Page 33 of Enigma (Pros and Cons Mysteries #6)

T he building was dark and eerily quiet, filled with an antiseptic smell that seemed universal to medical facilities.

Jason led the way through a narrow hallway lined with exam rooms and offices, moving confidently despite the darkness.

Olive followed close behind, every nerve on edge.

This felt different from their other break-ins—more deliberate, more calculated. More illegal. They weren’t running from immediate danger this time. No, this time they were actively seeking information that could change everything.

She prayed this would all be worth it.

“Here.” Jason stopped outside a door marked “Office.” “This was Dad’s.”

He opened the door, and Olive saw a desk against one wall, filing cabinets along another, and a small window that looked out over the parking lot.

Jason went straight to a section of wall beside the filing cabinets and ran his hands along the baseboards. “It’s behind here. Dad built it himself, said he needed somewhere secure for sensitive patient files.”

Olive kept watch at the door while Jason worked.

“He was paranoid about keeping certain records separate from the main files. I never really questioned him. To be truthful, sometimes Dad acted paranoid. Maybe it’s because he was paranoid.”

Jason found what he was looking for and pressed against a section of baseboard. A panel about two-feet-square swung inward, revealing a small space behind the wall.

Inside was a metal door with a combination lock on it.

“That’s it.” Jason stared at the safe. “Now comes the hard part—cracking the code to get inside.”

“Any idea what the combination might be?” Olive sat beside Jason on the floor and studied the safe.

Jason stared at the lock, his brow furrowed in concentration. “He always used significant dates. Mom’s birthday, the day he graduated medical school . . .”

Jason tried several combinations without success.

“What about the day you were adopted?” Olive suggested.

Jason tried those numbers.

Nothing.

“Your siblings?” she asked.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

Jason sat back, his brow furrowed. “There has to be something. He wouldn’t have made it impossible for family to access if something happened to him.”

Olive watched Jason think, watched as he rubbed his jaw.

“What about . . . ?” Jason’s fingers moved to the lock again. “The day we moved to Oasis.”

“You actually remember that date?”

“It’s easy—Fourth of July when I was only six.”

Olive was impressed.

She watched as he entered the digits.

A moment later, the lock clicked open.

A flutter of excitement filled her.

Jason began to pull out the contents: folders full of documents, photographs, and what appeared to be financial records dating from a decade ago.

Jason spread everything across the floor where they sat.

“This is incredible.” Jason began photographing pages with his phone. “Bank account numbers, names of people involved, records of every transaction he made for them.”

“What kind of transactions do you think these are?”

“Money laundering, just like he told us. But also identity fraud, falsified disability claims, even some stuff about importing medical equipment that wasn’t actually medical equipment.” Jason held up a photograph showing Lloyd with several men Olive didn’t recognize. “And look at this.”

Olive moved closer. In the picture, Lloyd looked younger, maybe in his forties, and he stood outside what appeared to be a warehouse. The men with him had the hard look of career criminals.

“Do you recognize any of them?” she asked.

“Not really. But I’ve got to believe these men were involved with all this.”

As Jason continued photographing documents, Olive’s gaze was drawn to a folder labeled “Insurance Claims—Special Cases.”

She opened it. Inside were medical records for dozens of people, all claiming disabilities that would qualify them for government benefits.

She held up one of the files. “Jason, what if these aren’t real patients?

Some of the names and addresses . . . they seem off.

Like this one, instead of Willow Lane it’s Wilow Lane.

It could look like a mere typo while actually being very purposeful.

And some of these names are generic—Smith, Jones. ”

“You think they’re fraudulent disability claims?”

“I think it’s a possibility that your dad was creating fake patients and fake medical conditions to steal government money.”

Jason’s voice was heavy with disappointment as he said, “This might just be even bigger than we thought.”