Chapter 9 - Forty Million Dollars and One Missing Witness
I had spent eight years in law school and legal practice learning how to remain calm under pressure.
None of that education prepared me for seeing my former colleague standing in Grand Central with two strangers blocking the nearest exit.
"Michael," I said pleasantly. "You look terrible."
His smile faltered.
"Still charming, I see."
"Did Whitmore send you, or are you freelancing for organized crime now?"
Sarah made a frightened sound.
Michael glanced at her.
"You've caused enough trouble."
"She did what you demanded," I said. "Leave her alone."
He stepped closer.
"We need the original ledger."
"So does everyone, apparently."
"Don't be difficult."
"Then stop asking stupid questions."
He looked irritated.
Good.
I needed him distracted.
My right hand remained inside my coat pocket, where my thumb rested against Griffin's emergency transmitter.
Michael lowered his voice.
"Charles Whitmore has protected you for years, Grace."
"Interesting way of describing attempted murder."
"You don't understand the situation."
"Then enlighten me."
"Your father took something that didn't belong to him."
"My father was an auditor."
"Your father was a fool who thought he could destroy powerful men with paperwork."
I felt a sudden, terrible clarity.
"You knew him."
Michael's expression changed.
"Of course I knew him."
"How?"
He leaned close.
"Because my father worked for Charles Whitmore too."
Before I could respond, he reached for my arm.
I pressed the transmitter.
A sharp whistle echoed from the opposite side of the concourse.
Michael turned.
Marco appeared near the stairs.
Two uniformed transit officers approached from another direction.
"Everything alright here?" one asked.
I stepped back.
"Actually, Officer, I believe this man is attempting to intimidate a witness in an ongoing federal investigation."
Michael released my arm.
"She's mistaken."
"Then you'll have no objection to remaining here while I explain."
He looked at Marco.
Then at the approaching officers.
His smile vanished.
Within seconds, he disappeared into the crowd.
Marco reached us.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Mr. Castellano is going to be very unhappy."
"Tell him to join the club."
Sarah began shaking.
I put my coat around her shoulders.
"We're getting Ethan back."
She looked up.
"You promise?"
I hesitated.
A promise like that wasn't something I could make lightly.
But I squeezed her hand.
"I promise we'll do everything possible."
That afternoon, Griffin arranged a meeting with Special Agent Naomi Brooks through his criminal defense attorney.
We met at a neutral law office in Midtown.
Naomi was in her early forties, with close-cropped dark hair and a manner that suggested she considered smiles an unnecessary administrative expense.
She looked at Griffin first.
"Castellano."
"Agent Brooks."
"I've imagined this meeting under different circumstances."
"Handcuffs?"
"Preferably."
He gestured toward me.
"Grace Holloway."
Naomi's expression shifted.
"You're supposed to be missing."
"Apparently."
She studied me.
"Whitmore & Associates reported that you left New York after removing confidential files."
"I did neither."
"We've been trying to locate Daniel Voss."
"So have we."
I placed Sarah's statement, travel account records, and copies of the forged trust documents on the table.
For thirty minutes, I explained everything.
Naomi listened without interruption.
When I finished, she leaned back.
"You understand what you're alleging?"
"Yes."
"A seventeen-year financial conspiracy involving Bellwether Holdings, attorney misconduct, corporate fraud, suspected witness intimidation, and potentially two suspicious deaths."
"That's the short version."
Naomi looked at Griffin.
"And where do you fit into this?"
He met her eyes.
"I'm prepared to provide information about the companies connected to my brother's transactions."
"All of it?"
"Everything relevant."
She didn't smile.
"That's going to require an attorney."
"I have several."
"Of course you do."
Our meeting changed when Sarah revealed Adrian had kidnapped Ethan.
Naomi immediately arranged for a separate investigative team to pursue the lead.
Then she turned to me.
"Miss Holloway, if the trust exists, retrieving its contents could be crucial."
"I think I know where my father hid the access information."
"Where?"
I looked toward Griffin.
"My childhood home."
"Who owns it now?"
I swallowed.
"That's the problem."
My mother had sold the house twelve years earlier.
The current owner was a property investment company.
I retrieved the address.
Naomi ran it through her database.
Her expression changed.
"What?" I asked.
She rotated the screen.
The current owner was a subsidiary of Bellwether Holdings.
My childhood home had been purchased by Adrian's company three years ago.
Exactly when my anonymous source first contacted me.
I stared at the screen.
"He knows."
Griffin slowly stood.
"He's been searching the property."
Naomi nodded.
"Apparently."
Then her phone rang.
She stepped outside.
When she returned, her expression was grim.
"We located Daniel Voss."
I rose immediately.
"Where?"
"At a private medical facility in Connecticut."
"Is he alright?"
"Alive."
I exhaled.
"But he's refusing to speak to investigators."
"Why?"
Naomi looked at me.
"He says he'll speak to only one person."
I already knew the answer.
"Me."
May you like
She nodded.
"And he claims the forty million dollars isn't the real reason people are being killed."
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