Chapter 7 - Gregory’s Copy

I did not reply to Gregory.

I took a screenshot and sent it to Detective Morales.

Thirty seconds later, she called.

“Do not answer him.”

“I haven’t.”

“Do not meet him.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Do not tell him where you are.”

“I know.”

“You say that a lot.”

“Because people keep telling me things I already know.”

Morales was silent for half a beat.

Then she said, “Good. You sound more like yourself.”

Maya pointed at the phone.

“Tell her he sent another message.”

I looked down.

Gregory had written: Raymond thinks I left the state. I did not. I need protection before I talk.

I read it aloud.

Morales said, “Forward it. We will handle contact.”

“Will you tell me if he is safe?”

“If it affects you.”

“It affects me.”

“I know.”

The next morning, Morales asked me to come to the district attorney’s office.

Gregory was already there.

He looked nothing like the polished man who had sat in Raymond’s living room three nights earlier.

His expensive suit had been replaced by jeans and a wrinkled gray sweater. He had not shaved. Dark circles sat beneath his eyes.

When I entered, he stood.

“Sabrina.”

I stopped several feet away.

“You knew I was drugged.”

His face tightened.

“I knew something was wrong.”

“That was not my question.”

“No. Before that night, I did not know you were being drugged.”

“During that night?”

“I knew as soon as Raymond said he gave you more.”

“And you left.”

“Yes.”

“You left me upstairs with them.”

He looked down.

“Yes.”

I hated him for that answer.

At least it was honest.

Owen Price gestured toward the table.

“Everyone sit.”

Gregory’s attorney, a woman named Tessa Grant, opened a legal pad.

“My client is prepared to provide information under a cooperation agreement still being negotiated.”

Morales said, “Then he should start with the ledger.”

Gregory took a breath.

“Raymond kept a handwritten transaction book for payments he did not want entering normal company systems.”

I asked, “Bribes?”

Gregory’s attorney said, “We are not characterizing every entry.”

Gregory looked at her.

“Some were bribes.”

Tessa closed her eyes briefly.

Owen almost smiled.

“Where is it?”

“Raymond moved it three months ago.”

“To where?”

“A storage facility in South San Francisco.”

“Unit number?”

“Two-seventeen.”

“Whose name?”

“Bay Meridian Consulting.”

I recognized the name from public-record research.

“That is a shell company.”

Gregory looked at me.

“Yes.”

“Controlled by Raymond?”

“Through me.”

There it was.

Morales said, “You formed it.”

“Yes.”

“For what purpose?”

“To move consulting payments.”

“Consulting for whom?”

“People who were not consultants.”

Owen leaned forward.

“Inspectors?”

Gregory nodded.

“Title people?”

Another nod.

“Laboratory personnel?”

Gregory swallowed.

“One contractor who claimed he could revise environmental documentation.”

I said, “Claimed?”

“He did revise it.”

“Who?”

Gregory looked at Owen.

“Name is in the book.”

“Say it now.”

“Victor Salas.”

Owen wrote it down.

I asked, “Was he employed by the laboratory?”

“No. He had worked for a subcontractor that handled document management.”

“So he could imitate the format.”

“Yes.”

“He changed the contamination results.”

Gregory rubbed his hands together.

“Raymond gave him the original report and told him which pages needed to look different.”

I stared at him.

“You saw this?”

“I saw the payment. I saw the revised report later.”

“Why did you help?”

Gregory looked at me for the first time without avoiding my eyes.

“Money.”

The simplicity of it made me angrier than an excuse would have.

“How much?”

“Enough that I stopped asking questions.”

“Until you saw me.”

“Yes.”

“No. You saw me and still stayed through dinner.”

He flinched.

“Yes.”

“You waited until it became dangerous for you.”

“Yes.”

Tessa said softly, “Gregory.”

He shook his head.

“She deserves that answer.”

I sat back.

“Fine. Keep going.”

Morales asked, “Why were you at the house?”

“To notarize Sabrina’s signature.”

“Did you intend to notarize a signature from an impaired person?”

“I was told she would be alert enough to sign.”

“Would you have done it?”

Gregory hesitated.

Tessa said, “My client—”

“Yes,” Gregory said.

His attorney stared at him.

“I would have done it.”

I looked away.

Owen said, “And the earlier forged authorization?”

Gregory’s face changed.

“You know about that?”

“We are asking the questions.”

Gregory rubbed his jaw.

“Raymond gave me a document with Sabrina’s signature already on it.”

“Did you notarize it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I had never met her.”

I almost laughed.

“You had a line.”

Gregory looked ashamed.

“A low one.”

“Who forged the signature?” Morales asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Christopher says the same thing.”

“Then maybe he really doesn’t.”

I asked, “What did you see in Raymond’s study before dinner?”

Gregory’s eyes shifted toward me.

“The ledger.”

“Why were you afraid?”

“Because my name was in it.”

“For what?”

“Payments. Formations. Cash withdrawals.”

“So?”

