I slid a single sheet of paper across the table. A printout—the G. Harmon incorporation document, Gary’s date of birth circled in red. I watched her face. She wasn’t surprised. Her expression was complicated—recognition, and beneath that, something that looked uncomfortably like relief. She had been waiting for someone to find this.
“He told me his name was Grant,” she said. “Grant Harmon.” She laughed once, a short, bitter sound with no humor in it. “I work in due diligence. For a living. I run background checks on companies for a living.” She stopped. “I didn’t run one on him.”