Chapter 2 - The Voice in the Garage
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
I heard the distant hum of traffic twenty floors below us.
I heard the ice machine inside the bar.
I heard my own breathing become shallow.
Declan turned slowly toward Sheldon.
“What did you say?”
Sheldon's confidence returned almost immediately.
That was his gift.
I had watched him sit through audits, lawsuits, labor disputes, city investigations, and negotiations involving men who considered threats a normal form of conversation.
He could recover from almost anything.
“She's fifty-three minutes late,” Sheldon said.
“So?”
“Gemma is never late.”
“That's how you know?”
Sheldon smiled thinly.
“Everyone knows.”
I wanted to believe that explanation.
Part of me desperately wanted to.
For seventeen months, Sheldon had treated me better than most people in the Morrow organization. He remembered my birthday. He remembered how I took my coffee. He once drove my mother home after a charity dinner because her taxi canceled.
But there was a problem.
My meeting had originally been scheduled for eleven.
Only three people knew.
Declan.
Me.
And Sheldon.
“Why are you still here?” I asked.
Sheldon looked at me.
“I work here.”
“It's after midnight.”
“So?”
“You normally leave by ten.”
“Apparently tonight isn't normal.”
Declan stepped between us.
“Gemma. Start from the beginning.”
I closed my eyes.
The beginning was 9:41 p.m.
I had been in my office at Morrow Financial Services, seventeen blocks away, staring at a set of transactions that made no sense.
The numbers themselves were ordinary.
That was what bothered me.
Criminal money rarely looked like criminal money.
It looked boring.
That was the point.
Consulting fees.
Property maintenance.
Equipment leases.
Transportation costs.
Forty-two payments totaling $18.6 million over three years.
Every one of them routed through companies controlled by people with no obvious connection to the Morrow organization.
Except one.
A company called Lakefront Municipal Logistics.
I had found the connection at 9:36.
Five minutes later, I called Declan.
“I found something.”
He didn't ask what.
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“Eleven.”
“I'll bring everything.”
“No email.”
“I know.”
“Encrypted phone only.”
“I know.”
Then the line disconnected.
At 10:17, I left my office.
At 10:21, I entered the Huron garage.
Level three.
My usual space.
The first man came from behind a concrete support column.
He was tall.
Dark jacket.
Baseball cap.
Nothing remarkable enough to remember.
“Ms. Cole?”
That stopped me.
Most people in Declan's organization called me Gemma.
People outside it called me Ms. Cole.
I turned.
The second man appeared behind me.
“Give us the device.”
“What device?”
The first man smiled.
“Don't make this difficult.”
My bag was over my shoulder.
I should have handed it over.
I knew that.
Smart people always imagined they would behave rationally in dangerous situations.
They wouldn't.
Fear doesn't negotiate with intelligence.
I turned and ran.
My bad decision lasted approximately four seconds.
The second man caught my coat.
I twisted.
The first grabbed the bag.
The strap didn't break.
I went down.
My leg hit the curb beside the parking space.
The pain was immediate.
Blinding.
Everything after that became fragments.
Concrete.
Rain blowing into the open side of the garage.
Someone swearing.
A hand pulling at my bag.
My own voice telling them to get away from me.
Then the first man found the encrypted phone.
“Got it.”
The second one immediately took out his own phone.
“Call.”
That was when I realized this wasn't robbery.
It wasn't intimidation.
They had one purpose.
The phone.
The second man stepped away.
I kept my eyes half closed.
He spoke quietly.
“We have the ledger device.”
Pause.
“Yes.”
Another pause.
Then he turned toward his partner.
“Tell Mr. Farris we have it.”
The first man laughed.
“Thought the old guy would never shut up.”
And through the attacker’s phone, faint but unmistakable, I heard a voice.
Sheldon's.
“Get out of there.”
Three words.
That was all.
But I knew them.
Seventeen months.
Monday meetings.
Lunches.
Late-night conference calls.
You don't forget a voice you hear every week.
Especially when it's the voice of someone you trusted.
“They left at approximately 10:28,” I told Declan.
“You're sure?”
“The garage camera clock was visible.”
“What happened next?”
“I couldn't stand.”
My mouth went dry.
“I tried calling you.”
“From what?”
“My regular phone.”
“Where is it?”
“Gone.”
Declan frowned.
“They took both?”
“No.”
“What happened to it?”
“I don't know.”
That was the first gap.
I remembered reaching inside my coat.
Remembered seeing the cracked screen.
Remembered dialing.
After that—
Nothing.
“What do you remember next?” Declan asked.
“Someone saying my name.”
His eyes sharpened.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“A man?”
“I think so.”
“You think?”
“My head hurt.”
Sheldon spoke from behind him.
“This is what I was talking about.”
Declan ignored him.
“What else?”
“Headlights.”
“Car?”
