Chương 6
Adrian almost answered no.
Then he laughed once.
It sounded tired.
“How much time do you have?”
They spent the next hour on names.
Business competitors.
Executives.
Former partners.
Family members with no realistic access.
Adrian hated himself for considering Rachel for half a second simply because the question required categories.
Then they reached Malcolm Voss.
Brooks looked at his notes.
“Chief financial officer?”
“Yes.”
“Relationship?”
“Friend. Colleague. Twelve years.”
“Who took on additional authority after your accident?”
“Malcolm, Claire, our chief operating officer, division presidents. It was distributed.”
“Who benefited most?”
“I don’t know what you mean by benefited.”
“Influence. Compensation. Access.”
“Malcolm’s authority increased.”
“Did your wife know him socially?”
“Yes.”
“How well?”
“We’ve had dinners together. Holidays. Company events.”
“Privately?”
Adrian looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
Torres said, “Any reason to think they were involved romantically?”
“No.”
“Financially?”
“No.”
“Then why did you pause?”
He had not known he paused.
“There was a disagreement before my accident.”
“With Voss?”
“Yes.”
“About?”
“A set of vendor contracts.”
“What kind?”
“Advisory and technology services.”
“Anything illegal?”
“I didn’t know. The pricing was unusual. We started an internal review.”
“And after your accident?”
Adrian leaned back.
“I assumed the review continued.”
Torres asked, “Did it?”
He reached for his phone.
Then stopped.
For the first time in his adult life, Adrian understood why people hated being asked obvious questions by police.
Because sometimes the obvious question revealed you had failed to ask it yourself.
He called Claire.
“Where’s the vendor review from January?”
Silence.
“Which review?”
“North Harbor, Ellison Digital, the consulting renewals.”
Another pause.
“Malcolm said you closed that.”
“When?”
“March.”
“I was in inpatient rehab in March.”
“He had an authorization.”
“From who?”
“From you.”
Adrian felt his throat go dry.
“Send me everything.”
“Adrian—”
“Everything.”
He ended the call.
Torres said nothing.
Neither did Brooks.
Adrian hated them for the courtesy.
Claire sent twelve documents within twenty minutes.
One contained Adrian’s electronic approval.
He stared at it for a long time.
The signature itself was not the issue. He had used digital approval systems for years.
The timestamp was.
March 11, 10:42 p.m.
On March 11, Adrian had been in a rehabilitation hospital struggling with an infection after surgery.
He remembered almost nothing from that week except ceiling tiles and Madison spooning ice chips into his mouth because his hands shook.
He called Claire back.
“Was I sent this approval request directly?”
“Yes.”
“Who was with me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who initiated the workflow?”
“Malcolm’s office.”
Adrian looked at Torres.
“Can you send the source records to my attorney and preserve everything?”
Claire’s tone changed.
“What is happening?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Is Malcolm involved in what happened at the house?”
“I said I don’t know.”
“Then why are you asking me to preserve his records?”
“Because I should have done it months ago.”
Claire was quiet.
When she spoke again, some of the professional distance was gone.
“You need outside counsel.”
“I know.”
“And independent forensic review.”
“I know.”
“And you need to stop calling company employees yourself if there’s a criminal investigation.”
He closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“Good. Nice to see the hospital improved you.”
He hung up.
Torres almost smiled.
“Does everyone talk to you like that?”
“Only the people who still work for me.”
That evening Adrian moved into the downstairs guest suite because climbing the stairs exhausted him and because the master bedroom felt contaminated by memory.
Sophie insisted on sleeping in the adjoining sitting room.
He told her no.
She stood in the doorway holding a pillow.
“I’m not leaving you alone.”
“I’m not alone.”
“Benjamin doesn’t count.”
From the hall Benjamin said, “I’m wounded, Miss Sophie.”
She ignored him.
Adrian rubbed his eyes.
“You have your own bed.”
“So do you.”
“That’s not an argument.”
“Yes, it is.”
He looked at Rachel.
She shrugged.
“Your bloodline.”
Sophie slept on the sofa.
At midnight, Adrian woke to the sound of her moving.
He switched on the small lamp beside his bed.
She was standing in the doorway.
“What is it?”
“I had to pee.”
“Okay.”
She stayed there.
He pushed himself upright.
“Bad dream?”
“No.”
“Do you want water?”
“No.”
Another silence.
“Is Madison bad?”
Adrian looked at the shadows beneath his daughter’s eyes.
“Madison did something dangerous.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He almost smiled.
He was beginning to understand how exhausting he must have been at seven.
“I don’t know how to answer that.”
“If somebody does bad things, they’re bad.”
“Sometimes.”
“Then why not her?”
He pulled the blanket off his legs and sat on the side of the bed.
His hip throbbed.
“Because people can do terrible things and still have parts of them that aren’t terrible.”
“That sounds fake.”
“Maybe.”
Sophie picked at the doorframe.
“She used to make my braids better than Dad braids.”
“I remember.”
“She taught me how to float.”
“I remember that too.”
“Can I hate her and miss her?”
Adrian swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Do you?”
The question returned.
He looked at the empty space beside the bed that had belonged to Madison for six years.
“Yes,” he said.
Sophie nodded as if he had finally answered correctly.
Then she went to the bathroom.
The next morning, Malcolm Voss called.
Adrian almost let it go to voicemail.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“Adrian.”
Malcolm’s voice carried the concerned restraint he used with grieving employees.
“I heard what happened. Jesus Christ.”
“Did you?”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“I’ve been trying to reach you since last night.”
“No, you haven’t.”
A pause.
“I spoke with Claire.”
“Then you know I’m alive.”
“Of course I know you’re alive.”
“Good.”
“Adrian, the board is terrified. Reporters are outside our offices. Someone is circulating a photo of you standing.”
Adrian looked toward the wheelchair parked beside his desk.
“I can stand.”
“Apparently.”
Something in Malcolm’s tone changed on the word.
Barely.
Adrian heard it anyway.
He let the silence extend.
May you like
Malcolm filled it.
“I mean, I had no idea your recovery had progressed that far.”
