"Mr. Crane," she said. "Somebody wanted that baby gone on paper."
Chapter 5: Two Hundred Thousand Dollars
Nadia Ferreira started with the piece of paper that didn't lie.
It sat on her desk in the little office she kept over the laundromat on Broughton Street: a grainy printout from Maggie Crane's probate file, and at the bottom, in a neat confident hand, Preston Vane's signature as witness on an infant death certificate. She had circled it in red. A corporate CFO had no business signing a hospital death certificate.
She picked up the phone and called the bank.
"First Federal Trust, this is Denise," the woman said.
"Denise, Nadia Ferreira. Ferreira Investigations. I have a court order and an issuing account number. I need a copy of a cashier's check from December 2014."
"That's twelve years back, Ms. Ferreira. Archival retrieval runs three to five business days."
"Then let me save you the searching," Nadia said. "The check was for two hundred thousand dollars. The payee was Dale Reyes. The account was controlled by Preston Vane."
The line went still. "Two hundred thousand," Denise said slowly. "You sure?"
"Sure enough to hold this phone all afternoon."
"Hold the line." A minute later Denise came back. "I've got the scan. Cashier's check, dated December 12, 2014. Payee: Dale Reyes. Amount: two hundred thousand dollars even. Remitter account traces to a Crane Atlantic corporate disbursement fund. Signatory authority on the account, Preston Vane."
"Email it to me," Nadia said. "And was it ever reported lost or stolen?"
"No, ma'am. It cleared through the Jacksonville Federal Reserve branch on December 29. Somebody cashed out fast and went somewhere warm."
Nadia hung up and wrote: CHECK CLEARED 12/29/14, JACKSONVILLE. She underlined it twice.
Her next call went to the longshoremen's union hall down by the Savannah docks.
"Local 1414," a gravel voice answered.
"This is Nadia Ferreira, a private investigator. I'm tracing a Dale Reyes. Dockworker, born 1990. Last worked Savannah around 2014."
"Reyes," the man said. "Yeah, I remember. Quit the docks right before Christmas, 2014. No notice. Just gone."
"Did he say where he was going?"
"Rumor said Florida. Kid had a newborn, people talked. Then nothing."
"Was he in any trouble?"
"Not on the docks. Quiet fella. Loved that baby something fierce. Used to bring a stroller down to the fence so the kid could hear the water."
Nadia wrote: DALE TOOK THE BABY. LOVED HIM. You've been a big help.
She hung up and sat still, looking at her notepad. A quiet dockworker, a newborn, a two hundred thousand dollar check that cleared eleven days after it was written.
The Jacksonville medical examiner's office picked up on the third ring.
"Records," said a bored young man.
"I need a death certificate. Dale Reyes, died 2023, Jacksonville area."
Typing. "Dale Reyes, age thirty three. Date of death, March 9, 2023. Acute myocardial infarction. Found alone in a rooming house off Talleyrand Avenue. No next of kin listed."
Nadia closed her eyes. "Thirty three," she said quietly.
"Young," he agreed.
She set the phone down gently, the way mourners do. Then she picked it back up. One name left. Frank Reyes.
The Georgia Department of Corrections records clerk sounded competent.
"Frank Reyes," Nadia said. "I believe he served time starting 2019."
"Hold on," the clerk said. "Frank Reyes, date of birth 1985. Conviction: burglary, Chatham County, 2019. Released October 2022. Three years and change, good behavior."
"Anything since?"
"Nothing in state records. Free man, far as I can tell."
"A free man with a nephew," Nadia said, and hung up.
She spread her notes across the desk like a hand of cards. A check for two hundred thousand dollars, paid to a grieving young father days after his wife died. The father quit the docks and ran for Florida with his baby, then died alone at thirty three. The older brother was fresh out of prison. And at the top of it all sat a corporate CFO's signature on a dead baby's certificate.
She called Silas Crane.
"It's Nadia. I've got it. I'm coming to your study tonight, and Silas, pour yourself something strong first."
The Jones Street study smelled of old paper, pipe smoke, lemon oil. The old man sat behind the desk, his hands flat on the wood, and he did not fidget. That was the thing about Silas Crane. He sat still the way mountains sat still.
Nadia laid out the papers one by one. The check copy. The union man's name and number. The death certificate confirmation. The corrections record. She narrated each one in plain words, no padding, no mercy.
"Your daughter's baby lived," she said at last. "The death certificate is a fraud, and Preston Vane signed it as witness. On December 12, 2014, Vane paid Dale Reyes two hundred thousand dollars from a Crane Atlantic account he controlled. Dale quit the docks, took your grandson, and ran to Florida. He died in Jacksonville in 2023. Heart attack. Thirty three years old."
Silas neither moved nor blinked. The lamplight found the deep lines around his mouth and made them look carved.
"Two hundred thousand dollars," he said finally. "To make my grandson disappear."
"To make Dale disappear with him," Nadia said. "Dale loved that boy. Everyone says so. A weak man, maybe. A bought man, yes. But he kept the child alive."
Silas's jaw worked. "Frank," he said.
"Frank Reyes. Dale's older brother. Burglary, served 2019 to 2022. That's your boy's uncle. The one Thelma said kicked him out this summer."
Silas rose and walked to the window. Outside, Jones Street lay quiet under the gas lamps, and the Spanish moss hung motionless in the dark. He stood there a long time, and Nadia let the silence do its work.
When he turned around, his face had changed. The grief was still there, but something older and harder had surfaced under it. Nadia had seen that look on men who built companies from nothing. It was the look that came before decisions.