I had known Nathaniel Ashford for eighteen years. I had known him as a boy in a school uniform at a winter gala, as a young man at his father's funeral, as a stranger who looked past me in a hallway. I had known him as the man who signed the papers that took my family's house. I had known him as the man whose bed I had refused to share.
I had never known him as the man who would order a body dissolved.
I sat in my office for three days and built the strongest case I could. I wrote up everything I had on the gas leases and the trust and the foundation's contracts. I wrote up everything Dwight had told me and everything Elena had told me and everything Marcus had told me in the motel room. I typed it all into a single document and saved it to three different drives and printed a copy that
