“I know I received a welfare concern involving possible domestic violence.”

Grant’s eyes slid toward Daniel.

“You did this.”

Daniel said nothing.

Victor quietly joined him near the truck.

“You have the drive?” he asked.

Daniel nodded.

Victor’s expression hardened.

“Then don’t plug it into anything here.”

Daniel looked at him.

“I haven’t opened it.”

“Good.”

Grant heard them.

“What drive?” he demanded.

Daniel watched him too closely to miss the fear.

For a man supposedly dealing with a drunk, unstable wife, Grant was suddenly very interested in a piece of electronics he claimed not to know existed.

Marissa looked between them.

“What drive?”

Daniel answered carefully.

“Something Laura gave me last year.

She told me to open it only if she ever called asking for help.”

Grant stepped forward.

“That belongs to me.”

Daniel almost smiled.

“You just asked what it was.”

Grant stopped.

Victor muttered, “There it is.”

Marissa’s eyes narrowed.

“Mr.

Holloway, go back inside.”

“I’m calling my attorney.”

“You’re free to do that.”

Grant stared at Daniel.

Then he walked into the house and slammed the door.

Victor leaned closer.

“We need to find Laura.”

Daniel looked toward the service road where the SUV had disappeared.

“I know where she might be going.”

Years earlier, before Grant built the mansion, the property belonged to an elderly couple who ran a marina.

A private maintenance road curved behind the house and connected to an abandoned boat storage building near the eastern shoreline.

Daniel had seen it during a visit.

If Laura wanted to get off the main road without passing the gate, that was the only route.

Marissa radioed another unit.

Daniel and Victor followed in Daniel’s truck.

They found the SUV three miles away near the old storage building.

The driver’s door stood open.

No one was inside.

Daniel’s stomach tightened.

“Laura!”

His voice echoed off corrugated metal.

No answer.

Then someone shouted from inside the building.

“Daniel?”

Laura.

He ran.

She emerged from behind a stack of rotting dock sections, wrapped in a gray blanket.

Her lower lip was split.

Purple discoloration darkened her cheek.

Daniel stopped a few feet away.

He wanted to hug her, question her, rage at whoever had hurt her.

Instead, he waited.

Laura crossed the distance herself and collapsed against him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Daniel held her carefully.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

The man from the passenger seat stepped out behind her.

Up close, Daniel recognized him.

Samuel Price.

Former chief financial officer of Holloway Design Group.

Samuel had disappeared from the company the previous year amid rumors of retirement.

Grant told everyone Samuel had moved to Arizona.

Daniel had never heard otherwise.

Samuel looked exhausted.

“I didn’t know who else to trust,” Laura said.

Daniel glanced at the envelope in Samuel’s hands.

“What is this?”

Samuel answered.

“Proof.”

Laura pulled away from Daniel.

“Not just about what Grant did to me.”

Her voice shook, but she forced herself to continue.

“About his company.”

Victor and Marissa exchanged a look.

Laura wiped her mouth with the edge of the blanket.

“Grant has been moving money through subcontractors that don’t exist.

He invoices public projects for work never done, then routes the money through shell companies.”

Daniel stared at her.

“How do you know?”

“Because he used my