen Renata Cole's name before in a different context."
"How long?"
"The DA moves at its own pace.
But the bank's fraud unit is fast when the documentation is clean, and yours is very clean." He paused.
"There's something else."
"Tell me."
"The lake house," Warren said.
"I ran a title search this morning as a precaution.
Someone submitted a lien inquiry against the property six weeks ago.
It didn't go anywhere — the title is clean and Hazel's ownership is airtight — but someone was looking at it."
Six weeks ago.
Before the wedding.
Before the engagement party.
Before Amber had sat at Hazel's kitchen sink asking about selling.
"They were going for the house too," I said.
"I think the savings account was the test," Warren said.
"If it cleared without trouble, the lake house was next.
A forged deed transfer is harder, but not impossible with a compliant notary and a family that trusts each other."
I thought about Garnet.
Standing at that door.
Laughing.
Had he known about the house?
About Renata Cole?
About any of it beyond what Amber had told him?
I didn't know.
And not knowing was its own kind of grief.
"Warren," I said.
"I need to talk to my son."
"I know," he said.
"Talk to him before the DA does.
It'll matter later how cooperative he was."
I called Garnet that evening.
He answered on the first ring.
"Dad."
"I need you to come to the office tomorrow morning," I said.
"Bring everything you found in that folder.
And anything else she's shown you, told you, or asked you to sign in the last eight months.
Everything."
A long pause.
"Is she going to be arrested?"
"That depends on what the DA decides.
It depends on the evidence.
It depends on how clearly the line runs between what she planned and what you knew."
Another pause.
Longer.
"I didn't know about the account," he said.
"I swear to you, Dad.
I didn't know about Mum's account."
"I believe you didn't know the details," I said carefully.
"But you knew she didn't respect your mother.
You knew something was wrong and you chose not to look at it."
He didn't answer that.
"Nine o'clock," I said.
"Don't be late."
I hung up and sat for a moment in the quiet of my office.
The city was dark outside the window.
May you like
Somewhere across town, Amber and Clifton were having a conversation I would have paid a great deal to hear.
Whatever she thought she still had — whatever she had meant by *what else we have* — I intended to find out before it found me.
