Chapter 11 - The Raid
The FBI raided Hawthorne Development three days later.
I watched it on the news. Agents in dark jackets carrying boxes of documents out of the building. Reporters crowding the sidewalk. Richard Hawthorne being escorted to a black SUV.
Claire was arrested at her home. Embezzlement. Two point three million dollars. She didn't resist.
Margaret was questioned but not charged. She had been smart enough to keep her name off the paperwork.
And Daniel—Daniel was already in custody. Bigamy. Fraud. Attempted asset concealment. The charges were stacking up like cordwood.
I watched the coverage from my condo, a cup of tea in my hand.
Marcus called at noon.
"Richard Hawthorne is dead."
I set down the cup. "What?"
"Apparent suicide. He was found in his study this morning. Gunshot wound to the head. The police are treating it as a suicide, but—"
"But what?"
"There's something off about it. The angle of the wound. The fact that his hands weren't tested for gunpowder residue. And his lawyer showed up at the house before the police did."
I stood up. "Who's the lawyer?"
"Peter Vance. The disbarred attorney who set up H-Holdings."
My blood ran cold. "He was there before the police?"
"Yes. And he left with a briefcase."
I closed my eyes. "They're covering it up."
"It looks that way."
I thought for a moment. "Marcus, I need you to find out what was in that briefcase. And I need you to find out who else was in the house when Richard died."
"I'm on it."
"And Marcus?"
"Yeah?"
"Get me everything you have on Peter Vance. I want to know every case he handled, every client he represented, every document he ever drafted."
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"What are you looking for?"
"Leverage." I opened my laptop. "If Richard Hawthorne was murdered, someone made it look like a suicide. And I'm going to find out who."
