Chapter 5 - The Man Inside Hayes Capital
Daniel Keller had known Desmond Hayes since they were both nineteen.
Before the tailored suits.
Before Hayes Capital.
Before politicians answered their calls.
Before Desmond controlled half the riverfront through corporations with respectable names.
They had worked loading docks together.
They had fought together.
They had once slept in the back office of a warehouse for three months because neither could afford rent.
If somebody had asked Desmond the night before which man in the world he would trust to stand behind him with a loaded weapon, Daniel Keller would have been near the top of the list.
By sunrise, Desmond was considering whether Daniel had spent fourteen years betraying him.
“Could be coincidence,” Marco said.
They were in Desmond’s private conference room.
Beatrice sat at the table.
Evan stood near the window under guard.
Desmond remained at the head.
“No,” Beatrice said.
Marco glanced at her.
“You sound certain.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences involving shell corporations and hidden ledgers.”
“Neither do I,” Desmond said.
Evan turned.
“Keller bought the house?”
“Through Halcyon Residential.”
Evan closed his eyes.
“What?”
“I know that name.”
Desmond became still.
“How?”
“Northlake used Halcyon years ago.”
Beatrice leaned forward.
“For what?”
“Asset storage.”
“Money?”
“Documents. Property. Occasionally people.”
Marco’s expression hardened.
Desmond asked, “Did Keller ever meet Rourke?”
“Not that I saw.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
Evan looked ashamed.
“Hundreds of times.”
Beatrice stared at him.
“For fourteen years?”
“Not all fourteen.”
“Then how long?”
“Ten.”
She stood abruptly.
“I need coffee.”
“Bee—”
“Do not call me that.”
Evan went silent.
She left the room.
Desmond waited three seconds.
Then followed.
Beatrice stood alone in the executive kitchen.
Her hands gripped the marble counter.
Desmond closed the door.
“I’m fine.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You were going to.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“What were you going to say?”
“I was going to tell you to sit down.”
“Very compassionate.”
“You’re shaking.”
She looked at her hands.
They were.
Beatrice turned away.
“My mother waited for him every Christmas.”
Desmond said nothing.
“She left the porch light on.”
His expression changed.
“Every Christmas.”
“She believed he’d come home.”
“She died believing it?”
“Yes.”
He moved closer.
Beatrice laughed quietly, painfully.
“And meanwhile he was working for Thomas Rourke.”
“You don’t know why yet.”
“Does the reason matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because reasons matter when the person matters.”
She looked at him.
The words hung between them.
Desmond rarely explained himself.
He certainly did not discuss feelings.
Yet Beatrice had worked beside him long enough to understand what he had almost said.
“Does he matter?” she asked.
“He matters to you.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Desmond met her eyes.
“No.”
She waited.
“You matter.”
Neither moved.
For five years, something had lived beneath every conversation they never finished.
A glance held too long.
A hand withdrawing too quickly.
Jealousy disguised as annoyance.
Concern disguised as authority.
Beatrice had spent years convincing herself it was imagination.
Now Desmond stood less than two feet away and the lie became impossible.
His voice lowered.
“That is why you never go to another airfield alone.”
She almost smiled.
“Romantic.”
“I wasn’t attempting romance.”
“I know.”
“That would look different.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Would it?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
A knock interrupted.
Marco.
Desmond’s expression could have ended careers.
Beatrice stepped away quickly.
“Come in.”
Marco opened the door.
“I found something.”
They returned to the conference room.
A property history appeared on the screen.
Halcyon Residential had purchased the Gallagher house eleven years ago.
Sold it eight months later.
Bought it back four years after that.
Sold again.
Then purchased it a third time only six months ago.
“Why keep reacquiring the same property?” Beatrice asked.
Marco answered.
“Because somebody keeps searching it.”
Evan stared.
“They never found the compartment.”
“Maybe.”
Desmond looked at him.
“Where exactly?”
“Under the staircase.”
“Specific.”
