Finally, Grant said, “A man came to me late Tuesday night after Victoria was killed. He told me that I had embezzled two million dollars from our company, Victoria found out, and I killed her in the heat of the moment. The reason? I’d gone back to gambling. After college, I lost a lot of money, went through a rough patch. But I haven’t gambled in years, I swear to God. Yet— They had this evidence that I had lost money. I was enraged, told him no one would believe him and, even if they did, I could prove my innocence. He was so cold—so … hell, I don’t know. But I believed him when he said that if I didn’t do exactly what he told me to do my nephews would be orphans. He had pictures of Marie and the boys—at their house, going to school, the fucking grocery store!”

“Why didn’t you go to the police?” Oliver asked.

“I didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t believe him at first, I couldn’t imagine how they’d have access to MCG funds—two million dollars! But that night, I went through all the records, and there was an odd discrepancy. And I got this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that someone was setting me up. I planned to talk to Mitch, our partner, but when I was on my way over there, Marie called. She’d been in a serious car accident. She and the boys were okay, but her car was totaled. I went to get them and I saw him, the guy who threatened me, in the crowd. And I knew … I just knew they were serious and I was in deep trouble. And I didn’t even know why!”

Truly innocent people couldn’t be so easily manipulated into making a false confession, at least in Max’s experience. Maybe there was some truth to the story. Maybe Stan had a gambling problem … and Victoria was killed because of it, but he didn’t kill her himself.

Or maybe the entire story was a big fat lie. She wasn’t certain yet what was truth and what was fiction.

“You told your sister to leave town before you confessed.”

“I called John, her ex-husband, and asked him to stay with Marie for a few days, keep her out of the media spotlight. But mostly, I wanted her safe.”

“Again,” Max said, “who are they? Who is the man who threatened you?”

“I never saw him before. He’s big, six four at least, Hispanic, broad-shouldered. Dark hair, dark eyes, mustache. His right hand is scarred, like he’d seriously burned it. All wrinkled and discolored, but it looked like an old injury.”