Linda remained in the living room like a queen whose throne had been carried into a courtroom. She refused water. Refused questions. Refused even to sit until Price asked whether she needed medical assistance, at which point Linda lowered herself onto the sofa with theatrical dignity.
I stood near the fireplace and watched strangers uncover the skeleton of my marriage one folder at a time.
But Ryan had said not where you think.
After two hours, the agents had found evidence of financial fraud but nothing large enough to match Ryan’s fear.
Price approached me quietly. “Colonel, is there any part of the house your husband or his mother was especially protective of?”
I thought about it.
The office had always been Ryan’s territory, but he had invited me in when he wanted to perform importance. The garage was cluttered, but not sacred. Linda disliked the basement because it was “damp,” though she had spent plenty of time criticizing how I stored things there.