“Third step from the bottom. The vertical board comes loose.”
Marco nodded.
“I’ll send a team.”
“No,” Beatrice said.
Everyone turned.
“If Keller is monitoring the house, a security team confirms we know.”
“Then we monitor first,” Marco said.
Desmond shook his head.
“We go.”
Marco sighed.
“Of course we do.”
Beatrice pointed at Desmond.
“You are not going personally.”
He looked at her.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“You object when I tell you what to do.”
“This is different.”
“How?”
She opened her mouth.
Stopped.
Marco suddenly became intensely interested in the monitor.
Evan looked between them.
“Oh.”
Beatrice glared.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You said ‘oh.’”
“I understand.”
“Understand what?”
Evan gave Desmond a cautious look.
“You two are…”
“No,” Beatrice said immediately.
Desmond said nothing.
Her head snapped toward him.
“You could participate.”
“In your denial?”
“There’s nothing to deny.”
Evan nearly smiled.
After fourteen years of absence, even he could apparently read the room.
Desmond returned to the screen.
“We go after dark.”
The Gallagher house stood in Beverly on Chicago’s South Side.
Three stories.
Red brick.
White trim.
The current owners were an older couple vacationing in Arizona.
Convenient.
Too convenient.
At 9:20 p.m., Desmond, Marco and Beatrice entered through the rear door.
Beatrice stopped in the kitchen.
The room had changed.
New cabinets.
New tile.
But the window above the sink remained.
For one second she was nineteen again.
Her mother making tea.
Evan stealing food.
Her father complaining about baseball.
Desmond noticed her expression.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
It was a lie.
He knew it.
He let her keep it.
They found the staircase.
Third step.
Marco removed the vertical board.
Nothing.
Beatrice’s heart dropped.
“Empty.”
Desmond crouched.
He ran his fingers along the interior wood.
“Recently cleaned.”
Marco aimed a flashlight.
Scratches.
Fresh.
Someone had been there.
Beatrice whispered, “We’re late.”
A sound came from upstairs.
All three froze.
Footsteps.
Marco reached inside his coat.
Desmond motioned toward the wall.
The footsteps descended slowly.
A shadow appeared.
Then a familiar voice.
“You always were stubborn, Des.”
Daniel Keller stepped into view.
He wore no coat.
No tie.
No visible weapon.
Desmond stared.
Daniel smiled sadly.
“You should have left the house alone.”
Beatrice’s pulse accelerated.
Desmond’s voice was ice.
“Why do you own it?”
Daniel looked toward the open stair.
“Because I’ve been trying to find the same thing Rourke wants.”
“The ledger.”
“Yes.”
“Are you his source?”
Daniel laughed.
“No.”
“Then whose?”
“You’re asking the wrong question.”
“Try me.”
Daniel’s expression changed.
“You think Rourke is the enemy.”
“He is.”
“He’s an enemy.”
A pause.
“Not the enemy.”
Desmond took one step closer.
“Who?”
Daniel looked at Beatrice.
Then toward Marco.
“Someone who knows every account.”
Beatrice felt cold.
Daniel continued.
“Someone who knows every legal defense before you make it.”
Desmond understood first.
“No.”
Daniel nodded.
“Yes.”
Nathan Vaughn.
Hayes Capital’s general counsel.
The attorney who had protected Desmond for thirteen years.
Daniel swallowed.
“And if Nathan realizes you know, he won’t run.”
“What will he do?”
Daniel looked toward the windows.
“He’ll destroy everything tying him to Rourke.”
A flash illuminated the night.
Not lightning.
Across the city, forty-eight stories above the Chicago River, an explosion of sparks erupted inside Hayes Tower.
Desmond’s phone began ringing.
Marco answered his simultaneously.
Security alarms screamed through both devices.
Then came the message that changed the entire war.
FIRE ON EXECUTIVE FLOOR. SERVER ROOM COMPROMISED.
Someone was burning the evidence.
May you like
And Nathan Vaughn had disappeared.
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