Chapter 4 - The Lawyer Who Knew Too Much
By three in the morning, I had learned three things.
My anonymous source had survived an attempted murder.
My employer might be involved in a criminal conspiracy.
And Griffin Castellano had an entirely different reason for wanting to question the same people I was investigating.
I sat at the townhouse dining table with Sarah beside me and four financial folders spread across the polished wood.
Griffin stood by the window, speaking quietly to Marco.
"Tell me everything about Elena," I said.
He ended the conversation.
"She worked for my father until his death."
"Seventeen years ago?"
"Yes."
"And now she's connected to Bellwether?"
"She's been working as an independent financial consultant under a different name."
"Why?"
Griffin pulled out a chair.
"Because my father's death wasn't an accident."
I opened my laptop.
He looked at the screen.
"How much do you know about the Castellano family?"
"Enough to understand why prosecutors find your surname interesting."
"Then you know my father, Thomas, controlled several shipping and real estate companies."
I nodded.
"Adrian was eighteen when our father died. I was twenty-four. Afterward, the businesses were divided."
"Why?"
"Because my father changed his will three weeks before his death."
"Who drafted it?"
Griffin hesitated.
Then he said, "Charles Whitmore."
My fingers went numb.
I stared at him.
"That's not possible."
"Why?"
"Whitmore & Associates wasn't involved in the Castellano estate."
"Not publicly."
He slid a yellowed document across the table.
At the bottom was a familiar signature.
Charles Whitmore.
I had seen that signature on thousands of documents.
I could have recognized it from across a courtroom.
"What is this?"
"A private amendment to my father's trust."
I read.
The amendment transferred control of Bellwether Holdings and several subsidiaries to Adrian.
It also established a complicated financing arrangement involving a third party.
I followed the corporate trail.
My heart began pounding.
"This holding company is connected to the missing forty million."
"Yes."
"And the beneficiary is concealed."
"That's what I've been trying to prove."
I glanced at the date.
November fourth.
The same date written on the anonymous photograph.
"What happened to your father that night?"
Griffin looked toward the fireplace.
"He received a call from someone he trusted. He left the family estate to meet them at the marina."
"And?"
"His boat was found the next morning."
I waited.
"The official report said mechanical failure. Elena told me years later that he'd discovered unauthorized transfers and planned to remove Adrian from Bellwether."
"Your brother was eighteen."
"Old enough to be ambitious. Not necessarily old enough to orchestrate everything."
"Whitmore."
"Possibly."
I leaned back.
For years, Charles Whitmore had taught me that every financial crime began with one small transaction somebody hoped nobody would notice.
What if he had been speaking from experience?
Sarah broke the silence.
"Grace."
I turned.
She had been examining our firm's internal travel records on her laptop.
"Something's wrong."
She pointed to an expense report.
My corporate account had been charged for the hotel reservation.
But the authorization hadn't come from my assistant profile.
It had come from a partner-level administrative login.
A login belonging to Charles Whitmore.
My mentor had approved the reservation.
At eleven seventeen that evening.
Nearly an hour after my real flight had been canceled.
I felt sick.
"We need to preserve this," I said.
"Already downloaded."
"Send a copy to my encrypted work archive."
Sarah stopped typing.
"Grace."
"What?"
"Your access has been revoked."
I stared.
"Revoked?"
She attempted another login.
A red warning appeared.
ACCOUNT DISABLED BY ADMINISTRATOR.
My phone was dead, but Sarah's rang almost immediately.
She read the incoming message.
"Oh, no."
"What is it?"
She handed me the screen.
It was a firm-wide announcement.
Whitmore & Associates regrets to announce that junior partner Grace Holloway has been placed on indefinite administrative leave pending an internal investigation into the unauthorized handling of confidential client materials.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
"They're destroying my credibility."
Griffin leaned over my shoulder.
"Not just your credibility."
He pointed to the final paragraph.
The firm had notified authorities that certain financial documents might have been removed without permission.
If those documents surfaced later, they could claim I had stolen or altered them.
And if I disappeared?
They could portray me as a dishonest attorney fleeing an investigation.
My career, my reputation, and possibly my freedom were being dismantled while I sat inside a stranger's townhouse.
I stood so suddenly that the chair scraped backward.
"I'm going to the police."
Griffin didn't stop me.
"Then we're going to the right people."
"What does that mean?"
"It means Adrian has connections inside the department. We need someone outside his reach."
"Who?"
"A federal investigator named Naomi Brooks."
"How do you know her?"
"She's spent five years trying to put me in prison."
I blinked.
"And you trust her?"
"No."
Griffin retrieved his coat.
"But I trust that she would enjoy putting my brother there first."
At that moment, Marco entered.
His face was grim.
"Boss. We have another problem."
Griffin turned.
"What?"
"Daniel Voss."
My breath caught.
"The deposition witness?"
Marco nodded.
"He left federal protective custody in Boston approximately forty minutes ago."
"Voluntarily?" I asked.
Marco shook his head.
"Someone collected him using credentials issued by Whitmore & Associates."
I stared at Sarah.
She stared back.
Then Marco showed us the identification photograph taken at the building entrance.
The man who had collected Daniel Voss was wearing a dark suit.
He had a familiar face.
I had shared an office corridor with him for six years.
"Michael?" I whispered.
Michael Bennett.
The senior associate who had congratulated me on making partner.
The man who was supposed to assist me at tomorrow's deposition.
May you like
He was smiling directly into the security camera.
And Daniel Voss had not been seen since.
