Chapter 7: What Sandra Reeves Already Knew
Sandra Reeves met us at Grace's office at two in the afternoon.
She came alone, which Grace said was deliberate — a signal that this was still a conversation, not a deposition.
She was sixty, maybe sixty-two, with reading glasses on a chain and a way of sitting that suggested she had heard every possible version of every possible story and was waiting patiently for the one that was actually true.
She shook my hand.
"Thank you for coming in."
"Thank you for calling," I said.
We sat.
Grace was beside me.
Uncle Richard had stayed home at Grace's request — she wanted the meeting focused.
Sandra set a thin folder on the table but didn't open it.
"Mrs.
Halloway, I want to be transparent with you about why I'm here.
The firm I mentioned — Vantage Development in Scottsdale — has been under investigation for fourteen months.
We believe they've been using outside investors to launder proceeds from fraudulent construction contracts.
Several of those outside investors may not have understood what they were participating in." She looked at me steadily.
"Your husband's holding company received funds from Vantage six weeks ago.
We've been watching that transfer."
"He didn't tell me anything about Vantage," I said.
"I believe you." She opened the folder.
"What I need to understand is the structure of the holding companies.
Specifically, who had operational control and who was aware of the source of incoming funds."
Grace leaned forward.
"My client has no signing authority on any of the holding companies and was not informed of their existence until yesterday."
"I understand." Sandra's eyes stayed on me.
"Mrs.
Halloway, do you know a woman named Margot Voss?"
"She's my husband's mistress," I said.
"She was with him in the hospital hallway yesterday."
"She has signing authority on two of the holding companies."
"I know."
"We believe Ms.
Voss was the operational contact for the Vantage transfer.
She communicated directly with Vantage's financial officer on at least three occasions." Sandra turned a page.
"We have the emails."
The room was quiet for a moment.
"So Margot knew exactly where the money came from," I said.
"It appears so." Sandra closed the folder.
"Mrs.
Halloway, I want to be honest with you.
Your husband may claim he didn't know the full nature of Vantage's business.
That may even be partially true.
But Ms.
Voss's communications suggest a level of awareness that is very difficult to explain away." She paused.
"If you're willing to cooperate with our investigation and provide documentation of the asset transfers and the forged signatures, it strengthens our case considerably.
And it strengthens yours."
I looked at Grace.
Grace gave me a small nod.
"I'll cooperate," I said.
Sandra nodded once, businesslike.
"There's one more thing." She reached into the folder and produced a single printed page — a photograph, printed in color.
It showed Bennett and a man I didn't recognize, sitting at a restaurant table.
The timestamp in the corner read eleven weeks ago.
"Do you know who this man is?" Sandra asked.
I looked at the photograph carefully.
"No."
"His name is Derek Paulson.
He's Vantage's CFO.
He's currently cooperating with our investigation in exchange for reduced exposure." Sandra tapped the photograph.
"He met with your husband three times in the eight weeks before the transfer.
Your husband told him the holding company was a clean vehicle.
Paulson says your husband knew exactly what Vantage was."
I set the photograph down.
"Bennett told me the business was under pressure," I said.
"He said he was protecting us."
"He was protecting the money," Sandra said.
"You were the vehicle he was using to do it.
The forged signatures, the frozen accounts, the planned divorce — if this had gone the way he intended, you would have been left holding accounts that received fraudulent funds, with your name on documents you never signed, and no resources to fight any of it."
The full shape of it landed then.
Not just the betrayal.
The architecture of it.
How carefully it had been built.
How long he had been building it.
"He was going to use me as a shield," I said.
"Yes," Sandra said.
"That's what we believe."
I looked at the photograph one more time.
Bennett's face, relaxed and easy, at a restaurant table with a man who was now cooperating with investigators.
I thought about yellow tulips.
About a pen slid across a dinner table.
About a hand extended in a hospital hallway because people were watching.
"Tell me what you need from me," I said.
May you like
Sandra Reeves picked up her pen.
"Let's start from the beginning," she said.
