But before retirement, he’d spent thirty-one years investigating financial fraud.
He knew how people stole money.
He knew how they hid it.
And he knew what guilty people looked like when they believed they’d escaped consequences.
“Change every PIN,” he instructed. “Every password. Personal cards. The business cards. The travel cards. The emergency accounts. The firm’s corporate cards. All of them. And then call your bank and remove every authorized user.”
My stomach tightened.
“You think he’d actually try something?”
Dad looked toward the parking lot.
Brandon and Savannah were laughing beside their rented Escalade.
“I think a man who can smile at his wife on the courthouse steps while his girlfriend holds his arm is a man who’s already decided the rules don’t apply to him.”
He paused.
“I’ve interviewed forty of him. They all smile. Lock the cards.”
So I sat on a cold metal bench outside the courthouse.
