Names.
Companies.
Dates.
Phone numbers.
Geoffrey took nearly an hour.
At the bottom of the second page, he wrote one name and then stared at it.
“What?” I asked.
He pointed.
“Charles Vane.”
“Who is that?”
“The investor’s representative.”
Martin leaned over.
“You spoke with him?”
“Twice.”
“In person?”
“No. Phone.”
“Email?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still have those messages?”
Geoffrey searched.
This time, he found one.
He handed the phone to Martin.
Martin read silently.
Then he looked up.
“This email address is not from a law firm.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a private domain.”
Geoffrey frowned.
“Allison said he worked with investors.”
Martin forwarded the email to himself.
Then he said, “I’ll research the name.”
It was close to midnight when Geoffrey finally left.
Patricia hugged him again.
This time, he hugged me too.
It was awkward.
Careful.
For a moment, his forehead rested against my shoulder the way it had when he was a teenager and Patricia’s father died.
