Chapter 4 - Dinner With Knives
Thomas Vale disappeared before security reached his apartment.
His phone went dark.
His car was found in a parking garage near O’Hare.
Nobody knew whether he had fled Chicago or had been removed from the board entirely.
The timing was perfect.
Too perfect.
Which was why Graham didn’t believe it.
“Thomas is cautious,” he said the next morning. “He wouldn’t walk into a camera.”
“Maybe he thought the footage was deleted.”
“He would verify.”
“Maybe he made a mistake.”
“Thomas doesn’t make that kind.”
We were standing in the kitchen of a secure apartment Elias had arranged.
I was making coffee.
Graham was looking through security reports.
Marriage, apparently.
No honeymoon.
No flowers.
Just federal subpoenas and an armed man in the hallway.
“Then someone wanted us to find him,” I said.
Graham looked up.
“Exactly.”
“So Thomas is either guilty and reckless, or framed.”
“Yes.”
“Do you trust him?”
A long pause.
“I did.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No.”
Honest.
Painfully so.
That evening, Evelyn Reed summoned us to dinner.
Graham refused.
Margaret told him that refusing would look weak.
He used several words not normally heard in boardrooms.
Two hours later we were driving north toward the Reed estate.
“You own a house like this?” I asked as iron gates opened.
“My mother does.”
“This isn’t a house.”
“No.”
“It has wings.”
“Yes.”
“It has a fountain bigger than my first apartment.”
“That seems possible.”
I looked at him.
“You’re enjoying this again.”
“A little.”
Inside, Reed family portraits watched us from walls paneled in dark wood.
Graham’s mother, Catherine Reed, met us in the entry hall.
Elegant.
Silver-blond hair.
A face built for charity galas and hostile takeovers.
She hugged Graham.
Then me.
I wasn’t prepared for that.
“You look exhausted,” she said.
“So does your son.”
“He always does.”
“Mother.”
“What?”
She led us into the dining room.
Julian was already there.
So was Evelyn.
Margaret sat near the fireplace.
Three other relatives I barely knew occupied the table.
Champagne stood untouched.
I chose water.
Experience.
The first ten minutes were polite.
That meant dangerous.
Then Evelyn placed her fork down.
“Avery, what are your intentions regarding the marriage?”
I looked at Graham.
He stared at his plate.
Coward.
“I’m still learning what my intentions were regarding the marriage.”
Julian laughed.
Catherine did not.
“You truly don’t remember?” she asked.
“Pieces.”
“How convenient,” Evelyn murmured.
Graham’s fork stopped.
I touched his wrist under the table.
He looked at me.
I shook my head.
My fight.
I turned to Evelyn.
“You think I married Graham for money.”
“I think sudden marriages involving wealthy men deserve scrutiny.”
“Fair.”
She seemed surprised.
I continued.
“If I wanted money, though, I probably wouldn’t have spent three years working eighty-hour weeks in infrastructure acquisition.”
“You expect us to believe ambition played no part?”
“It did.”
Graham looked at me.
I smiled at Evelyn.
“I’m ambitious. I like being good at my job. I like winning negotiations. I like walking into rooms where someone assumes I’m taking notes and watching their face when they realize I’m running the deal.”
Julian hid a smile behind his glass.
I leaned back.
“But if you’re asking whether I married your nephew to access his bank account, no. I’m pretty sure the man doesn’t even know his checking account password.”
Graham said, “I do.”
I turned.
“Not helping.”
Catherine laughed.
Tension broke.
Briefly.
Then Julian changed the subject.
“Thomas Vale.”
Graham’s face closed.
“What about him?”
“Security says he’s missing.”
“You seem informed.”
“I’m on the board.”
“So are twelve people who didn’t call him by first name yesterday.”
Julian folded his napkin.
“I’m trying to help.”
“You never do anything without a reason.”
“Neither do you.”
Catherine cut in.
“That’s enough.”
Silence.
Then she looked at me.
“Has Graham told you why Southwest Transit mattered to his father?”
I glanced at him.
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“Mother.”
