Redstone Construction CEO Learns About Blue Envelope in Hospital Recovery Room
He nodded once, his eyes small and watery under heavy, grey-speckled lids.
“Brandon says you have some questions about your wife’s bank accounts,” Vance said, his voice a low, raspy gravel.
I sat down on the cold vinyl bench, my left hand instantly finding my bare wrist where my watch usually sat.
“I have questions about a doctor,” I said. “Dr. Julian Mercer.”
Vance stopped his fork halfway to his mouth and set it down on the edge of the ceramic plate, the metal making a sharp clink.
“We have been looking at Dr. Mercer for twenty-four months,” Vance said.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, yellowed toothpick, placing it in the corner of his mouth without lighting it.
“He lives in a three-million-dollar penthouse on 17th Street, but his surgical practice barely clears enough to pay his office rent,” Vance said.
“How does he afford the penthouse?” I asked.
“That is what we are trying to establish,” Vance said. “Every third Tuesday, someone deposits twelve thousand dollars in cash into his personal account at the Cherry Creek branch.”
