Page 74 of Oliver
I'd deal with him later.
I had the name, Blessed Heritage LLC, and now I had a lead. This took precedence.
The state registry revealed little: founded five years ago, labeled a “property management and investment company,” with no listed officers. Just one registered agent—Thomas Davidson. Again.
A chill settled in my gut.
I traced the LLC’s connections, tried to find threads between it and my parents, the church, anything. But I was hitting walls. The church might have internal records—meeting minutes, financial statements—anything to prove just how deep this ran.
I exhaled sharply, rubbing my temples. This would be easier with Zahra. She could access those files legitimately. She might have already seen something crucial.
But involving her meant telling the truth about why I was in Norman. About the trust fund, the fraud, the theft.
And if she refused to help? Told someone? Or worse—she agreed, but lost everything?
No.
I handle this alone. I protect her.
I’ve done it alone this long.
It’s safer that way.
Laptop shut, phone pocketed, documents gathered. I was out the door before I could second-guess myself.
I forced my posture straight, my expression neutral. Back in control. Back on mission. Personal feelings were locked away where they couldn't interfere with what needed to be done.
I had a church to visit, records to examine, and a con to expose.
Everything else would have to wait.
The First Baptist Church of Norman hadn’t changed. White clapboard exterior, imposing steeple, landscaping so immaculate it felt designed to intimidate rather than welcome.
I pushed through the heavy wooden doors, stepping into the cool, quiet interior. The office lights glowed at the end of the foyer.
Inside, a middle-aged woman with bottle-blonde hair glanced up, then did a double-take.
"Oliver Beck?" She beamed. "My goodness, you've grown! I haven’t seen you since confirmation."
I forced a smile. "Mrs. Wilson. Good to see you."
"Oh, call me Linda." She clasped her hands. "What brings you back? Your parents said you’d moved out west."
"Seattle," I confirmed, making note that my parents were still active here. "I’m in town for a wedding—Parisa Ansari and Darryl Henderson?"
"Oh, such a lovely couple!" Her smile was genuine. "How can I help?"
I leaned casually against the counter. "Zahra needs info for the reception setup. She’s been swamped, so I offered to help. She mentioned property records being stored here?"
Linda’s smile dimmed. "Those are in the archives."
"Could I take a quick look? She’s working herself to the bone with all these last-minute details."
"I wish I could help, dear, but only board members have keys." She lowered her voice. "Security measures. After the youth pastor incident a few years ago."
I kept my face neutral, though my pulse quickened. "Is there someone I could talk to?"
Linda tapped her pen, thinking. "Well, Maryam Ansari is head of the board, or you could try Ryan Calloway? He took over after Mr. Davidson’s stroke last year."
