Page 118 of Blind Prophet

I’m sending you a link with background reports to every person with access to the Moores’ Colorado property. Will you have the team cross-check? Any one of these people could pretend to be Halston Moore. They all have access.

SF

On it.

I scan through the files, noting the metadata: upload dates, file sizes, modification timestamps.

There’s one name without a background report. And from what Dorian said, he is an employee, or at least a vendor. His half-brother has access, whether he’s an advisor or an employee. And it’s conceivable he has motive. If he hates his father.

There’s a problem with the theory. If it were the case of an estranged child seeking revenge, he could’ve transferred funds to his name and left the country ages ago. Dorian said Geoffrey moved to Colorado when Halston’s dementia symptoms were noticeable, to be closer to his father. That’s a prime time to rob him blind.

Could there be another connection? Additional children? There’s one person I’ve always wanted to meet, and she might have information we’ll never find in a database.

* * *

It takes me a little over an hour to reach Manteca, California, the town north of Santa Barbara, where Aurora Calloway lives. I landed at the Santa Barbara airport, threw my bags into my car, and drove.

When Luke asked if I was headed to the office, I told him I needed a break. I didn’t lie. I am looking for a break.

Dorian told me to trust my instincts, and that’s what I’m doing. When we were married, I sensed that his absent mother haunted him, and possibly us. The string of divorces he witnessed didn’t set a great example, but his refusal to reach out to his mother never sat right with me. If he had agreed to see a couple’s therapist, his mother was a topic I planned to bring up.

So now, am I using this case as an excuse to finally meet his mother? Or might she know something useful? Did she know Geoffrey Cromwell existed? Had she met him? Why did Halston insist on keeping his son a secret? Are there any other children out there? Are any of them working for Halston in some capacity? Anyone out there who might attempt to frame their father and the favored sibling?

Of course, it’s more likely that someone with ties to Russia or China was hired as a caretaker with the purpose of infiltrating Halston’s network by pretending to be him. But if that’s the case, the Arrow team will make the connection. Or one of the intelligence agencies will.

With this logic, I enter a fifty-five-plus community with a neighborhood entrance that proudly proclaimsThe Collective, with flags flapping in the wind, advertising model units available for touring.

There’s a community pool and pickleball courts. Newly planted palm trees line the streets, and small bushes planted in orderly rows decorate the front of the one-story homes. The neighborhood is nice, but not what one would expect from a woman who walked away with a large sum from a billionaire ex-husband.

My navigation highlights the path around a circular center until I turn off the loop and arrive at a one-story new construction home with a short driveway, a manicured lawn with a mulched bed stretching across the front, a two-car garage, and light blue batten board over a cream stucco base. The sound of wind chimes is carried on the breeze, although none are visible.

I park on the street and disconnect my phone from the charger. A message flashes on the screen.

My Ex

Where are you?

Me

Landed. I’m safe.

My Ex

You aren’t home.

Does he know where his mother lives? It was easy enough to find her new address, but I had her old address. Has Dorian kept up with her over the years?

Me

I’ll call you in a little while.

I debate leaving the phone in the car but opt to keep my work phone with me in case I want to take any photos or notes.

An older man walking a small dog approaches. I wave, but he doesn’t seem to see me. Indeed, as I knock on the door, he never glances my way as he shuffles by.

The door opens, and a beautiful woman with mostly gray hair and brown eyes opens the door. Her eyebrows are salt and pepper, and wrinkles line her sun-kissed skin, but she exudes a friendly warmth that belies her age.

“Hello,” she says, scanning my body, no doubt checking to see if I’m selling something.

---