Chapter 38
Benton Ranch
“It’s Eric.” Vera set her coffee mug down and picked up her cell from the countertop. “Good morning.”
Bent joined her at the kitchen island, propped a hip against it and continued drinking his coffee.
“I’m putting you on speaker so Bent can hear,” she said, tapping the screen.
“Morning, Bent. I think I might have found what you need to close your case.”
“That would be the best news I’ve heard this week.” Bent held up crossed fingers for Vera.
He was certainly in a good mood this morning.
Vera was glad. Getting past major decisions could do that.
Vera was feeling loads lighter herself. Between the decision to move in with him and clarifying that hardware store receipt, Vera felt immensely relieved.
She smiled to herself. The whole truth was that she had been in love with Bent since she was seventeen.
She could not imagine her life with anyone else, and God knew she’d tried.
But this—she studied his profile as he and Eric chatted—was the man she would spend the rest of her days with.
She almost laughed out loud at the memory of Bent giving Eve the news.
It warmed her heart to know how happy Eve was for her.
Luna would be as well. Vera didn’t have to wonder.
But what she did have to do was help Bent solve this damned case. The thing with Jackie was basically behind her, but this one was glaring at her face-to-face.
“This Quantum Leap organization,” Eric was saying, “is currently under investigation by the FBI.”
Vera shared a surprised look with Bent. “So it’s a scam.”
“A long-running one,” Eric confirmed. “The start-up happened about six years ago, and it continued to amass incredible sums of money until two years ago. But there’s little to nothing to find in terms of accomplishing its stated goals for the betterment of mankind. You already know the primary donor.”
“Thomas Wilton.” One of the most brilliant, wealthiest men in the world had been scammed for nearly a decade. Wow. Vera was astonished. But then even a genius was only human.
“That’s the one. However, those donations stopped just under two years ago. Shortly after the Wilton donations ceased, Quantum Leap donated all remaining funds to various other charities and then closed up shop.”
“Closed?” Bent glanced at Vera. “If it’s been closed for almost two years, what brought the company’s attention to the FBI?”
“An anonymous tip,” Eric explained. “About a month ago the tip came in, and now an investigation has begun in earnest.”
“Wow. Do you have any other details on the founder?” Vera wanted to talk to this person as soon as possible.
“The founder is a Gill Jamison III. His office is in his home in Hazel Green, Alabama. I’ll text you the details.”
“Did you find any other source of income for Jamison beyond the organization he started and then closed?” Bent asked.
“He’s a trust-fund baby. He inherited millions from his father.”
Vera shook her head. “Thank you so much, Eric.”
“Thanks, man,” Bent agreed. “We owe you one.”
Vera ended the call and grabbed her mug to finish off her coffee. “I’ll never understand how a man with Wilton’s assets could be fooled so completely. Especially by a guy who’s never even had a real job.”
“Pretty sad,” Bent agreed. “Six years puts the organization setup not all that long after Wilton moved to the area. But he didn’t pick up on the scam until what, four years later?”
“About the same time his wife died,” Vera noted. “She wasn’t employed. Lots of women in her position choose a charitable cause to support. She may have been the one who was fooled. After her death, Wilton figured it out and cut ties.”
“Why wait almost two years to turn them in?”
Vera didn’t get that one either. “Unless it wasn’t Wilton who did it.”
“If we’re lucky”—Bent took his mug to the sink—“we’re about to find out.”
Jamison Residence
Mitchell Drive
Hazel Green, Alabama, 9:15 a.m.
Based on the county tax assessor’s website, Jamison had purchased this fifty-acre wooded property five years ago for a cool half million dollars.
Given the high brick wall around what could only be called a compound that Vera was looking at, the man had invested a whole lot more in the property.
Bent pressed the button for the intercom at the towering iron gates.
“Yes?” Female voice.
“Sheriff Benton here to see Gill Jamison.”
A long pause. Vera and Bent shared a look.
She’d scanned the info Eric emailed her.
Jamison was thirty-five. Single. Never married.
No children. No religious preference. Lived in the area his whole life.
Had degrees in software engineering and information technology.
The photo included with his details showed a handsome man with a charming smile.