“There was a notation beside one entry.”

“What notation?”

Gregory looked at Owen.

“‘G takes fall if transfer fails.’”

No one spoke.

I said, “Raymond planned to blame you.”

“Yes.”

“And Christopher.”

“I think so.”

Owen said, “Why do you think the ledger is still in that storage unit?”

Gregory reached into his jacket slowly.

Morales’s hand moved toward her belt.

Tessa said, “It is paper.”

Gregory pulled out a folded receipt.

“Because I paid the storage bill yesterday.”

Morales took it.

“You still have access?”

“Yes.”

“Did you go inside?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because Raymond has access too.”

Owen stood.

“We can secure it.”

Gregory said, “There is something else.”

Everyone stopped.

“I made a copy.”

Morales stared at him.

“Of the ledger?”

“Not the whole thing. Photographs. Twenty-one pages.”

“Where?”

“My attorney has them.”

Tessa opened her briefcase and removed an envelope.

“Digital copies have already been preserved.”

Owen took the envelope.

I asked, “Why copy it?”

Gregory gave me a tired smile.

“Because even corrupt notaries understand insurance.”

Morales began examining the pages.

I watched her expression change.

“What?” I asked.

She did not answer.

I leaned forward.

“What is it?”

Owen took one page from her.

He read silently.

Then he looked at Gregory.

“What does ‘D Sunday’ mean?”

Gregory stared at the table.

“I do not know.”

I knew.

My skin turned cold.

“Diane.”

Morales looked at me.

“There are four entries.”

“Dates?”

She read them.

They matched the four dinners.

I asked, “Amounts?”

“Five hundred. Five hundred. Seven-fifty. One thousand.”

My voice disappeared for a moment.

“They paid her.”

Gregory said, “It may not mean that.”

I looked at him.

“You just spent an hour explaining that this is Raymond’s off-book payment ledger.”

He lowered his eyes.

Owen asked, “What is beside the fourth entry?”

Morales read, “‘Final signing.’”

I sat very still.

Diane had told me Raymond pressured her.

She had cried.

She had said she thought the dose was safe.

She had asked me to tell police she cooperated.

Now the ledger suggested Raymond had paid her after each dinner.

Maya had been right.

There was always another room behind the wall.

I asked, “Can I see the page?”

Morales hesitated.

Owen handed it to me.

The handwriting was tight and angular.

There were initials, dates, amounts, short notes.

One line read: C - photos - 2K.

I pointed.

“Christopher.”

Owen said, “Likely.”

Another read: S - appearance - 5K.

“Samuel?”

“Possibly.”

Gregory shook his head.

“Samuel told me Raymond paid him a consulting fee. He may not have known what the ledger called it.”

I looked at the next entry.

V.S. docs - 40K.

“Victor Salas.”

“Yes,” Gregory said.

Then I saw a line near the bottom.

M.H. sig source - 1K.

I frowned.

“What is M.H.?”

No one answered.

I read it again.

Sig source.

Signature source.

My mind raced through documents Christopher could access.

Tax returns.

Insurance forms.

Bank records.

Then it clicked.

“Hale.”

Morales looked at me.

“What?”

“M.H. could be Maren-Hale. Or maybe medical history.”

Owen said, “Slow down.”

I pointed at the notation.

“Someone paid for a source image of my signature.”

Gregory stared.

“I never noticed that.”

“Because you were looking for your own name.”

“Yes.”

I looked at Morales.

“Christopher had my tax files. But Raymond also had copies of the trust documents. Where else could he get a clean signature?”

Morales said, “Medical records.”

I felt cold.

“Consent forms.”

Owen wrote something quickly.

“Your healthcare records were accessed?”

“I don’t know.”

“Any family connection to a clinic?”

“Diane volunteered at a community health foundation after she retired.”

Morales looked at Owen.

“That is worth checking.”

Gregory suddenly said, “There is a name.”

We turned.

“What name?”

“In the part of the ledger I did not photograph. I remember because Raymond underlined it.”

“Who?”

“Marla Henson.”

The initials matched.

I asked, “Who is she?”

“I don’t know.”

Morales stood.

“We will.”

Before Gregory was escorted out, he stopped beside me.

“I am sorry.”

I looked at him.

“For leaving?”

“For all of it.”

“You can be sorry and still be guilty.”

“I know.”

“Then help them finish it.”

He nodded.

“I will.”

After he left, I stared again at the copied ledger page.

Four Sundays.

Four payments to Diane.

A payment tied to photographs.

A payment tied to a signature source.

A forged environmental report.

This was no longer a family trying to pressure me into signing a profitable deal.

It was an organized scheme with roles, payments, documents, and contingency plans.

For months, they had treated my unconscious body as one more item in the transaction file.

I handed the page back to Morales.

“Find Marla Henson.”

Morales nodded.

“And Sabrina?”

“Yes?”

“Do not assume the next answer will make you feel better.”

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I looked toward the closed door Gregory had walked through.

“I stopped expecting better answers a long time ago.”