“Registered to Taylor Marsh, like I told you. But here’s what got my attention. TKM was filed with the Colorado Secretary of State on March twelfth.” She flipped a page on her legal pad. “Taylor Marsh started working at Gracen Ranch on June first. I confirmed the date with Hank. Said Taylor showed up right after Memorial Day weekend.”
I stared at the screen. “TKM was registered three months before Taylor set foot on this property.”
“Correct.”
“So Taylor planned the entire embezzlement scheme before he even had a job here, before he had access to any systems, before he knew what the payment structure looked like, before he’d ever seen an invoice?—”
“Or someone else set TKM up and brought Taylor in to be the name on the paperwork.” Olivia’s voice was flat. “I don’t think Taylor is the architect, Graham. I think he’s the fall guy.”
“Denise.”
“Probably Denise. But probably isn’t proof.” She held up a hand before I could speak. “I know what you’re going to say. Go to Rose, show her the timeline, let her draw the conclusion. But think about what she’d actually see. She’d see that Taylor was planning this before he got the job. That he targeted the ranch, maybe even used Denise to get access.”
“That’s insane.”
“Is it? From Rose’s perspective, it’s actually more believable than her best friend running a long-term embezzlement scheme. People believe the version of reality that hurts less. Always.” Olivia met my eyes. “You need the connection between Denise and TKM. A signature, a bank account, a name on a filing that puts her fingerprints on it. And we don’t have that yet.”
“So what do we do?”
“I’ve requested the full incorporation documents for TKM from the Secretary of State’s office. Takes a few business days. If Denise is listed anywhere, organizer, registered agent before Taylor, bank signatory, we’ll have it.” She paused. “In the meantime, you keep your eyes open. Watch Denise. See if she makes a mistake.”
“Fine,” I said. “We wait.”
“We wait smart,” Olivia corrected. “There’s a difference.”
Denise cameby the main house that afternoon.
I was in the kitchen when she walked in through the side door with her usual brisk energy, laptop bag over one shoulder, a paper grocery sack in the other arm.
“Hey,” she said, giving me a quick smile. “Rose around?”
“Office, I think.”
“Good. I need to go over the Rousseau cancellation paperwork with her.” She set the grocery sack on the counter.
She started unpacking.
“She’s been skipping meals again,” Denise said, stacking the items on the counter with the casual efficiency of someone who’d been doing this for years. “I can always tell because she starts buying those horrible tasting gas station protein bars. That’s stage one. Stage two is she stops buying those and just drinks coffee until she shakes.”
I watched her fold the empty grocery bag into a neat square and tuck it into her pocket. A habit. The kind of thing you do without thinking because you’ve done it a thousand times.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“Sure.”
“How long have you known her?”
“Six years in January.” Denise pulled out a chair and sat, crossing one ankle over the other. “I showed up here whenthe ranch was nothing. One functional cabin, no website worth mentioning, and Rose working eighteen-hour days trying to do everything herself because she didn’t trust anyone else to care about it the way she did.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“She’s always been like that. It’s not a phase. It’s architecture.” Denise’s expression shifted into something I hadn’t seen on her face before. Not the bright competence, not the concerned-friend performance. Something softer. Tired, maybe. “I applied for the job because I needed a paycheck and she was the only person hiring within fifty miles. I stayed because —” She stopped. Shook her head.
“Because?”
“Because the first week I worked here, I watched Rose sit up all night in Cassiopeia’s stall during a colic scare. Didn’t sleep. Didn’t eat. Just sat on the floor with that horse’s head in her lap, talking to her, rubbing her belly, refusing to leave until the vet cleared her at six in the morning.” Denise picked at a thread on her jacket sleeve. “I’d never seen someone love something that hard and be that scared of losing it at the same time. It was like watching someone hold their whole heart in their hands and know that any second it could stop beating.”
She looked up at me. “That’s when I decided I wasn’t leaving. Because someone had to make sure Rose didn’t burn herself down keeping everything else alive.”
