Chapter 5 - The Man Grant Trusted Most
Grant held the phone between them.
“Explain.”
Nora stared at the police report.
“I can.”
“That’s becoming your favorite phrase.”
“It was dismissed.”
“The report doesn’t say that.”
“Look at the case number.”
Grant did.
Daniel pulled the public record on his laptop.
“Charges were dropped six weeks later,” he confirmed.
Grant’s gaze stayed on Nora.
“Why were you arrested?”
“Mara.”
That answer did not help.
Nora took a slow breath.
“About three years ago, she became convinced someone was monitoring financial transactions connected to her real identity. She needed access to foundation records.”
“So you stole an identity?”
“No.”
“What did you do?”
“I used Mara’s old credentials.”
Grant’s face tightened.
“To access Mercer Foundation?”
“Yes.”
“That is a federal crime.”
“I know.”
“What were you looking for?”
“Project Harbor.”
Grant folded his arms.
“Did you find it?”
“A payment chain.”
Daniel leaned closer.
“Explain.”
“Money moved from the Mercer Hope Foundation into three shell charities. Then to consulting companies overseas.”
“How much?”
“At the time? About forty million dollars.”
Grant went still.
Forty million.
“That’s impossible.”
“Apparently not.”
“Who authorized it?”
“The signatures were electronic.”
“Whose?”
Nora looked at Grant.
“Yours.”
Silence.
Grant laughed once.
Someone had used his security credentials to alter footage.
Someone had used his electronic authorization to move foundation money.
“Convenient.”
Nora nodded.
“That’s what Mara thought.”
“Where are the records?”
“Gone.”
“Why?”
“Someone detected the login.”
“And you were arrested.”
“Two days later.”
“Who reported you?”
Nora’s expression hardened.
“Owen Kessler.”
Grant looked toward Daniel.
“True?”
Daniel searched.
“Yes.”
Grant’s chest tightened.
Owen had sent him the arrest record without mentioning he had initiated the complaint.
“How did Owen know it was you?” Grant asked.
“He claimed his cybersecurity team traced the breach.”
“And after charges were dropped?”
“I disappeared from his radar.”
“Why were they dropped?”
“Mara anonymously supplied evidence that the login had been used only to access records, not steal money. The prosecutor decided not to pursue it.”
“You could have contacted me.”
“And said what? Hello, your dead wife is hiding in my apartment and thinks your best friend tried to kill her?”
“My wife was never declared dead.”
Nora softened.
“Sorry.”
Grant looked again at Owen’s message.
We need to talk about Nora before you make a terrible mistake.
He typed:
Come to my office. One hour.
Nora stared at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Finding out whether he lies.”
“You cannot confront him.”
“I didn’t say I would.”
Grant turned to Daniel.
“I want recording equipment in the office.”
“Already secured.”
“And Sophie?”
“Two guards.”
“Nora stays with her.”
Nora shook her head.
“No.”
Grant looked at her.
“You’re not part of this conversation.”
“Exactly. Owen needs to believe you turned against me.”
Grant considered her.
“What are you suggesting?”
“Fire me.”
An hour later, Owen arrived.
Grant sat behind his desk.
The music box lay prominently on the table.
He had placed it there deliberately.
Owen noticed instantly.
“Family heirloom?”
Grant shrugged.
“Sophie likes it.”
Owen sat.
“You got my message.”
“Yes.”
“Then Nora?”
“Gone.”
Owen blinked.
“That quickly?”
“I don’t tolerate deception.”
“You did the right thing.”
Too quick.
No hesitation.
Grant poured two drinks.
“You knew about her arrest?”
“I made the report.”
“You left that part out.”
Owen accepted the glass.
“I didn’t want you thinking I was influencing you.”
Grant almost admired the answer.
“What did she steal?”
“Credentials. Sensitive financial information.”
“Why?”
“Fraud.”
“What kind?”
“She was trying to extort the foundation.”
Grant leaned back.
“Did she?”
“No.”
“Then why were charges dropped?”
Owen smiled.
“You know prosecutors.”
Grant did.
He also knew Owen.
Or thought he did.
“Did Nora ever mention Mara?”
The glass stopped halfway to Owen’s mouth.
Only slightly.
“No.”
Grant watched.
“Interesting.”
“Why?”
“She told Sophie she knew her.”
Owen put down the glass.
“Grant.”
There it was.
Fear.
Not surprise.
Fear.
“What?”
“You need to be careful.”
“Of a maid?”
“Of people who know what you want to hear.”
Grant said nothing.
Owen leaned forward.
“You have spent five years chasing ghosts because somebody tells you they saw Mara in an airport, a hotel, a grocery store. You cannot keep doing this.”
“This is different.”
“Why?”
Grant opened the music box.
The ballerina began turning.
Owen’s face changed.
It lasted less than a second.
But Grant saw it.
“You remember this?”
“Of course.”
“How?”
“Mara had it.”
“Where?”
Owen frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Where did you see it?”
“At the house.”
“This house?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. Years ago.”
Grant nodded.
He had the answer he needed.
Mara never brought the music box downstairs.
She kept it in Sophie’s nursery.
Owen had rarely been upstairs while Mara lived there.
But Grant did not challenge him.
Instead he sighed.
“I’m tired.”
Owen relaxed slightly.
“I know.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“About what?”
“Maybe I need to stop searching.”
Owen said nothing for two seconds.
Then:
“I think Mara would want you to live.”
Grant looked at him.
It was a phrase Owen had used dozens of times.
For years it had sounded compassionate.
Now it sounded convenient.
After Owen left, Grant remained seated.
Daniel entered from the adjoining room.
“Well?”
“He lied.”
Daniel nodded.
“Several times.”
Nora stepped out behind him.
She had not been fired.
Sophie was upstairs with Mrs. Hargrove.
Grant stared at the door Owen had used.
“I want everything on him.”
Daniel hesitated.
“There may be a complication.”
“What?”
“We traced the administrative login from the night Mara disappeared.”
Grant turned.
“The security footage?”
“Yes.”
“What device?”
Daniel set a tablet on the desk.
“It came from a laptop registered to Mercer Holdings.”
“Whose?”
Daniel opened the record.
Grant’s name was not on it.
Neither was Owen’s.
It belonged to the sixth executive who had received a compass cuff link.
Elias Mercer.
Grant’s supposedly dead uncle.
Nora frowned.
“You said he died three years ago.”
“He did.”
“How?”
“Heart attack.”
“Did you see the body?”
Grant paused.
“No.”
“The funeral?”
“Closed casket.”
“Who identified him?”
Grant already knew the answer before he checked.
Owen Kessler.
The room went silent.
Then Grant’s phone received an email.
No sender name.
Just one photograph.
Mara standing beside a weathered house with a blue door.
Taken that morning.
Alive.
Written beneath it:
May you like
If you want your wife back, come alone.
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