Chương 6
I stared at the photograph until the pixels blurred.
The loading dock clock in the corner of the image showed 8:56 p.m., eighteen minutes before Elliot’s confirmation text and barely a minute after I had walked out of the ballroom.
Grant had been moving boxes before the trust transfer became official.
That meant he had either anticipated it or he had been planning to remove those records regardless.
I forwarded the image to Elliot without replying to the sender.
My phone rang almost immediately.
“Do not answer that number.”
“I didn’t.”
“Good.”
“Can you tell where the photo came from?”
“Not from the screenshot.”
“It looks like hotel security footage.”
“Possibly.”
“There you go again.”
“Possibly is keeping both of us out of trouble.”
I zoomed in.
The second man wore a dark maintenance jacket with the Meridian logo on the chest.
His face was turned away.
“Someone inside the hotel sent this.”
“Probably.”
“Elliot.”
“Fine, yes, most likely.”
The small victory did nothing for me.
“What does shredding mean?”
“It means someone intended to destroy paper.”
“I know what the word means.”
“Then don’t ask me to guess what was inside the boxes.”
I stood.
The apartment suddenly felt too small.
“I’m going to the hotel.”
“You’re going to my office at eight-thirty.”
“Those boxes may still exist.”
“Or they may not.”
“Exactly.”
“Mara.”
“He took them at eight fifty-six.”
“And the photo was sent at five forty-seven.”
“Yes.”
“Whoever sent it waited almost nine hours.”
I stopped.
That bothered me too.
“Why?”
“Could be fear.”
“Could be leverage.”
“Could be someone who only just learned what mattered.”
“Could be Grant.”
Elliot paused.
I knew I had surprised him.
“Why would Grant send a photograph of himself?”
“To make me look somewhere else.”
“That is not impossible.”
“Thank you.”
“Do not enjoy this.”
I looked at the unknown number again.
“Can we preserve the message?”
“Yes.”
“Can we identify the sender?”
“Maybe.”
I almost laughed.
“You’re doing it on purpose now.”
“I’ll have our investigator start after seven.”
“That feels late.”
“It is currently five fifty-three in the morning.”
“I know.”
“Some people still believe in night.”
I walked to the window.
A delivery truck was backing into the alley below with a steady electronic beep.
“Call Victor.”
“Why?”
“Because if those boxes left through the loading dock, there may be access logs.”
“You call him.”
“Why me?”
“Because I represent you and I enjoy remaining employable.”
“You represent the trust.”
“And the trust is currently controlled by someone who thinks caffeine is a legal strategy.”
I hung up and called Victor.
He answered sounding exactly as awake as he had at two in the morning.
“Please tell me this is about breakfast.”
“It’s not.”
“Then I resent you.”
“I have a photo from the loading dock at eight fifty-six last night.”
His tone changed.
“What photo?”
“Grant loading three banker boxes into a black SUV.”
Silence.
“With who?”
“Someone in a maintenance jacket.”
“Can you send it?”
“Elliot says not to circulate it.”
“Elliot is no fun.”
“I know.”
“Describe the jacket.”
“Black, Meridian logo, zip front.”
“That could be engineering, maintenance, banquet setup, or security.”
“Helpful.”
“I’m tired.”
“Do we have loading dock access logs?”
“Yes.”
“Preserved?”
“Yes.”
“Camera footage?”
“Being copied.”
“Who ordered shredding this morning?”
Victor went quiet.
“Why?”
“Because the person who sent the photo told me to ask Dad why those boxes were supposed to be shredded.”
A longer silence.
“Mara.”
“What?”
“There is a scheduled destruction pickup this morning.”
My mouth went dry.
“What time?”
“Seven.”
“What gets picked up?”
“Routine records approved for disposal.”
“Who approves them?”
“Department heads.”
“Finance?”
“Grant.”
I checked the time.
5:58.
“Cancel it.”
“I already can.”
“Do it.”
“Mara, if we cancel everything, whoever is watching may know we’re looking.”
That stopped me.
Victor sounded more awake now.
“What would you do?”
“Let the truck arrive.”
“For what?”
“See what’s staged.”
“You want to let them take it?”
“No.”
“I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I.”
“What if the wrong boxes are already on the truck?”
“The vendor doesn’t have access until security opens the service gate.”
“Who opens it?”
“Usually overnight security.”
I looked at the photo again.
Two guards had approached me in the ballroom.
Neither had been at the loading dock.
“Who was on the dock post at eight fifty-six?”
“I can check.”
“Do that.”
“Stay on.”
I heard his keyboard.
Then a chair squeaked.
“Marcos Rivera.”
“Do I know him?”
“Probably not.”
“Is he there now?”
“Shift ended at six.”
I checked the clock.
“Meaning he’s leaving right now.”
“Yes.”
“Stop him.”
Victor inhaled.
“I can ask him to remain for a routine incident review.”
“Do that.”
“Mara.”
“Yes?”
“If he refuses, I cannot detain him.”
“I know.”
I did know.
It was irritating how often everyone had to remind me that ownership was not magic.
“Call me back.”
Victor hung up.
At 6:06, my father called.
I let it ring once before answering.
“Are you awake?”
“No.”
A pause.
“Right.”
His voice sounded rough.
“Celeste left.”
“For Diane’s?”
“She says so.”
“Did she take anything?”
“Clothes.”
“The laptop?”
“No.”
“Her phone?”
“Yes.”
“That seems normal.”
“I’m trying to be precise.”
I appreciated that more than I wanted to.
“Did she talk to Grant?”
“She says no.”
“You believe her?”
Dad did not answer.
That was answer enough.
“Why are you calling?”
“Because Elliot sent me a preservation notice at five thirty in the morning.”
“That sounds like Elliot.”
“And because Arthur wants an emergency board meeting at nine.”
“That also sounds like Arthur.”
“I need to know what you plan to do.”
I looked at the photo again.
“Did you schedule financial records for shredding today?”
Dad went silent.
Not confused.
Silent.
“Dad.”
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped.
“What records?”
“Archived files from the old finance storage room.”
“Why today?”
“It has been scheduled for weeks.”
“Who chose the boxes?”
“Grant’s department.”
“Did you sign off?”
“Yes.”
May you like
“What was in them?”
“Old vendor files, purchasing records, closed project binders.”
