He smiled, almost as if he was humored by her comment. “And you came all the way from New York to be convinced of his guilt?”
“Yes, I did.”
He nodded. “I don’t see how I can help you,” Monroe continued.
Max wasn’t going to rattle him with the easy questions, so she jumped in.
“Did you know Denise Albright? Formerly Denise Graham.”
“Of course. She was Victoria’s roommate in college. I saw on the news that she, too, met an untimely end.”
“Did you note that Victoria was killed the day that Denise’s remains were found?”
“I did not.”
“Denise was an accountant, did you work with her?”
“No. Ms. Revere, I’m happy to discuss Victoria with you, or whatever you think might help in your report, but I have a conference call in just a few minutes.”
Max rose. “I didn’t mean to keep you.”
“Truly, if you’d like to talk about Victoria, I’m happy to meet outside the office. Simply call my assistant and set it up.”
“I appreciate that, and I may take you up on it,” Max said.
Monroe rose to walk her to his office door. “It was very nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Max put her hand on the door, then turned around, looked Monroe in the eye, and smiled. “Andy Tompkins asked me to say hello.”
For the first time, there was genuine surprise in Monroe’s expression. His cheek twitched, just a small movement, but she was standing close to him. He was caught off guard.
“I’m surprised,” Monroe said, his voice even calmer than before. “Andy and I are not friends.”
“Odd,” she said, “he told me you’d been close in college. Funny how people remember relationships differently. Thank you again for your time.”
She left.
Harrison Monroe hated Andy. “Not friends” was an understatement. But if what Ben uncovered was true, they had once been close—close enough that Monroe turned over his entire college gambling operation to Andy.
It could mean absolutely nothing, at least related to Victoria and the Albright family.
It could mean everything.
Harrison Monroe was a cool operator. Smart. Poised. Wealthy.
And he had secrets.
What was he up to?
* * *
“Don’t look back,” Sean said, “but we’re being followed.”
Because he said it, Max had to force herself to stare straight ahead. “Harrison Monroe is a hard man to rattle. I always rattle people. Nothing—until I mentioned Andy Tompkins.”
She’d been rethinking her approach. Because Monroe had been so calm, reasonable, and professional, she opted for the same approach. Being brusque or accusatory wouldn’t have gotten her anything; he was one of the rare people who could remain calm in the face of an interrogation. Everything in his background showed him to be an intelligent, successful, and respected financial planner whom people entrusted with hundreds of millions of dollars.
She was trying to find out why he’d left Chicago for San Antonio—hardly a move up in the financial world—but that was a bit trickier. The financial world, even using her family connections, was tight-lipped. It was a benefit when they had your money but a definite negative when she wanted information.
But now, as Sean maneuvered through afternoon traffic, she realized she’d gotten exactly what she wanted.
“You’re certain we weren’t followed to Monroe’s office.”
He gave her a nasty look.
She looked through her messages to get Andy Tompkins’s contact information. “What do you think about a road trip?”
“You want to go to Dallas and talk to Tompkins.”
“He knows more than he told Ben.” While Ben was good at getting basic information out of people, it took a face-to-face to find out if they knew more—or if they were lying.
Sean said, “Hold that thought.”
Sean pressed a couple buttons on his GPS navigation, but from this angle Max couldn’t quite see what he was doing. He made a right turn at the light, away from her hotel, and then turned left on a side street.
“Are you trying to lose him?” Max asked. “We need to find out who he is.”
“I already have his license plate,” Sean said, “but I want to talk to him.”
That idea seemed foolhardy, as she couldn’t figure out how he would get the driver to pull over.
Sean slowed down as if he were looking for an address. He turned left, went halfway down the block, then pulled over to the right.
“Open your door, but don’t get out,” Sean said. “When I tell you, shut it. And don’t look back.”
Max didn’t like not knowing the plan, but she did what Sean said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a dark sedan drive past, going the speed limit. Sean waited until he was three houses ahead, then said, “Shut it.”
Before her door was fully closed, Sean floored the gas. Max hadn’t realized it, but this was a dead end. The other driver tried to turn in the cul-de-sac, but Sean maneuvered his vehicle and cut him off. The driver slammed on his brakes to avoid hitting him.
Sean jumped out of the car. Max followed suit, but since Sean was armed and she wasn’t, she stood behind him as he approached the driver.
The driver didn’t get out. He rolled down his window. He was a beefy guy in a suit. “Move your car,” he told Sean.
“Tell your boss that if he has me followed again, I’ll make his life a living hell, understood?”
The driver didn’t look fazed. “Now,” he said.
Sean stared at him. “He doesn’t want to fuck with me.”
The driver looked from Sean to Max, then back at Sean. He rolled up his window and smoothly backed up, almost hitting a mailbox, then drove past Sean’s jeep, missing the rear bumper by inches.
“Don’t give me that look,” Sean said. “He wouldn’t tell you anything. But did you notice his hand?” He climbed back into his jeep; Max followed.
“Hand?”
“Burned. That’s the guy Grant said threatened him.”
Sean picked up his phone. “Big favor … Yeah, I know, but I was good on those Texans tickets last year, wasn’t I? Two more … you just have to confirm information.” He listened, then read off a license plate number, from memory. “I just need to know if it’s registered to Lloyd Barnes Financial Services, or a variation of the name, Harrison Monroe, or HFM, an LLC.”
Only today had Sean learned that Harrison Monroe had a company called HFM. He’d pulled the papers and it was very basic—controlled fifty-fifty with his wife, Faith. But they didn’t appear to do anything except buy and sell land. It was actually very standard for someone to use a holding company for land transactions, especially if they were going to develop or improve the land, then sell.
But a holding company would also help if they were hiding money. If Max were doing it, she wouldn’t put her own name in the title or on the papers.
But then again, she wasn’t prone to breaking serious laws.
“Thanks, Jill. Tell Mark I said hi and the tickets are in the mail.”
He ended the call. “HFM. I’m not surprised. When I reviewed their most recent filings they had four cars registered to the LLC. Two SUVs, two sedans, all black.” He backed up, then headed out of the neighborhood. “We have some research to do, but we have to do it on my computer. It’s secure.”