“She said no.”
Derek looked at him.
“Move.”
“No.”
Derek grabbed Jonathan's coat.
This time Jonathan didn't stumble.
He straightened.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Derek noticed.
Jonathan's voice dropped.
“Don't touch me again.”
Something in the tone unsettled Derek.
For half a second.
Then anger returned.
He shoved Jonathan.
Elena shouted.
Jonathan fell against her car.
Pain shot through his shoulder.
Derek reached for Elena.
“Inside.”
She pulled away.
Then a third voice cut across the parking area.
“Is there a problem?”
Everyone turned.
Sam Whitaker stood near the greenhouse.
Behind him were two gardeners.
Derek looked at them.
“No.”
Sam didn't move.
Derek released Elena.
“Get off the property. Both of you.”
Jonathan looked at Sam.
The groundskeeper's hands were trembling.
But he stayed.
Jonathan remembered the water bottle.
They're watching.
Maybe fear had been ruling this estate for longer than Jonathan understood.
Elena climbed into her car.
Jonathan stepped back.
“Go.”
She hesitated.
“What about you?”
“I'll be fine.”
“Where will you go?”
Jonathan almost said home.
Instead:
“St. Matthew's.”
She smiled faintly.
“Good.”
Then she drove away.
Jonathan waited until her car disappeared beyond the gate.
Derek pointed toward the road.
“You too.”
Jonathan looked toward Blackwood Manor.
His house.
His employees.
His security cameras.
His money.
And apparently, somewhere inside it, boxes of cash he knew nothing about.
Then he walked away.
At 10:02 a.m., Jonathan Lancaster entered a gas-station restroom three miles from the estate.
Twenty minutes later, the homeless man disappeared.
Jonathan Lancaster returned.
Clean face.
Tailored navy suit.
White shirt.
Black overcoat.
His assistant, Rachel Kim, waited outside in a rented Mercedes.
When she saw him, her eyes widened.
“What happened to your shoulder?”
“Derek Shaw.”
Rachel stared.
“Your security director?”
“He doesn't know it was me.”
“Jonathan—”
“Call outside counsel.”
“Why?”
“Then call Marcus Bell at forensic accounting.”
Rachel stopped.
“What did you find?”
Jonathan looked back toward the road leading to Blackwood.
“I'm not sure yet.”
His phone rang.
Charles Vane.
Jonathan answered.
“Charles.”
“Mr. Lancaster. I hope Boston went well.”
Jonathan looked at Rachel.
“Very productive.”
“Will you be returning tomorrow?”
Jonathan paused.
“No.”
Charles relaxed audibly.
Jonathan smiled without humor.
“I'll be home in twenty minutes.”