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Emmett took the seat beside him. “Actually, yeah. We finally got a name.”
That got Blake’s attention. “Who?”
“Graham Whitaker. Fifty-two. Wealthy businessman with his fingers in everything from commercial real estate to private investment firms. On paper, he’s about as legitimate as they come.”
“And off paper?”
“That’s where things get interesting.” Emmett glanced at Lincoln, who stepped forward.
“We’ve been digging into Meridan’s financial records,” the D.C. detective explained. “Turns out, a substantial portion of the company’s operating capital came through a series of private investment firms. Different names, different registered owners, but when we started tracing the money, several of those companies led back to Whitaker.”
Blake frowned. “So he’s an investor.”
“More than that,” Emmett answered. “We found evidence suggesting he’s been using those companies to move money in and out of Meridian for years. Large transfers disguised as consulting fees, equipment purchases, and administrative expenses. The timing and amounts don’t add up.”
“Money laundering?”
“That’s one possibility. But we also have reason to believe Whitaker’s connected to organized crime.”
Blake leaned back, ignoring the sharp pull in his injured side. “How solid is that connection?”
“Nothing that’ll hold up in court yet,” Lincoln admitted. “But his name has surfaced in a couple of federal investigations involving suspected racketeering, though he’s never been officially charged.”
“Of course he hasn’t,” Blake muttered.
“He’s careful,” Emmett agreed. “And apparently very good at keeping his own hands clean.”
Blake considered that. “You think he’s the one who ordered the attacks on Devon?”
“We think he’s worth looking at,” Emmett corrected. “Devon uncovered a fraud scheme that could cost someone a fortune and potentially send a lot of people to prison. Whitaker has a significant financial interest in Meridian. That’s a motive.”
“But not proof.”
“No,” Lincoln agreed. “But it’s the strongest connection we’ve found so far.”
Blake stared at the information on the screen. A wealthy businessman with suspected mob connections, a complicated web of investment companies, and a financial stake in the very operation Devon had threatened to expose.
It was enough to get his attention.
“What about Scott Mitchell?”
The dead man Lincoln and Dr. Scarlett O’Neill had told them about at the farmhouse.
Emmett’s expression grew grim. “Scarlett and the new M.E., Dr. Frost, are comparing evidence from Mitchell’s murder with what was recovered at the farmhouse. We’re hoping something will connect the two scenes.”
“Any luck?”
“Nothing definitive yet.”
Blake thought back to the conversation they’d all had in the farmhouse’s kitchen. “What about the blood or whatever that Scarlett spotted on Mitchell’s collar?”
“Still being tested.”
He nodded, his thoughts already racing. They finally had a name. Someone with the money and connections to orchestrate everything that had happened.
But there was still something he couldn’t figure out.
How the hell did these people keep finding Devon?
