Chapter 15
Hotel room 902 belonged to a building that no longer operated as a normal hotel.
The Bellamy had once been luxury.
Now half its floors were private residences.
The other half were long-term corporate suites.
Suite 902 was registered to a company called Gray Finch Consulting.
Claire searched the corporate filings.
The owner was hidden behind two shell companies.
Daniel recognized the accountant.
“Grandfather used him.”
That sentence was becoming exhausting.
Everything led back to my grandfather.
Victor Carter.
Founder.
Patriarch.
Philanthropist.
Possible thief.
Possible criminal.
Possible architect of half the lies in my life.
Detective Bell obtained a warrant.
We waited downstairs.
This time, I followed instructions.
Ten minutes later, Bell called.
“Come up.”
The suite was empty.
No furniture except a desk.
No clothes.
No food.
It looked like an office disguised as a hotel room.
On the desk sat the red case.
I stopped in the doorway.
“That’s it.”
Police photographed it before touching anything.
The lock had been broken.
Inside were ledgers.
Letters.
A flash drive.
But no photograph.
No brass key.
Diane had removed some items.
Or someone else had.
Bell bagged the case.
Then an officer called from the bedroom.
“Detective.”
We followed.
A wall safe stood open.
Inside was a stack of cash.
Three passports.
And a folder marked HENRY CARTER.
My father.
Bell opened it carefully.
Photographs.
Surveillance reports.
Driving routes.
Phone records.
My stomach turned.
Someone had watched Dad for months before he died.
Daniel whispered, “This wasn’t Rebecca.”
“How do you know?”
“She wouldn’t need surveillance. She was already meeting him.”
Good point.
Claire read a report.
“Subject left residence 10:52 p.m. traveling north on private road.”
The night he died.
Another line:
Secondary subject D.C. arrived 10:58.
Daniel went pale.
“That’s me.”
Someone had watched both of them.
The final page ended at 11:17.
SUBJECT H.C. DEPARTED RESIDENCE WITH RED CASE.
FOLLOW VEHICLE B-2.
I looked at Bell.
“Vehicle B-2?”
“Probably a surveillance designation.”
There were no pages after that.
No crash description.
No name.
Then I saw the initials at the bottom of the reports.
M.S.
Daniel frowned.
“Could be anybody.”
But I knew one person.
Someone my father had employed for years.
“Martin Shaw.”
Daniel looked at me.
“Dad’s old security chief.”
Martin had retired six months before my father died.
Or that was what I had been told.
Bell immediately began searching.
Martin Shaw was seventy-two now.
Living in Virginia.
No criminal record.
No obvious connection to Diane.
Then Bell checked Gray Finch Consulting.
The company’s mailing address had once belonged to Martin’s son.
We had a link.
Police contacted Virginia authorities.
Martin was not at home.
His neighbor said he had left two days earlier.
Destination unknown.
Of course.
Everyone disappeared when the truth got close.
The flash drive from the red case was encrypted.
Forensic technicians took it.
The ledgers were easier.
Old payments.
Companies.
Accounts.
Names.
Some familiar.
Some not.
Then Daniel found a page dated the year my father died.
Payments to Gray Finch.
Monthly.
Large.
One entry had a handwritten note.
H.C. CONTAINMENT.
My blood chilled.
“Containment?”
Claire’s face hardened.
“That sounds bad.”
Daniel flipped pages.
Another entry.
R.C. LOCATION / MONITOR.
Rebecca.
Another.
E.C. PROTECTION?
Question mark included.
Me.
Three weeks before Dad died.
I stared at it.
“What does that mean?”
No one knew.
Bell’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed slowly.
“What?”
He hung up.
“Virginia police reached Martin Shaw by phone.”
“Where is he?”
“He refused to say.”
“Did he admit anything?”
Bell looked at me.
“He said he’ll speak only to Emily Carter.”
Claire immediately said, “No.”
Bell agreed.
“He can speak through counsel.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
Everyone looked at it.
I answered on speaker.
“Hello?”
An old man’s voice.
“Emily.”
“Martin?”
“I’m sorry.”
My entire body went cold.
“For what?”
“I should have told you years ago.”
“Did you kill my father?”
A long silence.
“No.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what are you apologizing for?”
“Because I was following him that night.”
I looked at the surveillance report.
“Why?”
“Your grandfather paid me.”
“He was almost dead.”
“He was still dangerous.”
“What were you supposed to do?”
“Recover the red case.”
My mouth went dry.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
“I saw another car.”
Daniel leaned closer.
“What car?”
Martin breathed heavily.
“Diane Hayes.”
Ryan, beside me now, whispered, “No.”
May you like
Martin continued.
“She was there before the crash.”
