Chapter 7 - MARTIN GREER’S OFFER
I did not go alone.
I wanted to.
Every furious instinct in me wanted to drive to Carson City, drag Martin Greer into the light, and force him to tell me what he had done to Rachel.
Detective Hart stopped that fantasy.
“If Greer murdered your wife, you walking into a location he chose isn’t brave.”
I said nothing.
“It’s useful to him.”
That got through.
Police fitted me with a transmitter.
Unmarked units stayed far enough away not to be seen.
The address belonged to a vacant ranch property outside Carson City.
Snow covered the ground.
A rusted barn leaned against the wind.
I parked where Greer instructed.
My heart pounded so loudly I could hear it.
A side door opened.
Martin stepped out.
He looked twenty years older than the man who had stood beside me at Rachel’s funeral.
No expensive suit.
No polished shoes.
His hair was uncombed.
A bruise covered his jaw.
He was holding nothing.
At least nothing I could see.
“You brought police.”
I stopped ten feet away.
“No.”
He laughed.
“You’ve always been a terrible liar.”
“You called me.”
“I needed someone who might listen.”
“I listened to you for eleven years.”
He flinched.
“Where’s Hannah?”
“I didn’t hit her.”
“Her backpack was in Bianca’s storage unit.”
“I put it there.”
My hands clenched.
“Why?”
“I found her car after the crash.”
“You were following her.”
“Yes.”
“You hit her.”
“No.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
Greer looked toward the tree line.
“I followed Hannah because Bianca told me she had evidence.”
“Evidence that you stole from my family.”
“Yes.”
The admission came so easily I almost missed it.
“You stole from me.”
“Not at first.”
“What does that mean?”
“My law firm was collapsing eleven years ago.”
I stared at him.
“You were making millions.”
“I was losing more.”
Greer laughed bitterly.
“Debt. Bad investments. Partners stealing from partners. I started moving small amounts.”
“From my accounts.”
“Accounts nobody watched.”
“I trusted you.”
“I know.”
“Rachel caught you.”
His face changed.
“Yes.”
My lungs tightened.
“Did you kill her?”
Greer didn’t answer.
I stepped closer.
“Did you kill my wife?”
“I didn’t intend for her to die.”
Everything inside me went silent.
Not intend.
Not deny.
I heard Detective Hart’s voice faintly through the receiver hidden beneath my collar.
Stay calm.
I forced myself to breathe.
“What did you do?”
Greer looked toward the barn.
“Rachel hired an investigator. She found Bianca.”
“Why was Bianca involved?”
“She wasn’t. Not then.”
“But you knew her.”
“Yes.”
“You were sleeping with her.”
“Yes.”
“Did she help steal money?”
“Later.”
I wanted to hit him.
Instead I asked, “Rachel threatened to go to police.”
“Yes.”
“So you killed her.”
“I needed time.”
“What did you do?”
“I knew which garage serviced her SUV.”
My stomach twisted.
“I paid a mechanic.”
“For what?”
“To create a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“A brake-fluid leak.”
The world tilted.
I saw Rachel laughing at the kitchen counter.
Rachel playing piano.
Rachel holding Ava and Charlotte as babies.
Rachel waving from the driveway.
“You cut her brakes.”
“No. Not completely.”
Greer said it as though the distinction mattered.
“The mechanic loosened a fitting. She was supposed to notice something was wrong. The car was supposed to become unsafe gradually.”
“She drove down a mountain road.”
“I know.”
“You knew where she lived.”
“I know.”
“You knew where she drove.”
“I know.”
My fists shook.
Greer’s voice broke.
“I panicked.”
“You murdered her.”
“I made a decision I have regretted every day.”
“No. You regretted getting caught.”
He looked at me.
“After Rachel died, I thought it was over.”
My stomach turned.
“And then Bianca?”
“I needed someone close to you.”
“So you introduced us.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
The word disgusted me.
“She could see things I couldn’t. Documents. Passwords. Your schedule.”
“And my daughters.”
“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
I lunged one step forward.
Greer backed away.
“I never told her to hurt them.”
“You told her to starve them for custody leverage.”
“I told her to document that she was their primary caregiver.”
“You told her to make them look neglected.”
“I didn’t think she’d—”
“Stop.”
My voice echoed across the empty property.
“Stop pretending language changes what you did.”
Greer went silent.
I asked about the life insurance.
He admitted helping alter the beneficiary.
The trust transfer.
His idea.
The custody petition.
His idea.
The forged authorization codes.
His idea.
He had built a system around my grief and absence.
Bianca had become his partner.
Then, according to Greer, she became greedy.
“She wanted everything faster,” he said.
“Everything?”
“Money. House. Company shares.”
“She couldn’t touch company shares.”
“She thought she could if you died.”
There it was.
“Did she plan to kill me?”
Greer looked away.
“Answer me.”
“She asked questions.”
“What questions?”
“What happened to business ownership when a spouse dies. Whether trusts can be contested. Whether the company would buy back your shares.”
My skin went cold.
“And my brake line?”
“I didn’t do that.”
“Bianca?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe you suddenly developed principles?”
“No.”
At least he was honest about that.
“Why call me?”
“Because Bianca will bury me.”
I laughed.
“She’s facing prison.”
“She has evidence.”
“Against you.”
“Against everyone.”
“What does that mean?”
Greer reached slowly inside his coat.
Police voices erupted in my hidden earpiece.
Hands visible.
I raised mine slightly.
“Slow.”
Greer pulled out a small envelope.
No weapon.
Inside was a memory card.
“What is that?”
“Proof.”
“Of Rachel?”
“Of Bianca.”
“Give it to me.”
Greer didn’t move.
“I want a deal.”
I stared at him.
“You called the wrong person.”
“You have influence.”
“Not over prosecutors.”
“You have money.”
“That doesn’t buy forgiveness.”
“Then what does?”
“Nothing.”
His face collapsed.
For the first time, Martin Greer understood he had run out of transactions.
No agreement.
No secret account.
No signature.
No client he could manipulate.
Nothing could purchase his way back.
He threw the memory card into the snow.
Then turned.
Police moved instantly.
Hart came from the tree line.
“Martin Greer! Hands where I can see them!”
Greer froze.
More officers surrounded the property.
For one wild second I thought he might run.
Instead, he raised his hands.
Detective Hart handcuffed him.
As she read him his rights, Greer stared at me.
“Ask Bianca about the December account.”
“What December account?”
He smiled.
Not kindly.
Not triumphantly.
Just tired.
“She didn’t tell me where she moved it.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“What does that mean?”
Greer was led toward a patrol vehicle.
I followed.
“How much, Martin?”
He stopped beside the door.
“Six hundred and twenty thousand.”
“From where?”
He looked directly at me.
“Not from your account.”
My stomach sank.
“Whose?”
May you like
He answered with one name.
“Ruby.”
