Chương 13
"Go."
"Good."
She disconnected.
Marcus took the phone from my hand.
"You told her too much."
"I know."
"You don't make mistakes when you're rested."
"I am beginning to understand why hospitals recommend sleep."
He placed the device face down.
"That could have been intentional."
"What?"
"You telling her about the trust."
I looked at him.
"No."
"People under pressure sometimes reveal information strategically without admitting it to themselves."
"That's a very elaborate way to say I screwed up."
"Maybe."
"I screwed up."
He nodded.
"Then we account for it."
I stared at him.
"You're annoyingly healthy about failure."
"No, I'm annoyingly practical."
"Same disease."
He checked the room door, then returned to the chair.
"Who knew about the reserve account structure?"
"Executive finance, treasury, audit, board finance committee."
"Jonathan?"
"Not directly."
"Could he have learned through you?"
I thought about dinners.
Trips.
Conversations in the kitchen when I answered calls on speaker because my hands were covered in flour or paint or pregnancy lotion.
"Yes."
The admission sat heavily.
"What about hardware authentication?"
"He had no access."
"Your devices?"
"No."
"Ever?"
I stopped.
Marcus saw it.
"What?"
"During the fertility treatment."
"What about it?"
"I was in and out of procedures."
I looked at the ceiling again.
"Jonathan carried my bag sometimes."
"With your token?"
"Yes."
"Unlocked?"
"The token isn't enough."
"Pin?"
"He knew my old one."
"Old?"
"I changed it last year."
"Why?"
I looked at him.
"Because he guessed it."
Marcus leaned back.
"What was it?"
"I'm not telling you."
"That bad?"
"My mother's birthday."
He almost smiled.
"Very advanced cybersecurity."
"She was dead."
"That doesn't make it better."
"I know."
Another contraction began.
I stopped speaking.
Marcus saw my hand move toward my abdomen.
He checked his watch without comment.
The pain rose, held, then slowly released.
"Seven minutes."
"Better."
"Maybe."
A nurse entered before either of us called.
She checked the monitor strip, adjusted the belt, and asked whether I needed the bathroom.
The question felt almost offensively mundane.
I did.
Marcus left the room while the nurse helped me stand.
My legs shook.
The walk to the bathroom was six steps.
It felt longer than the fall.
I caught sight of myself in the mirror while washing my hands.
Bruised shoulder.
Swollen eyes.
Hospital gown open slightly at the neck.
Someone had combed most of the salt knots from my hair, but one side still stood up strangely.
I looked less like a woman defending a billion-dollar company than someone who had lost a fight with a laundry machine.
For some reason, that helped.
When I returned to bed, there was a paper cup of orange soda on the table.
I looked at Marcus.
"Where did that come from?"
"Vending machine."
"You left?"
"Forty feet."
"I thought you were protecting me."
"I assessed the Sprite as a low threat."
"It's orange."
"That reduced the risk further."
I took a sip.
It was too sweet.
Perfect.
For five minutes, neither of us discussed attempted murder, forged documents, stolen credentials, or offshore accounts.
I drank soda.
Marcus read the ingredient label on a packet of crackers as if it might contain classified material.
The baby kicked twice.
The second kick made the monitor belt shift.
I adjusted it.
Then Marcus's secure phone vibrated.
He looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
"Federal liaison."
He answered.
"Reed."
He listened.
"Yes."
Another pause.
"Confirmed?"
He looked at me.
"How long ago?"
His jaw tightened.
"Understood."
He disconnected.
"What?"
"David Bell is gone."
"Gone where?"
"Nobody knows."
"Home?"
"His house is empty."
"Office?"
"Cleared out."
"Airport?"
"Agents are checking."
I placed the soda down.
"When did he leave?"
"His building garage shows his car exiting at nine forty-six tonight."
"Before the transfer attempt."
"Yes."
"Did he know Jonathan had been arrested?"
"The airfield operation wasn't public yet."
"But somebody could have told him."
"Yes."
"His phone?"
"Off since ten twelve."
I thought about the anonymous message.
YOU SHOULD HAVE SIGNED THE ORIGINAL.
"What about the number that texted me?"
"Prepaid device."
"Location?"
"Last tower contact near Coral Gables."
"Bell lives where?"
"Coral Gables."
That was the first piece that felt solid.
"Do not assume it's him."
"I don't."
"You sound like you do."
"I sound like the geography is interesting."
"Better."
Marcus's phone vibrated again.
A second message.
He read it.
Then looked at me.
"What now?"
"The FBI found a document shredder running in Bell's office."
"Running?"
"Jammed."
"With what?"
"They're still recovering it."
I felt something inside me tighten that had nothing to do with labor.
"Convenient."
"Maybe."
"Too convenient."
"Maybe."
"Anyone can jam a shredder."
"Yes."
"Anyone can leave an office looking abandoned."
"Yes."
I hated how easily a clue could become bait once you stopped trusting the person who placed it in front of you.
"Where is Jonathan?"
"Federal holding."
"Has he asked for Bell?"
"No."
"Lawyer?"
"Another attorney from the same firm arrived."
"Name?"
"Susan Harker."
I recognized that name too.
One of the partners.
Older.
Careful.
Never at dinner.
"Did Jonathan ask for her?"
"No."
"Then who sent her?"
"The firm."
"Or Bell."
Marcus did not answer.
I reached for the orange soda again.
The sweetness had become unpleasant.
"Can Jonathan make calls?"
"Not freely."
"Does he know about the failed transfer?"
"Not that we're aware."
"Trust amendment?"
"Agents haven't questioned him on it yet."
"Good."
Marcus watched me.
"You want to talk to him."
"No."
"That was too fast."
"I do not want to talk to him."
"You want to see what he does when he learns you're alive."
I looked at him.
"That's different."
"Marginally."
"I want to know whether he is surprised by the transfer."
"Agents can assess that."
"I want to assess it."
"You're in a hospital."
"I have noticed."
"Victoria."
"I am not leaving."
He waited.
"Good."
"I want a recorded interview feed when they question him."
"That may not be allowed."
"Ask."
"I can ask."
"After he has counsel."
May you like
"Obviously."
"Obviously is becoming a dangerous word tonight."