Gill’s grandfather had been a NASA pioneer, and the company he’d created had expanded further under the guidance of his father.
But then Gill was on the board in name only.
Likely never lived up to Daddy’s expectations.
“Mr. Jamison had to run an errand, but he’ll be back shortly. I’m opening the gate now, Sheriff. Please drive up to the house, and you may wait for Mr. Jamison if you wish.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you.”
The gate opened, and Bent rolled through.
“So he has the massive compound”—Vera visually followed the hand-laid cobblestone driveway winding through the woods—“but he doesn’t have a security guard, and his staff doesn’t ask for ID before allowing a stranger onto the property.”
Bent sent her a humorous look. “The more people around him, the more opportunities for his secrets to get out.”
“Good point.” The more people breathing who know your secrets, the less likely they are to stay secret. But, in the end, there were some secrets that just couldn’t be kept. “But there was a camera and screen in that box back there. She could have asked for ID.”
Bent shot her a grin. “Maybe I have a trustworthy face.”
Vera couldn’t deny this.
As promised, a woman, middle age, trim looking with a helmet of gray hair, waited on the veranda of the enormous home.
“Good Lord,” Vera whispered.
Bent reached for his door. “Vee, I don’t think the good Lord had a single thing to do with this.”
The man was just full of smart-alecky comebacks this morning.
Vera produced a smile as they crossed the cobblestone veranda. “Ma’am, good morning. I’m Vera Boyett. I work with Sheriff Benton.”
“Ingrid Deaton.” She nodded. “This way, please. Mr. Jamison should be arriving within the next few minutes, if it suits you to wait.”
“Suits us just fine,” Bent confirmed.
Inside, the mansion was just as stately as it was outside. Towering ceilings, awe-inspiring decor. Vera was no decorator, but it looked very Asian to her. Soft colors. Very modern and organic.
“Would you like coffee or water?” Deaton continued along the entry hall until they reached a grand great room complete with a concert-size baby grand piano. Wow.
“No thank you.” Vera surveyed the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Sleek polished wood floors. The walls and trim were painted in a soft beige while every single piece of furniture was a sleek black.
“What about you, Sheriff?”
“No thanks.”
“Very well. I’ll alert you when Mr. Jamison arrives.” With that she closed the massive doors and left them alone in the enormous room.
Vera wandered over to the wall of glass.
Floor to ceiling, the entire width of the room.
The view showed off a beautifully manicured lawn, but beyond that was mostly woods.
She glanced back to Bent, who was roaming the room, pretending to study the artwork.
It was likely best not to talk since the owner could have cameras or, at the very least, listening devices.
She drifted to the broad section of bookshelves tucked behind another grouping of furniture designed to promote conversation and interaction near the wall of glass.
Lots and lots of books. A few photos of Jamison at various locations where he had presumably made donations.
Many more photos of him receiving awards.
Vera leaned closer to one and studied the people in the photo.
Then she smiled. He’d photoshopped the same group repeatedly, adding them to different locations to make it appear like different award ceremonies.
She wasn’t surprised at all. The man was obviously very good at the business of putting on a good show.
Bent was at the piano now. Studying the framed photographs stationed there.
Vera moved to the fireplace, where a good many more framed photos were scattered about the mantel.
Most were of Mr. Jamison hunting. The man appeared to really like hunting.
Oh and there was boating, except the boat looked more like a yacht.
Another showed him in one of those mini helicopters.
Vera gritted her teeth. What a piece of utter crap.
But it was the photographs right in the middle of all the others that made Vera’s morning.
The first one to capture her attention was of Gill Jamison and a woman he evidently held in high regard since she was hugged tightly to him in the photo.
They were smiling widely at the barbecue that had been held right here in that neatly manicured backyard of his.
The woman was perhaps eight or so years his senior.
Gorgeous dark hair. Lovely pale skin. Gill’s embrace was not simply loving, but possessive.
The woman in his arms was Lena Wilton. But Thomas Wilton was nowhere to be seen in the photo.
So maybe this was the other man in the first wife’s life.
Explained her decision to take on his LLC as a pet project.
As if to confirm Vera’s assessment, there were numerous other photos of Gill with Lena.
It appeared the couple had spent a good deal of time together.