Page 72 of The Wrong Guy
But she’s a pro, able to keep her mouth shut even when it’s her own father demanding answers. “Nothing to worry about, Dad.”
Concern instantly furrows his brow, and she reassures him again. “I promise. We’re good.”
Still not sure, he searches her face before turning to me. “Don’t let this one get you into trouble, Jesse.” His lips tilt up the tiniest bit in a grin. “It’s hard to keep up with the big monster inside her.”
His gaze turns back to his daughter, pride beaming on his happy face. It’s good to see on him after that quiet, sad moment before the wedding, and I can see where Wren gets her confidence from. It was poured into her by her parents from a young age. Her dad doesn’t tell me to protect his little girl like some parents would, but rather warns me about her badass nature like it’s the best compliment he can give.
“I wouldn’t dream of trying. I just make sure she’s got a good place to come back to after she fights the town’s battles.” It’s the smallest hint of what we’re doing. I feel like he deserves that.
He makes a grunting noise of approval and steps aside. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if I can help with anything.” He starts to walk past us but stops. “Oh, also ... call your mother. She knows how busy you are, but she’s missed your Monday night dinners.”
“I will,” Wren vows. “I have too.”
Making our way around the corner, we find the tax assessor’s office without running into anyone else.
“Uh, hi?” Christiana utters when we sneak inside, shutting the door behind us quickly.
Wren told her she needed to meet this morning, but not what it was about. Maggie sitting in a chair makes the topic pretty clear, though.
“Hi, Christiana, Maggie.” Wren sets her bag on the floor, taking the other chair in front of the desk. I offer a wave and lean against the door to keep anyone from interrupting us. This is Wren’s show, I’m basically a bouncer to keep it on the down-low.
“Jesse, you’ve got my hackles up with curiosity. Now, what’s this all about?” Maggie asks. “And it’d better be good, since I had to tell Chrissy that my hot flashes got the best of me and I’d be working from home today, naked with cool towels on my neck.”
I could’ve gone my whole life without that image in my head, but it’s too late now. “You could’ve said you had a flat tire, a headache, or any one of a dozen other things,” I reply. But when she gets up, threatening to leave, I backpedal. “Thanks, Maggie. It’s important.”
Looking pleased with herself, she sits back down, turning her attention to Wren, who delicately explains that she needs the property records for Jed, Chrissy, Jed and Chrissy, and Ford Construction for the last thirty years, choosing her words with the legal ramifications in mind.
“Can you search for those in particular?” she asks Christiana, who’s already typing on her computer.
“Yeah, that’s an easy database search and public records. Do you want the ones currently held by them or ones held by them at any time?” she asks.
Wren’s eyes go sharp. “Any time.”
“Guessing you want me to verify them or something?” Maggie offers. She’s a smart cookie and pretty easily puts together what her role in this could be. When I nod, Maggie’s lips press together into a flat line. “I gotcha, whatever you need. I know you’d do the same for me.”
I absolutely would.
A few minutes later, Christiana has pages and pages of property information printed, and Maggie is starting to read through them. “What am I looking for?” she asks absently, reading each page.
Wren opens the manila folder she’s been holding and swallows thickly. “I need to compare that list to another one.”
“You wanna tell me why or what lists we’re comparing?” Maggie asks, feigning indifference.
Wren shakes her head and starts at the top. “3854 Allens Avenue.”
Maggie grabs a highlighter and runs a line through that address, the marker squeaking loudly. On and on, they do this, until Wren runs out of addresses.
“What about these other ones?” Maggie asks.
And that’s the answer she needed. There are properties that should be on the divorce decree but aren’t. “Can we look up the history of those individually?”
Maggie reads them out to Christiana, and she begins typing again. “That one sold in 2015. Next?”
That’s how several go, and then Christiana says something none of us expect. “Wait. You said 90888 Millview Street?” Maggie nods, and Christiana looks up. “Wren, you want to look at this?”
Pointing at the screen, her eyes are wide in shock. Wren gets up and goes around the desk to see what Christiana’s found. She reads the screen and huffs out an ironic laugh. “Jed, you are such a motherfucking asshole.”
“What?” I ask. “What is it?”