Chapter 5 - The Woman Who Disappeared
"Get a team to that motel. Now."
Tamson was already speaking into her radio.
Two unmarked federal vehicles were redirected toward Nora Phelps's last known location.
I wanted to go with them.
But Tamson stopped me.
"Your undercover identity is compromised if Reddick's people connect you to this house. Stay here until we know what we're dealing with."
"Nora could be in danger."
"And rushing in could make it worse."
I hated that she was right.
For nearly an hour, I remained beside my father while agents processed evidence from the house.
Dad barely spoke.
He kept staring at the road.
Finally, his voice broke the silence.
"Your mother tried to help Nora."
I turned toward him.
"Tell me."
"After Nora's husband died, she fell behind on a few ordinary bills. Marjorie started sending violation notices."
He shook his head.
"First it was the mailbox color. Then her garden fence. Then the roof."
"How much did they charge her?"
"More than thirty thousand dollars by the end."
I stared at him.
"Thirty thousand?"
"With penalties and interest."
Dad's expression darkened.
"Nora tried to hire a lawyer. She couldn't afford the retainer. Then someone told her the association would forgive everything if she signed a settlement agreement."
"Did she?"
"Yes."
He looked down.
"Three weeks later, she received an eviction notice."
I understood immediately.
The supposed settlement had been used to disguise a property transfer.
Marjorie and Reddick weren't simply collecting fines.
They were manufacturing circumstances that forced people to surrender valuable homes for almost nothing.
Just then, Tamson's radio crackled.
"Team Two to command. We have located the witness. She's alive."
I exhaled.
"Is she safe?"
Tamson listened.
"Agent confirms she's unharmed. The man outside her room fled when the team arrived. Local surveillance footage may identify him."
An hour later, Nora was brought to a secure federal interview location.
Tamson arranged for me to observe the interview through a video connection.
Nora looked older than I remembered.
Her once-dark hair was almost entirely gray.
She wore a plain cardigan and held a worn handbag tightly against her chest.
But when the agent mentioned my father, she began crying.
"Hollis believed me when everyone else said I was confused."
The interviewing agent leaned forward.
"Mrs. Phelps, you told Mr. Mercer you had evidence."
Nora opened her handbag.
She removed a small flash drive wrapped in tissue paper.
"Before they took my house, I worked part-time doing administrative filing for the association."
"Did you have access to financial records?"
"Some."
Her hands trembled.
"I copied what I could because the numbers didn't make sense."
The agent connected the flash drive to a secure forensic workstation.
An analyst began reviewing the files.
There were payment ledgers, property transaction summaries, emails, and photographs of handwritten accounting notes.
One file contained a spreadsheet titled Residential Asset Recovery Schedule.
Eleven properties.
Estimated market values.
Projected acquisition costs.
Targeted resale prices.
The figures were staggering.
Homes worth hundreds of thousands of dollars were being acquired for a fraction of their value.
Nora pointed toward a highlighted column.
"Those are the families they planned to remove next."
My father's address was listed near the top.
Beside it was a projected acquisition price of $42,000.
The estimated resale value was $615,000.
I felt sick.
My parents had spent nearly forty years paying for that home.
Marjorie intended to take it for less than the price of a modest new car.
Then the analyst opened another spreadsheet.
It contained a series of outgoing transfers scheduled for that evening.
The total was $18.6 million.
The destination accounts were connected to companies investigators had already identified as Meridian's offshore vehicles.
Tamson leaned toward the screen.
"We need an emergency preservation order."
But Nora interrupted.
"There's something else."
The agent looked up.
Nora pointed toward an account entry.
"That isn't the real name of the person receiving the money."
The analyst enlarged the record.
And for the second time that day, I saw a name I never expected to find.
GIDEON MERCER.
May you like
Beside it was a seven-figure payment.
Someone had arranged for the stolen money to appear as though it belonged to me.
