Page 45 of The Gift
“I’ve made progress,” Sutton replied.
Coop waited but got nothing further. He set his cup down and leaned against the desk. “Why does it feel like I’m pulling teeth to get half of the picture out of you?”
“That’s rich,” he muttered. “I give you first-rate intel then read about your action-hero adventures in the paper the next day. If I’m lucky. We behind-the-scenes guys are always the last to know.”
His mouth twitched. “Is that what this is? Payback?”
Sutton didn’t hesitate. “You know it is.”
Coop understood completely. If he had to ride a desk forty hours a week, he’d be bitter, too.
“But, seriously,” Sutton said, “this is me making sure I don’t hand you something that falls apart the second you lean on it.”
“Is it going to fall apart?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve got your girl.”
“Erica?” Coop asked too fast.
“Who? No, Debra Wilson.”
Coop relaxed, but only briefly because Sutton immediately asked, “Who’s Erica?”
“No one. Tell me how the wife is involved.”
“Debra Wilson’s title firm looks clean,” he said. “Books, filings, transaction structure… Everything tracks. If she’s dirty, she’s good at burying it.”
“There’s a but,” Coop said.
“There’s always a but,” Sutton agreed. “She employed the wrong man. Her husband had access to internal accounts, escrow flows, and transfer timing.”
“And he had opportunity.”
“Exactly.” His mouse clicked rapidly. “I’m seeing irregular withdrawals. Small at first. Then larger. Spread out enough to avoid attention.”
“Thomas Wilson embezzled from his own wife.”
“That’s what it looks like.” Silence came from the other end, before Sutton said, “I really don’t think she knew.”
“Walk me through it.”
“Title companies move a lot of money short term,” Sutton said. “Escrow accounts hold funds between transactions. If you know the timing, when money comes in and when it goes out, you can skim without triggering alarms. Especially if you’re inside the operation.”
“And she wouldn’t see it?”
“Not unless she was auditing him specifically.”
Thinking better on the move, Coop pushed off the desk and started pacing. “So, Thomas skims money. What next?”
“He needs somewhere to park it that can’t be traced to him.”
“Enter shell companies.”
“Bingo. Domestic LLCs. Layered ownership. Standard laundering structure.”
“And where do they lead?”
Sutton hesitated, not from uncertainty but precision. “I can’t put Kedrov at the top of it. Not cleanly. But I can put him close.”
