One record is memory, sweetheart. Two records are evidence.
“He would never leave the only copy of a financial ledger in a fishing cabin.”
Detective Ruiz’s eyes sharpened.
“Where would he keep another?”
I closed my eyes.
Think.
Not as his daughter.
As an accountant.
A man investigating a hidden network.
A man afraid enough to change his name.
A man preparing for surgery.
He would need the copy somewhere accessible.
Somewhere boring.
Somewhere no one would search.
My eyes opened.
“His tax files.”
Liam looked confused.
“Dad’s taxes?”
“He kept every return.”
“For how long?”
“Forever.”
I looked at Evelyn.
“Where are his archived records?”
She hesitated.
“My office stored some.”
“Some?”
“The personal files were transferred after probate.”
“To whom?”
The answer came from the doorway.
“To me.”
My whole body went still.
Liam turned.
Detective Ruiz’s hand moved toward her belt.
My mother stood in the doorway.
