Cut and Run (Lucy Kincaid #16) - Allison Brennan Page 0,80
successful business into multiple others and invested wisely.
Not five minutes after she sat down in the simple, classy waiting room—perfect for a company that handled tens of millions in client assets—an impeccably dressed young man came out and said quietly, “Ms. Revere? Mr. Monroe is ready to see you now. May I get you anything? Coffee, water, tea, sweet tea?”
“No, thank you,” she said, and followed the assistant.
Monroe had one of two corner offices in the suite. A sign of status and success. The office was as impeccable and classy as his assistant and reception area. He had his desk situated in the corner, so the River Walk could be seen behind him. Max could see her hotel from his view.
She didn’t know what to expect of Monroe. He had no social media presence, and the only photo Sean could find had been in his college yearbook, which showed a lean white male with dark hair and indeterminate eye color.
But she didn’t expect the soft-spoken, bespectacled gentleman in a thousand-dollar suit. He was shorter than she was, even if she weren’t wearing heels, yet stood tall as he greeted her. “Ms. Revere, I would have been happy to schedule an appointment at any time. Your reputation precedes you.”
“This is a spontaneous visit,” she said, and shook his extended hand. Soft hand, firm handshake.
He motioned toward a seating area with a long leather couch and two matching chairs. She sat in one chair; he sat opposite her on the couch. This was a man comfortable with his stature and position; he didn’t need to exhibit false images of being in charge by claiming his desk—which denoted power—or the chair, which was more formal than the couch. He wore his suit well; it was professionally tailored. His demeanor said wealth without screaming Money, something the truly wealthy who would entrust him with their money to invest would appreciate. His watch was a Piaget worth at least twenty thousand, Max noticed.
“I know you’re busy, so let me get to the point,” Max said. “I’m in San Antonio at the request of Grover Mills, Victoria Mills’s father. He asked me two months ago, after her murder, to help him understand the investigation and mediate with the local press after Stanley Grant pled guilty. I became familiar with the case. When Mr. Grant changed his plea, I asked to meet with him, and he agreed.”
She paused just a second to let Monroe offer information, even just that he knew Grant, but he didn’t say anything.
Smart man.
“I met with him yesterday before he was released on bail, which ultimately was a good thing considering he was later killed outside the courthouse.”
Monroe nodded. “It’s been all over the news.”
“Mr. Grant claimed that he’d been threatened into confessing to Victoria’s murder. An unknown man threatened his sister and her family. After they were in a car accident, he went to the police and said he’d killed Victoria during an argument after she caught him embezzling money from their company.”
“Why is this important to me?”
“You knew Grant, as well as Victoria.”
“Yes. We went to college together. Victoria and I saw each other for several years.”
Definitely a smart man. Not denying anything. Either he was truly innocent and had no involvement in the conspiracy or he was smart enough to know what could be learned with a good research team.
“According to Grant, Victoria acted differently in the weeks leading up to her murder. She was short-tempered and secretive. He said that she was working on a land deal for you but didn’t discuss it with either him or Mitch.”
If that news came as a surprise to Monroe, he didn’t show it. “Victoria was one of my brokers. I purchased some properties as investments this year, sold several others, all before she was killed. I had one in escrow at that time, and Mitch Corta closed it for me. If Victoria was secretive, it wasn’t because of our business relationship.”
“Why would he call you a ‘straw buyer’?”
“I couldn’t say.”
He didn’t volunteer any information or theories.
“Do you think that Stanley Grant killed Victoria?”
“He confessed.”
“Then recanted.”
“I’m not a lawyer, but it seems to me his change of plea may have been a legal maneuver.”
“It may have been. But I’m not one hundred percent convinced.”
He smiled, almost as if he was humored by her comment. “And you came all the way from New York to be convinced of his guilt?”
“Yes, I did.”
He nodded. “I don’t see how I can help you,” Monroe continued.