Chapter 6: What Grace Found
Grace Holloway arrived at eight on Monday morning with a leather bag, a thermos of her own coffee, and the expression of a woman who had heard worse and was prepared to hear it again.
I had sent her the folder over the weekend.
All of it — the property record, the LLC documents, the Connecticut account, the lease transfer.
She had read everything before she walked through the door.
"Sit," she said, which was funny because it was my kitchen.
I sat.
She opened her bag and laid out three pages of handwritten notes.
Grace still wrote everything by hand.
She said it slowed her down enough to think.
"The forged refinancing is the strongest count," she said.
"Fraudulent notarization, forged signature, proceeds diverted to a private LLC.
That's a federal matter if we want it to be, and we do want it to be, because federal prosecutors have more teeth." She tapped the second page.
"The lease transfer is cleaner than I expected — Julian used the same notary stamp.
Same fraudulent commission.
That actually helps us because it establishes a pattern."
"What about the Connecticut property?" I asked.
"Dana Firth." Grace wrote the name.
"She's a licensed real estate agent based in Westport.
She and Julian have known each other for at least five years — I found a charity gala photo from 2019, both of them at the same table." She looked up.
"The joint account has had regular deposits.
Not large ones.
Consistent ones."
"He was supporting her."
"That's one interpretation.
The other interpretation, which we may need to prove, is that she was aware the funds were not legitimately his." Grace set her pen down.
"If she knew, she has exposure.
If she didn't know, she's a witness."
"Which is she?"
"I don't know yet.
But I will."
I wrapped both hands around my coffee cup.
"He called someone Friday night.
After I told him about you.
I could hear him from upstairs — I couldn't make out the words, but he was on the phone for almost forty minutes."
Grace nodded slowly.
"He moved money over the weekend."
I looked at her.
"I had a forensic accountant run a preliminary trace Saturday afternoon," she said.
"Crane Meridian LLC transferred its remaining liquid assets — approximately two hundred and thirty thousand dollars — to a new account on Friday night.
The new account is registered to a holding company in Delaware.
We're still identifying the principals." She paused.
"He was fast."
"He's been planning for contingencies," I said.
"He knew Arthur was coming.
He may have had this ready."
"Possibly.
It doesn't matter — the transfer is traceable and it happened after the fraud was established.
That's not a clean exit.
That's evidence of consciousness of guilt." Grace picked up her pen again.
"I'm filing for a temporary restraining order on all marital assets today.
That freezes anything still in reachable accounts.
It also covers the brownstone — no further encumbrances, no transfers, no refinancing without court approval."
"Can he fight it?"
"He'll try.
His attorney — and he has one, he retained Marcus Fell on Saturday morning—"
"Marcus Fell."
"Yes.
He's expensive and he's good.
He'll argue the refinancing was a joint marital decision and that you had constructive knowledge." Grace's expression didn't change.
"He's wrong.
But he'll argue it."
"What do we do about Richard Holt?" I asked.
"Julian's boss.
He asked Julian to come in Friday morning.
I don't know what happened at that meeting."
Grace allowed herself a small, precise smile.
"Richard Holt called Arthur on Saturday.
Hexa Group is conducting an internal investigation into the data request — the email Arthur showed at dinner.
Julian has been placed on administrative leave pending the outcome." She paused.
"He didn't tell you that, I assume."
"No."
"He came home Friday night and called someone for forty minutes and didn't mention that he'd been suspended from his job." Grace looked at me steadily.
"Valerie, I want you to understand something.
Julian is not panicking.
He is managing.
There is a difference.
A panicking man makes mistakes.
A managing man makes moves." She closed her notepad.
"We need to be faster than his moves."
"What do you need from me?"
"Everything you can remember about the lease renewal.
The exact day, what he said, where you were, what pen you used if you remember it.
Any witnesses — was anyone else home?"
I thought back.
"My assistant from the shop.
She brought over a delivery confirmation I needed to sign.
She was in the kitchen."
Grace's pen was already moving.
"Name?"
"Priya Anand.
She's been with me for four years."
"I'll need to speak with her." Grace stood and began repacking her bag with the efficiency of someone who had seventeen other things to do before noon.
"One more thing.
Julian made a threat Friday night — you mentioned it in your message.
That he had emails that could complicate Arthur's fund."
"He said he had enough to make the story complicated."
"Did he specify what emails?"
"No."
Grace zipped her bag.
"He's bluffing.
Or he's not — and either way, Arthur needs to know today so his legal team can get ahead of it." She looked at me.
"Call your brother."
"I will."
She moved toward the door, then stopped.
"You said the flower shop was the one thing that was entirely yours."
"Yes."
"We'll get it back," Grace said.
It wasn't a reassurance.
It was a statement of professional intention, delivered the way she delivered everything — without decoration.
She left.
I sat in the kitchen for a moment after the door closed.
Then I picked up my phone and called Arthur.
He answered on the first ring.
"Grace was here," I said.
"I know.
She called me an hour ago." A pause.
"He retained Marcus Fell."
"She told me."
"Marcus is good, Valerie."
"So is Grace."
A short silence.
Then Arthur said, "Julian called Dana Firth on Friday night.
That was the forty-minute call."
My hand tightened on the phone.
"How do you know that?"
May you like
"Because Dana Firth called my office this morning," Arthur said.
"She wants to meet."
