Chapter 7

The journalist's name was Marcus Webb, and he had the haunted look of a man who had spent twenty years writing about the worst impulses of wealthy families. He met Vera at a coffee shop in the city, a neutral ground far from the suburban streets where her neighbors had begun eyeing her with a mixture of pity and suspicion.

"I've been looking into Ramona Hale's financial dealings," he said, pushing a folder across the table. "And you're right. There's a pattern."

Vera opened the folder. Inside were bank statements, trust documents, and a series of emails that made her breath catch. There were three other victims—three women, all related to the Hale family by blood or marriage, all of whom had lost control of their assets to Ramona over the past decade.

"Your mother-in-law's sister, Eleanor, was the first," Marcus said, tapping a document. "Ramona took over her finances in 2014, claiming she was helping her sister avoid a 'tax burden.' By 2016, Eleanor's house was in Ramona's name, and the proceeds from its sale were deposited into a trust that only Ramona controlled."

Vera read the documents. The signatures were Ramona's. The transactions were documented. The pattern was unmistakable.

"There's also a cousin—Patricia—who lost her retirement savings," Marcus continued. "She thought she was investing in a family business. The money went into Ramona's accounts. And then there's a daughter-in-law—your predecessor, in a way. She was married to Lucas's older brother for four years. She had a house in Oakland that she sold at a loss in 2019, and the money went to Ramona."

"I didn't know Lucas had an older brother," Vera said.

"His name is Vincent. He died of an overdose in 2020. Ramona got a life insurance payout that was supposed to go to his wife. The wife signed it over to Ramona to settle a 'debt' she supposedly owed for legal fees."

Vera stared at the documents. "This is—this is fraud. Theft. She's been stealing from her own family for years."

"She's been doing it to everyone she could convince to trust her," Marcus said. "But you're the first one who has a recording of her trying to do it in real time. That's the difference. That's what will make the story stick."

The coffee shop was warm, but Vera felt cold. She closed the folder and slid it back across the table.

"What do you need from me?"