Chapter 7 - The Night They Tried to Destroy My Evidence
Rosa called me at 11:42 p.m.
She was whispering.
"I shouldn't be doing this, Mrs. Mercer."
"Claire," I reminded her. "And you don't have to do anything that puts you in danger."
"I already spent too long being afraid."
I sat up in Maya's guest bed.
"What did you find?"
"A folder. Mr. Adrian hid it inside your dressing table."
"Are you certain it belongs to him?"
"I watched him put it there on your wedding night."
My stomach tightened.
Wedding night.
While I had been downstairs saying goodbye to our guests, my husband had apparently been hiding financial documents inside my furniture.
"Please don't touch anything else," I said. "Photograph what you safely can and keep yourself out of trouble."
Rosa hesitated.
"There's something else."
"What?"
"Mr. Victor has been speaking with the security director. He wants every recording from Tuesday evening removed from the archive."
I sat completely still.
The dining-room recording.
Of course.
"When?"
"Tomorrow morning."
I called Rachel immediately.
Within an hour, she had drafted a preservation demand addressing potentially relevant security footage and other records.
She explained that obtaining footage lawfully might require additional procedures, but putting the Mercer family on notice was important.
At 7:15 the following morning, the letter was delivered to their legal representative.
At 7:39, Thomas Whitaker called Rachel.
Their conversation lasted twelve minutes.
Rachel called me afterward.
"He says the dining-room camera wasn't functioning."
I stared at the wall.
"That's convenient."
"Very."
"Can they prove it?"
"That's something we'll examine."
By noon, my employer had suspended me from certain sensitive client assignments pending the investigation into the outside consulting allegations.
Elena apologized personally.
"I don't believe you've done anything wrong, Claire. But the firm's procedures are mandatory."
"I understand."
And I did.
That didn't make it hurt less.
At two in the afternoon, Maya found me staring at my wedding photograph on my phone.
"Delete it if it upsets you."
I shook my head.
"No."
"Why keep it?"
"Because I want to remember that happiness isn't proof of safety."
Maya sat beside me.
"Your marriage isn't your entire story."
I looked at her.
"I know."
"Good. Because right now, we're going to make sure those men don't get to write the ending."
That evening, we arranged to meet Rosa at a public location away from the estate.
She arrived carrying a small grocery bag.
Her hands trembled as she placed it on the table.
Inside were photographs of the documents she had found, along with a small envelope bearing my name.
I opened it.
A handwritten note from Adrian.
Claire, sign these tomorrow after breakfast. Dad says they're standard family paperwork. Love you.
I felt a wave of nausea.
"He was going to ask me to sign them?"
Rosa nodded.
"Mr. Victor wanted it done before your honeymoon."
I studied the documents.
The guarantor provision was buried beneath several pages of dense contractual language.
Its effect, if valid, could expose the signer to significant financial obligations associated with the company.
My professional training immediately recognized several irregularities.
But the forged signature remained the most obvious problem.
"Rosa, why are you helping me now?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Because I knew Miss Natalie."
I waited.
"She was kind to everyone. She remembered birthdays. When my husband had surgery, she paid for his medication without telling anybody."
Rosa looked down.
"Then one day Mr. Victor accused her of stealing. Mr. Adrian stood there and said nothing."
"Did you believe the accusation?"
"No."
"Why didn't you speak up?"
"Because my husband was sick, and I needed the job."
Her voice broke.
"That was three years ago. My husband passed away last winter. I kept telling myself I should have done something."
I reached across the table and held her hand.
"You are doing something now."
She squeezed my fingers.
"Please don't let them do to you what they did to her."
"I won't."
At nine that evening, Maya and I returned to her apartment.
The front door was slightly open.
We stopped.
I knew I had locked it.
Maya pulled me backward.
"Don't go inside."
We moved to a safe distance and called the police.
When officers entered the apartment, they discovered drawers emptied, cushions overturned, and the guest-bedroom closet pulled apart.
My suitcase had been opened.
Several papers were scattered across the floor.
My laptop was missing.
So was the external backup drive I'd left in a locked cabinet.
Whoever had entered the apartment hadn't taken Maya's jewelry.
They hadn't taken the cash in her kitchen drawer.
They had gone directly for my belongings.
The police documented the scene and began investigating.
Maya stood beside me, furious.
"They broke into my home."
I stared at the empty cabinet.
"To find the recording."
"But they got your laptop."
I slowly reached into my handbag.
Inside was the small encrypted storage device containing the preserved original files.
My laptop had been a working copy.
The important material was elsewhere.
Maya followed my gaze.
A tiny smile appeared.
"Please tell me."
I nodded.
"I told you. I'm a compliance attorney."
Then my phone vibrated.
An email had arrived from an unfamiliar address.
Subject: YOU WERE WARNED.
May you like
The message contained only one sentence.
The next thing we take won't be replaceable.
Related Stories
