Roy Sibley’s “accidental” disclosure had been anything but minor. Walt Kincaid was not merely trying to embarrass me; he was plotting to seize Eleanor’s ancestral home, rezone it for commercial development, and turn it into something unrecognizable, all under the guise of “protection.”
I realized then that Sibley was a cog in Walt’s machine, not the mastermind. But he was a crucial cog.
“Roy,” I said, pulling my phone from my pocket. I activated the voice recorder feature, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Tell me more about this ‘friend.’ Who would have the pull to get a historic property commercially rezoned so quickly?”
Sibley eyed my phone, then shrugged, wiping his brow again. He seemed more flustered by the humidity than by my questioning. “Look, I’m just telling you what I heard from Mr. Kincaid. He’s been talking about it for a while. Said it was a done deal. Next month, like I said.”
“And Mr. Kincaid specifically mentioned commercial zoning?” I pressed, ensuring the words were crystal clear on the recording.
“Yeah, commercial,” Sibley confirmed, nodding. “He was pretty excited about it. Said it would quadruple the property value for the right investor. More than double what he was, uh, offering to Eleanor for a quick sale.”
Offering to Eleanor for a quick sale. That confirmed it. Walt planned to acquire it cheap, then cash in big. The recording now held Sibley’s unwitting testimony, a direct link between Walt and the re-zoning.
I thanked Sibley, my mind racing, and walked him to his car. Just as he pulled away from the curb, a sleek black sedan glided to a stop beside me. The window rolled down.
“Mr. Gable?” a woman’s voice asked.
It was Chloe Jenkins, Walt’s administrative assistant. Her usually composed face was pale, a flicker of something close to fear in her eyes. I had often seen her around Walt’s office, always efficient, always quiet.
“Chloe,” I acknowledged, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
She glanced nervously towards the street Sibley had just driven down. “I saw Roy leave. I… I need to talk to you.”
She got out of the car, clutching a large, expensive-looking handbag. Her hands were shaking slightly.
“It’s about Mr. Kincaid,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “He’s been… doing things. Unethical things.”
I waited, my expression neutral, my internal recording still running on my phone.
“I saw him forge your signature,” she blurted out, her eyes wide. “On loan default notices. And other documents, about the estate. He’s been planning this for months. He’s obsessed with Eleanor.”
My blood ran cold. Walt forging my signature? That wasn’t just a whisper campaign; that was criminal. Chloe, his most trusted assistant, was risking everything to tell me this. She was my first real ally in this fight.
+ There are no comments
Add yours