“What about my mother?” I asked. “Is she involved in this?”
Adams stopped at the door, his hand on the brass knob. “Your mother has not been named in the bank warrants yet, but she was sharing his address in Miami.”
The door closed with a heavy click, leaving only the low drone of traffic from the street below.
“There is more, David,” Julian said, standing up and motioning toward the hallway. “We need to go to the conference room.”
The main conference room was cold, the large glass table covered in neat rows of white paper and blue-covered folders.
Julian walked to the end of the table and slid a heavy three-ring binder across the glass toward me.
“I spent the night going through the corporate registry for your engineering firm,” Julian said. “The secondary account we found yesterday was only the tip of the iceberg.”
I opened the binder. The first page was a copy of a structural safety certification for a three-story residential renovation on Eighth Avenue.
