“Dad.”
“I’m here.”
They embraced. Graham locked the door behind them and made the call to Agent Mitchell Thorne.
By eight-thirty that night, father, son, uncle, and evidence sat inside a federal building in Lower Manhattan.
Agent Thorne was in his fifties, square-shouldered, with the patient eyes of a man who had listened to too many people describe betrayal by someone they trusted. He did not interrupt. He asked precise questions. Dates. Names. Locations. Account numbers. Clinic staff. Vehicle records. Vendor addresses.
When Julian finished, Agent Thorne looked at Harrison.
“Mr. Sterling, are you willing to state under oath that Ms. Vance used your grief to obtain signatures and access you would not knowingly have granted?”
“Yes.”
“Are you willing to cooperate in a controlled operation?”
Harrison glanced at Julian.
“What kind of operation?”
“We need her to expose intent. A direct confession would help, especially regarding the identity switch and the funds. She may already be preparing to flee. If we arrest too early, we have documents. If we let her speak, we may get motive, knowledge, and destination.”
