While at first the receptionist balked, Max gave her a business card and said she was here at the request of Grover Mills, the father of a murder victim who had once been engaged to Harrison Monroe. That was a small fib—Max didn’t know if they had been engaged. Grover had told her they dated for four years and had been talking about marriage, but when he took the job in Chicago, Victoria left him.

That may not have been true, either. Max had learned over the years that adult children often kept personal and romantic information from their parents.

She was betting on Monroe’s curiosity, as well as her family name. Most people in the high-end financial world knew of the Revere family. Her grandfather had been a banker, and her grandmother came from the Sterling family, who began with nothing but an idea and created substantial wealth. They parlayed one 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.