I needed to find a private investigator who specialized in financial fraud.

I typed a quick search query into the browser.

Several names came up in the Miami area.

One stood out: a former forensic accountant for the FBI who now ran a private agency.

His office was only ten blocks from my apartment.

I wrote down his phone number on a sticky note.

Then I reached for my desk phone and dialed the building’s front desk.

“Luis,” I said when he answered.

“Yes, Mr. Collins,” Luis said.

“Is everything alright up there?”

“I need a favor, Luis,” I said.

“Did my mother or my sister come into the building yesterday morning?”

There was a pause on the line.

“Let me check the guest log, Mr. Collins,” Luis said.

I heard the sound of paper rustling over the line.

“Yes,” Luis said.

“Your sister, Hannah, was here at 10:00 AM yesterday.”

“She said she was dropping off some mail for you.”

“I let her up because she has always had access in the past.”

“Did she go to my apartment?” I asked.