Fletcher called three weeks into the legal reconstruction. He was hesitant, which was unlike him. “In the founding shell entity, the original signatory, before the layering began—” Marcus waited. “I’m sorry. It’s Catherine,” Fletcher said. The name landed in the quiet study like something dropped from a considerable height.
Catherine Hale, dead at forty-four, grieved by everyone, had not been Marsh’s victim. She had been his original partner. The proxy structure was her design. It dated back six years, two years before her death, begun while she was alive and sleeping in the same bed as Marcus.