Then I waited.
It took him four days.
The camera caught him again. Same bathrobe. Same flashlight. Same three careful photographs.
Ezoic
And two days after that, someone logged into the new account from a phone I’d never seen before. A phone with a Charlottesville area code.
The person answered my security questions. My mother’s maiden name. My first car. The street I grew up on.
Then they scheduled a transfer for eight hundred thousand dollars into the operating account of Cole Family Catering.
Ezoic
The bank traced the phone.
It belonged to Madison.
I flew to Denver the following week for “a software conference.” Richard kissed me goodbye at the airport and told me to have fun.
I spent three days in Nina’s conference room with a forensic accountant named Howard Kessler, a quiet man in a bow tie who could read a balance sheet the way some people read a novel.
