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“Yes, Ashley,” Erin said. “That’s what Mrs. Cotton told me.”
“No tax records with a social security number to check. No wonder he hasn’t ever filed an income tax return.”
“We can turn this over to the IRS, but it won’t help with our case, will it?” Jena asked.
“No. Damn. I really can’t understand this.” Ashley’s frustration continued to build. “I don’t buy it. The only records on a fifty-eight-year-old man are a birth certificate, some real estate papers, and a property tax filing.”
“Maybe Anna was lying,” Jena said. “I’ve scoured the records in Louisiana, and haven’t found anything to help us.”
“We should have found something on the man by now.” Ashley closed her eyes, recalling what Anna had said.
He had a thick Cajun accent. What are we missing?
“All we can do is keep digging. Something has to surface we can use.” Ashley sent a text to Phoebe, who was currently in court on another case, about the little they’d uncovered.
She was surprised when a text came back.
In recess for the rest of the day on this one. I’m on my way back to the office. Ash, we need more. Keep digging.
Will do. And when Nic and Sylas get back from their lesson at Phase Four, I’ll put them on the search with Jena and me. We need all hands on deck on this one, Phoebe.
They didn’t have much time. Jennifer’s hearing was set for next week.
Chapter Eighteen
Sylas sat next to Phoebe in the Swanson County Courthouse. Nic sat on the other side of him. Their client, Jennifer Steele, was in the chair next to Nic.
Mrs. Cotton was on the stand and one of the plaintiff’s attorneys was questioning her.
Walter Steele, or the man claiming to be Walter Steele, sat with his other high-dollar attorneys at the opposing counsel’s desk.
Things weren’t looking good for Jennifer, despite the endless hours of research. He and Nic hadn’t had much alone time with Ashley since the move to Destiny. This case had demanded most of their focus. Except for the few hours of training he and Nic had gone through at Phase Four with Zac, every other waking hour had been spent searching thousands of records in the hopes of finding the needle in the haystack. But the elusive needle hadn’t been found.
Ashley and Jena were at this very moment at the law office on their laptops. They were working feverishly in a last-ditch effort to find something that would help Jennifer. But time was running out.
Sylas loved Ashley’s never-give-up attitude. They had checked every record possible in Louisiana and Florida. What else could there be?
“Mrs. Cotton, could you point out for the court the man you know as Walter Steele?”
“I certainly can.” Mrs. Cotton was seventy-three and had a warm smile. She pointed at the imposter. “That’s Walter Steele.”
“Please let the record show that Mrs. Cotton identified the plaint
iff as Walter Steele,” the lawyer said.
“He certainly is Walter,” the woman continued. “He’s worked for me and my family for years. One of the finest men I know.”
“Just answer the question, Mrs. Cotton.” Wearing her judge’s robe, Ethel presided over the court with a firm hand.
“Thank you, Mrs. Cotton. Your witness.” Walter Steele’s attorney took his seat.
Phoebe rose from her chair and came around the table. “Mrs. Cotton, did Mr. Steele have a nickname?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but my late husband did call him ‘Walt.’ “
“Do you know Mr. Steele’s middle name?”
“I don’t.”