“She deserves to know.”
“I’ll tell her.”
“When?”
“When it is safe.”
Catherine’s expression hardened.
“That was your father’s favorite word too.”
The room changed.
Graham went still.
Julian looked away.
I lowered my voice.
“What happened to your father?”
Graham stared at his mother.
“Not here.”
Catherine ignored him.
“My husband, Alexander, discovered irregular transfers inside Reed Global nine years ago.”
“I know part of that.”
“He believed someone was using infrastructure acquisitions to move money into private holding companies.”
“Who?”
“He never proved it.”
Graham said, “He tried.”
Catherine’s eyes glistened.
“Then he died.”
Nobody moved.
I knew Alexander Reed had died of a heart attack.
Publicly.
At fifty-eight.
“Was his death suspicious?”
Graham answered.
“No.”
Too fast.
I looked at him.
He corrected.
“Not medically.”
“What does that mean?”
“He was under enormous pressure. Board attacks. Lawsuits. Internal investigations.”
Catherine’s voice became quiet.
“Someone destroyed his credibility before he could finish.”
“How?”
“Fake emails. Altered contracts. Witness statements.”
My skin went cold.
Exactly what was happening to me.
I looked at Graham.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You knew they were using the same playbook.”
“I suspected.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“I wanted evidence first.”
“God, you really do lock everything away.”
Julian watched us carefully.
Graham heard the echo of his uncle’s words.
It hurt him.
Good.
Sometimes pain clarified.
Catherine stood.
“Come with me.”
She led us to Alexander’s study.
Nothing had been touched much.
Books.
Old drafting tools.
Infrastructure maps.
A framed photograph of Graham at maybe nineteen, standing beside his father on a bridge construction site.
He looked younger than I had ever imagined him.
Happy.
Catherine opened a cabinet.
“Alexander left one thing nobody understood.”
She handed Graham a notebook.
He stared.
“I’ve never seen this.”
“I found it after your wedding announcement.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“It reminded me of something he wrote.”
Graham opened the notebook.
Numbers filled the pages.
Dates.
Acquisition codes.
Then a phrase.
SOUTHWEST — COLLINS INDEX.
I froze.
“My name?”
“No,” Graham said.
He turned pages.
“Collins was an accounting method my father used. Cross-linked ledger index.”
I exhaled.
Then noticed something else.
Beside several transaction codes were initials.
J.R.
Julian Reed.
I looked toward the doorway.
Julian was standing there.
He saw the page.
And laughed.
“You think that proves something?”
Graham closed the notebook.
“It proves my father was looking at you.”
“My brother looked at everyone.”
“Why?”
“Because paranoia was consuming him.”
Catherine stepped forward.
“Don’t.”
Julian’s face softened.
“I loved Alexander.”
“You undermined him.”
“I stopped him from destroying the company.”
“With forged evidence?”
Julian stared at me.
“You’re very quick to believe your new husband.”
“No. I’m quick to recognize patterns.”
His smile disappeared.
Then every light in the house went out.
Darkness.
Someone screamed from the dining room.
Graham grabbed my hand.
“Stay with me.”
Emergency lights should have activated.
They didn’t.
A crash came from the hallway.
Elias shouted.
Then another sound.
Glass.
Graham pulled me toward the study wall.
“Behind me.”
“Stop doing that.”
“Tonight you can complain later.”
Footsteps rushed outside.
A phone vibrated in my pocket.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
One message.
YOUR WIFE KNOWS TOO MUCH.
I showed Graham.
His face changed.
Then another message arrived.
CHECK THE WINDOW.
We turned.
Across the dark lawn, beyond the study glass, a figure stood near the trees.
Watching us.
A red light blinked near his hands.
Camera.
Then the figure ran.
Graham moved toward the door.
I grabbed his arm.
“No.”
“He’s getting away.”
“That’s what he wants.”
Graham stopped.
He looked at me.
Then toward the hall.
He understood.
A distraction.
We ran back to the study.
May you like
The cabinet was open.
Alexander Reed’s notebook was gone.
