Chương 4
“What?”
“He said, ‘Your father already made his choice.’”
Damian did not move.
“I asked what choice. He walked out. A few minutes later the lights blinked. Marcus texted that you were coming. I took the bag and left the sitting room.”
“Where were you going?”
“To meet you in the corridor.”
“And then?”
“I heard someone behind me.”
“Did you see who?”
“No. A hand grabbed the bag. I held on. They pulled harder. My heel broke. I hit the floor.”
“Was it a man?”
“I don’t know.”
“Height? Voice? Smell?”
“Dad.”
“I need something.”
“I know.”
She took a shallow breath. “A sleeve. Dark fabric. Gloves, I think. There was a smell like… cedar. Or smoke. I don’t know. Then something hit the side of my head.”
“The bag?”
“Gone.”
“Did the person leave toward the main hall or the west stairs?”
“I don’t remember.”
“What did you mean when you said locking the gates was what he wanted?”
Celeste’s face tightened with effort. “Because if Peter wanted the records, he wouldn’t carry them through a gate. Not with security searching cars. He’d hide them inside. Locking the estate traps everyone with the evidence and gives him a reason to control the search.”
“Grant controls the search.”
“That’s my point.”
Damian sat very still.
Celeste opened her eyes. “You trust Grant because he used to protect senators.”
“I trust him because for seven years he has protected this family.”
“He protected the estate. That isn’t the same thing.”
The nurse entered and told Damian the visit was over.
Celeste reached for his wrist before he could stand.
“Don’t turn this into vengeance.”
“Someone struck you.”
“And three men burned to death.”
“I’m aware.”
“No. You’re angry. Those aren’t the same.”
He left without answering.
Marcus was waiting in the corridor. He had bought two coffees from the lobby kiosk and forgotten which one contained sugar. He offered Damian both. Damian took neither.
“I need the full security logs,” Damian said. “Not Grant’s summary. Raw access data, camera status, door sensors, Wi-Fi connections, vehicle movement.”
“From the estate system?”
“And the company network.”
“That will alert legal.”
“Good.”
“Peter too, if he’s connected.”
“Good.”
Marcus nodded but did not move.
“What?” Damian asked.
“There’s something I should tell you.”
Damian waited.
“When Celeste texted me, I entered her visit on the internal schedule so the gate would clear her car. I marked it private, but executive protection can see private entries.”
“Grant saw it.”
“His office could.”
“Peter?”
“His assistant has access to your evening schedule.”
“Why?”
“Because you told me three years ago that Peter was to have everything you had.”
Damian looked through the glass at his daughter.
Marcus swallowed. “I also told Peter she was waiting.”
“When?”
“At nine twenty-six. He asked why she had arrived unexpectedly. I said she wanted to speak with you.”
“Did you mention the bag?”
“No.”
“Did you ask why he cared?”
“He said she had been making inquiries about the Halcyon Star and that legal wanted all communication coordinated.”
“You knew she was investigating?”
“I knew she had requested foundation records concerning the dead crewmen’s families. I didn’t know about the audit documents.”
“You could have told me.”
“I could have.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Marcus looked down at the coffee cups. “Because every time Celeste’s name comes up, you ask whether she needs something, not what she’s doing. I thought she should be allowed to tell you herself.”
Damian almost dismissed him. The response was too personal, too close to Celeste’s accusation. Then he noticed Marcus’s hand. The cup in it had begun to buckle beneath his fingers.
“You’re frightened,” Damian said.
“Yes.”
“Of me?”
“No.”
“Then say what you’re frightened of.”
Marcus looked up. “That whoever knew she was coming learned it through me.”
The vending machine across the corridor released a bag of chips with a sudden clatter. Both men turned toward the sound. The man in paint-stained clothes retrieved the bag and walked away without looking at them.
Damian took one of the coffees. It was overly sweet and barely warm.
“Get the logs,” he said. “Use an outside firm.”
“Which one?”
“Call Naomi Keene.”
Marcus blinked. “You fired her.”
“I know.”
Naomi Keene answered on the fourth ring and laughed once when Marcus identified himself.
“No,” she said.
“I haven’t asked yet.”
“You’re calling after midnight from Damian Royce’s office. You fired me six years ago. Whatever you’re about to ask, the answer is no.”
Marcus stepped farther down the hospital corridor. “Celeste was attacked at the estate.”
The silence on the line changed.
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
“How bad?”
“Concussion. She’s stable.”
“Who did it?”
“We don’t know.”
“Then why are you calling me?”
“Because three cameras failed during a scheduled maintenance window, an evidence bag disappeared, and Damian doesn’t trust his own security director.”
Naomi exhaled. “Does he trust you?”
“Less than he did an hour ago.”
“That may be the first intelligent development of the evening.”
“Will you help?”
“No.”
“Naomi.”
“Your company used my internal findings to fire two network administrators, then buried the report that said their supervisor had ordered the shortcuts. Damian called it an unfortunate communication failure.”
“He remembers.”
“I doubt that.”
“He gave me your name.”
Another silence.
“What do you need?” she asked.
“Preserve estate access logs, company email metadata, and device connections before anyone can alter them. Quietly.”
“You understand I’m not breaking into your systems.”
“We’ll give written authorization.”
“From whom?”
“Damian.”
“And independent counsel.”
Marcus looked toward Damian, who stood outside Celeste’s room holding untouched coffee. “We don’t have independent counsel.”
“Then get some.”
Royce Maritime’s general counsel, Adele Wynn, arrived at the hospital at twelve forty-eight wearing a camel coat over evening clothes. She was sixty, silver-haired, blunt, and furious at being summoned without explanation. Her anger lasted until Damian said the words “falsified inspection record.”
May you like
Then she sat.
They occupied a consultation room with beige walls, four plastic chairs, and a framed print of sailboats that appeared chosen by someone with a sense of humor.
