Chapter 6 - The Ambush at Ridgeline Financial
By sunrise, the blizzard had passed, leaving behind a world transformed into blinding, brilliant white.
Fourteen inches of fresh powder blanketed the pine trees, muffling the mountain in a stillness so absolute it felt sacred. But down in Fort Collins, the gears of the legal system were grinding with brutal, unyielding momentum.
At eight a.m., Tom Miller and I sat in the conference room of the Larimer County District Attorney’s office.
Across the long mahogany table sat Assistant District Attorney Marcus Vance—no relation to Rick, a fact Marcus had established with dry professional disgust within five seconds of our arrival.
Beside him sat Special Agent Helen Keller from the Colorado Bureau of Investigation’s Financial Crimes Division.
Spread across the table was the complete archive from David’s encrypted hard drive, along with Dale Puit’s seized notarial logs and the audio recordings David had preserved.
“It’s the most airtight paper trail I’ve seen in twenty years on the bench,” Marcus said, turning a page of the forensic audit. “David didn't just suspect Rick. He had documented four separate instances of signature forgery dating back to 2021. Rick had been using David’s engineering credentials to sign off on substandard foundation inspections for speculative cabin builds up near Estes Park.”
My breath caught. “Substandard foundations? People could have been killed.”
“That’s why David was going to the authorities,” Special Agent Keller said, tapping a red folder. “David gave Rick an ultimatum on June first: turn himself in on the fraud charges, or David would submit the packet to the state licensing board on June fifteenth. David had his aneurysm on June eleventh.”
“Rick thought God gave him a free pass,” Tom said grimly. “He thought once David was in the ground, the evidence died with him.”
“Except David used a cloud-backup system hosted by his engineering firm,” I said, remembering the little blue icon David always kept active on his taskbar. “He always said: *If you don't have three copies of a bridge calculation, you don't have one.*”
Marcus closed the file with a heavy, satisfying thud.
“Here is where we stand,” Marcus said. “Karen Vance is being held without bond at the Larimer County Detention Center following her arrest in the workshop. The charges include felony burglary, tampering with evidence, grand larceny, and conspiracy. Given the evidence seized from Finch’s safe, she’s looking at eight to twelve years minimum.”
“And Rick?” I asked.
Marcus smiled, but there was no humor in it.
“Richard Vance is currently sitting in a private closing office on the third floor of the Ridgeline Financial building on Harmony Road,” Marcus said, checking his watch. “He thinks he’s about to receive a cashier’s check for two hundred and ten thousand dollars.”
I leaned forward. “How? His warrant—”
“The Carver County warrant was for an unpaid restitution order from three years ago,” Tom explained. “Rick’s public defender managed to get an emergency holiday stay on the arrest warrant by filing a fraudulent motion claiming Rick was the sole caregiver for an ailing relative—meaning Ruth. The jail had to release him at seven this morning on a temporary recognizance bond.”
“He doesn't know Karen was re-arrested,” Agent Keller added. “Her phone was seized before she could make a call. Rick walked straight from the detention center to the Ridgeline office to meet Gregory Finch and collect the cash-out proceeds.”
“He thinks Finch has the closing packet,” I realized.
“Finch is currently in federal custody in Denver cooperating fully with the CBI,” Keller said coolly. “The man sitting behind the desk at Ridgeline Financial right now is an undercover CBI investigator named Jim Walsh.”
Tom stood up and buckled his gun belt. “Sarah, you don't have to be there for this.”
“Yes, I do,” I said immediately. “David spent the last months of his life trying to protect his family from this parasite. I want to see his face when he realizes David beat him from beyond the grave.”
Twenty minutes later, Tom and I were standing in the observation room of the Ridgeline Financial suite.
Through the one-way glass, I could see Rick Vance.
He was wearing a borrowed navy blue blazer that was too tight across his stomach, paired with his gray sweatpants and running shoes. He looked disheveled, but his face wore that familiar, smug expression of triumphant arrogance I had hated for a decade.
He was tapping his foot, sipping coffee from a paper cup, and glancing at his Rolex—a watch I knew David had paid for three Christmases ago when Rick claimed his business was “just turning the corner.”
The door to the closing office opened.
Special Agent Walsh walked in carrying a thick blue folder and a crisp cashier's check printed on official bank stock.
“Mr. Vance,” Walsh said, extending a hand that Rick shook with greasy enthusiasm. “Sorry for the delay. The holiday wire clearance took longer than expected.”
“Hey, no problem, Jim,” Rick chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Banking on Boxing Day is always a mess. As long as the check clears, we’re golden.”
Walsh placed the check face-down on the mahogany desk.
“Before we disburse the two hundred and ten thousand,” Walsh said, opening the folder, “we just need you to initial three amendments to the quitclaim acknowledgment from March fourteenth.”
Rick didn't even look at the pages. He pulled a gold Cross pen from his pocket—another gift from David.
“Where do I sign?” Rick asked, grinning.
“Right here,” Walsh said, pointing to a red tab. “Beside the clause acknowledging that David Holloway’s signature was verified by Dale R. Puit.”
Rick scribbled his initials with a flourish.
“And right here,” Walsh continued, “confirming that Sarah Holloway had full capacity when she conveyed the property title.”
Rick scribbled again. “Done and done.”
Walsh picked up the document, examined the wet ink, and then looked directly at Rick.
“Richard Vance,” Walsh said, his voice dropping into a flat, icy monotone. “Do you swear under penalty of perjury that you witnessed David Holloway execute this deed on March fourteenth?”
Rick laughed, waving his hand dismissively. “Look, buddy, I already answered that. David was sitting right beside me. Now slide that check over, I’ve got a flight to catch out of DIA.”
Walsh didn't slide the check.
He reached into his jacket, pulled out his gold CBI badge, and placed it directly over the check.
“You’re under arrest, Rick.”
Rick’s smile froze. The blood drained from his face so fast he looked like a corpse.
“What... what is this? Finch! Where’s Finch?”
The door behind Rick swung open.
Tom Miller walked into the room, followed by two armed Larimer County deputies.
Behind them, I walked in.
Rick scrambled backward out of his chair, knocking the paper coffee cup over. Dark brown liquid pooled across the mahogany desk, soaking into the fraudulent loan papers.
“Sarah?” Rick gasped, his chest heaving against his tight blazer. “Sarah, what did you do? What did you tell them?”
“I didn't tell them anything, Rick,” I said, stopping three feet from the desk.
I pulled David’s gold Cross pen from his trembling fingers and set it down.
May you like
“David told them,” I said.
***
