Page 87 of Healing the Heart

Griff, looking agitated, his hair sticking up in spikes all over his head like he’d just run his fingers through it, stood at the end of the table.

“Jordan is dead,” he announced.

“Thank god,” Fiona exclaimed. Then she realized how it sounded. “I mean, I’m relieved he’s not a problem anymore, not that he’s dead. I wouldn’t wish anyone dead.”

“We know what you meant,” Noah reassured her. “Let Griff finish. I’m sure there’s more to it.”

“A shit ton more,” he said, proving her theory correct by running his fingers through his hair, making it stick up even worse.

“Tell us what you learned,” Keiran directed. He was much like Noah, with a quiet authority and not easily riled.

“Jonas was the one who cracked it.”

“Let me guess. He followed the money.” Samson chuckled, bowing to Griff over prayer hands. “Learn from that, young grasshopper.”

Fiona didn’t get the reference and didn’t care at the moment. She wanted answers.

“Actually, no,” Griff said, looking a little puzzled, too. “But I understand now why Jonas is so good. He’s relentless. He dug further into Robert Jordan’s past, going back to kindergarten, getting class lists and, when available, class photos. It wasn’t until college that he found what he was looking for.”

“He was our Jordan’s roommate, right?” Samson guessed again.

“Don’t call him that,” Eric said, shooting him a disgusted look. “We’re sure as shit not claiming that motherfucker.”

Val, who sat perched on his knees, rubbed his chest soothingly. “Go on, please. Griff.”

“He was classmates, not roommates with a Jordano Parra. Jonas thought that seemed like too much of a coincidence, so he started digging. Then he hit pay dirt. Finding a connection between Robert Jordan, Jordan Ruiz, Roberto Ruiz, Martin Ramos, pick one, any one. He has twelve aliases as far as we know. All with bank accounts listing the same PO Box. We asked Owens to get a warrant when Jordano Parra, aka the Robert Jordan we know, slipped up. He was closing out an account at 1st National in Culver City.”

“That’s where I live,” Fiona exclaimed.

Noah gripped her hand tight and urged, “We know. Let him finish.”

“He presented the wrong identification. His aliases were too much alike. Jordan Ruiz asked for Roberto Ruiz’s funds. Because of the amount, over six figures, the bank required seventy-two-hours’ notice. When he left, with an appointment to return, the bank notified the police. Detective Brent Owens was assigned to the case. He saw the video, recognized him from the club, and called me.”

“Who is Jordano Parra, and why is he interested in me?”

“This is where it gets a little convoluted.”

“You think it hasn’t been so far?” Esme asked. “I need a flowchart or something.”

“Go on, Griff,” Keiran urged while shifting his wife from her chair to his lap.

Trey Griffin opened his phone and passed it to his boss. “This is Sofia Garcia Parra,” Griff explained as he passed his phone to his boss. “She immigrated from Colombia thirty-five years ago with her ten-year-old daughter.”

Keiran looked at the screen as did Esme then they both looked at Fiona.

Griff went on explaining. “When she found out she was pregnant, not long after, she married a local man with money. He was older by thirty years and died when the boy was three. Thus began a string of boyfriends and husbands—three of the latter—until she was declared dead ten years later when Jordano was thirteen.”

Keiran passed the phone to Eric, Val looking on. They both had the same reaction to what they saw. Their eyes shot to Fiona.

“Declared dead,” Noah repeated. “What happened to her?”

“No one knows. She disappeared without a trace. Her older daughter, Jordano’s half-sister, twenty-three at the time, went to court to have it done in order to access the inheritance.She became Jordano’s guardian until she also went missing five years later.”

“A pattern is emerging,” Axyl drawled. When Eric passed him the phone, he almost dropped it when he glanced at the screen. “Fuck me,” he whispered.

Noah didn’t notice, but Fiona’s frown deepened when Axyl’s head came up and he stared at her too.

“That’s what the detective I spoke with at the LAPD said,” Griff replied, about the pattern, not Axyl’s profanity. “But they never could prove anything. There were no bodies, no signs of foul play. His mother and sister were both Colombian citizens. No one sounded any alarms. As far as anyone was concerned, they could have just gone home.”

---