“A long-running one,” Eric confirmed. “The start-up happened about six years ago, and it continued to amass incredible sums of money until two years ago. But there’s little to nothing to find in terms of accomplishing its stated goals for the betterment of mankind. You already know the primary donor.”
“Thomas Wilton.” One of the most brilliant, wealthiest men in the world had been scammed for nearly a decade. Wow. Vera was astonished. But then even a genius was only human.
“That’s the one. However, those donations stopped just under two years ago. Shortly after the Wilton donations ceased, Quantum Leap donated all remaining funds to various other charities and then closed up shop.”
“Closed?” Bent glanced at Vera. “If it’s been closed for almost two years, what brought the company’s attention to the FBI?”
“An anonymous tip,” Eric explained. “About a month ago the tip came in, and now an investigation has begun in earnest.”
“Wow. Do you have any other details on the founder?” Vera wanted to talk to this person as soon as possible.
“The founder is a Gill Jamison III. His office is in his home in Hazel Green, Alabama. I’ll text you the details.”
“Did you find any other source of income for Jamison beyond the organization he started and then closed?” Bent asked.
“He’s a trust-fund baby. He inherited millions from his father.”
Vera shook her head. “Thank you so much, Eric.”
“Thanks, man,” Bent agreed. “We owe you one.”
Vera ended the call and grabbed her mug to finish off her coffee. “I’ll never understand how a man with Wilton’s assets could be fooled so completely. Especially by a guy who’s never even had a real job.”
“Pretty sad,” Bent agreed. “Six years puts the organization setup not all that long after Wilton moved to the area. But he didn’t pick up on the scam until what, four years later?”
“About the same time his wife died,” Vera noted. “She wasn’t employed. Lots of women in her position choose a charitable cause to support. She may have been the one who was fooled. After her death, Wilton figured it out and cut ties.”
“Why wait almost two years to turn them in?”
Vera didn’t get that one either. “Unless it wasn’t Wilton who did it.”
“If we’re lucky”—Bent took his mug to the sink—“we’re about to find out.”
Jamison Residence
Mitchell Drive
Hazel Green, Alabama, 9:15 a.m.
Based on the county tax assessor’s website, Jamison had purchased this fifty-acre wooded property five years ago for a cool half million dollars.
Given the high brick wall around what could only be called a compound that Vera was looking at, the man had invested a whole lot more in the property.
Bent pressed the button for the intercom at the towering iron gates.
“Yes?” Female voice.
“Sheriff Benton here to see Gill Jamison.”
A long pause. Vera and Bent shared a look. She’d scanned the info Eric emailed her. Jamison was thirty-five. Single. Never married. No children. No religious preference. Lived in the area his whole life. Had degrees in software engineering and information technology. The photo included with his details showed a handsome man with a charmingsmile. Gill’s grandfather had been a NASA pioneer, and the company he’d created had expanded further under the guidance of his father. But then Gill was on the board in name only. Likely never lived up to Daddy’s expectations.
“Mr. Jamison had to run an errand, but he’ll be back shortly. I’m opening the gate now, Sheriff. Please drive up to the house, and you may wait for Mr. Jamison if you wish.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you.”
The gate opened, and Bent rolled through.
“So he has the massive compound”—Vera visually followed the hand-laid cobblestone driveway winding through the woods—“but he doesn’t have a security guard, and his staff doesn’t ask for ID before allowing a stranger onto the property.”
