Marsh read six drowning files before the pattern hit him. Six dead people, all from Saltcreek. Six identical claims: water damage to a beach house none of them owned. Each one filed exactly three days before they drowned. He printed all six, lined them up on his desk, and stared until his coffee went cold.

Marsh stayed at his desk and pulled the phone records from each file instead. He wanted to know who these six people had called in their last week alive. The answer might already be sitting in the paperwork.

The records showed all six victims had called Marsh's own office before they died. Someone on his floor had spoken to each of them. He pulled the call logs and saw the same extension six times: the desk right next to his.

Marsh walked to the desk next to his. It was empty, cleaned out overnight. The nameplate read D. Pell — and the Pelican Road trust, he realized, was named for Pell. His deskmate had been filing the claims from six feet away, and had quit the moment Marsh got close.