“I don't know.”
“Voice?”
“I couldn't see him.”
“What did he say?”
I tried to remember.
The memory felt submerged underwater.
A man's hand near my shoulder.
Not touching me.
Gemma.
Stay awake.
Then another phrase.
Something impossible.
Something that had made me try to look up.
“Gemma?”
Declan's voice pulled me back.
“There was somebody else in the garage after the attackers left.”
He became perfectly still.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
“You're sure?”
“I think he helped me.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
Sheldon sighed.
“This is exactly why—”
“Stop.”
Declan never raised his voice.
Sheldon stopped anyway.
Declan looked at me.
“How did you leave the garage?”
“Service elevator.”
“Alone?”
“I think so.”
“You walked?”
“Mostly leaned.”
“You have a broken leg.”
“Yes, Declan. I noticed.”
A security man near the door hid a reaction.
Declan didn't.
“How did you get from Huron to here?”
“Cab.”
“Name?”
“No idea.”
“License plate?”
“No.”
“Payment?”
“Cash.”
“You never carry cash.”
“I had forty dollars.”
“Where?”
“My coat pocket.”
Declan stared at me.
“What?”
His eyes moved to my coat.
The rain-soaked tan coat lay on the floor where one of the guards had dropped it.
Declan picked it up.
He checked the pockets.
Nothing.
“No wallet?”
“Bag was stolen.”
“Cash?”
“Gone.”
I frowned.
“I paid the driver.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-eight.”
Declan's eyes met mine.
“You said you had forty.”
“I did.”
“Then you should have twelve.”
Maybe it was shock.
Maybe pain medication.
But suddenly something felt wrong.
“I gave him everything.”
“Why?”
“He helped me upstairs.”
“To the private elevator?”
“Yes.”
Declan's head turned toward the security men.
“Who logged the cab?”
Neither answered.
Declan's expression changed.
“Pull the lobby cameras.”
One guard left immediately.
Sheldon checked his watch.
“I think we are losing perspective.”
I looked at him.
“Do you?”
He gave me a sympathetic expression.
“Gemma, you're injured. Someone stole sensitive information. You're frightened. That doesn't mean—”
“Your voice was on the phone.”
“Or a voice you believed was mine.”
Declan stepped toward him.
“Sheldon.”
The older man stopped.
Declan's voice was quiet.
“Give me your phone.”
That changed everything.
Sheldon stared at him.
“You're serious?”
“Phone.”
“We have known each other thirty years.”
“Then handing it over should be easy.”
Sheldon slowly reached into his jacket.
He placed the phone on the marble table.
Declan looked at one of the remaining guards.
“Unlock nothing. Touch nothing. Bag it.”
The guard obeyed.
Sheldon smiled without humor.
“You'll regret humiliating me.”
Declan's face showed nothing.
“If you're innocent, I'll apologize.”
“And if I'm not?”
“Then an apology won't matter.”
The elevator opened.
The security guard who had left came back quickly.
Too quickly.
His face was pale.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We checked the lobby feed.”
“And?”
“There was no cab.”
My stomach tightened.
“What do you mean?”
He looked at me.
“Ms. Cole didn't come through the main entrance.”
Declan turned toward me.
“There are three entrances.”
“We checked all three.”
“How did she get upstairs?”
The guard swallowed.
“The private elevator activated directly from parking level B2.”
I stared at him.
“This building?”
“Yes.”
“That can't be right.”
Declan's gaze hardened.
“You came up from this building's garage?”
“I came from Huron.”
“Gemma.”
“I swear.”
The guard shifted.
“There’s more.”
Declan looked at him.
“The B2 security camera went offline for seven minutes.”
“When?”
“11:46 to 11:53.”
The room seemed suddenly too warm.
I tried to sit straighter.
“What happened between Huron and here?” Declan asked.
“I told you.”
“No. You told me what you remember.”
His voice softened slightly.
“I need what happened.”
“I don't know.”
Then I remembered something.
The stranger's voice in the garage.
Gemma.
Stay awake.
Then the impossible phrase.
I looked at Declan.
“What?”
I whispered the words.
“He said, ‘Your father was right about Morrow.’”
Declan's face emptied.
The reaction was so severe that even Sheldon stopped pretending to look calm.
“My father has been dead for six years,” I said.
Declan leaned closer.
“What was your father's name?”
“You know his name.”
“Say it.”
“Thomas Cole.”
Sheldon looked toward the windows.
Declan noticed.
I noticed.
“Why?” I asked.
Declan didn't answer.
“Declan.”
He stood slowly.
Then he looked at Sheldon.
“What did Thomas Cole discover eighteen years ago?”
The blood seemed to leave Sheldon's face.
And that was the moment I understood something terrifying.
My attack hadn't started six weeks earlier when I began the audit.
It had started eighteen years earlier.
May you like
With my father.
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