The next morning, Naomi arrived at Henry Lin's office.
She expected a small consulting firm.
Instead, she entered the thirty-second floor of one of the most expensive buildings in downtown San Francisco.
Henry met her personally.
He shook her hand.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for the opportunity.”
He smiled.
“You're nervous.”
“A little.”
“Good.”
Naomi raised an eyebrow.
“Good?”
“Nervous people pay attention.”
He led her into a conference room.
Three other executives were waiting.
Naomi recognized two of them from the restaurant.
They stood.
One spoke in Mandarin.
“Please sit.”
Naomi answered in Mandarin.
“Thank you.”
Henry smiled.
Then he placed a folder on the table.
Inside was Victor Hale's entire development proposal.
“We want you to analyze this.”
Naomi opened it.
She read the first page.
Then the second.
Then the third.
After ten minutes, she looked up.
“There are three problems.”
Henry smiled.
“We know about two.”
Naomi pointed to the financial model.
“This projection assumes the city will approve the environmental permit.”
“Yes.”
“But it won't.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the land is contaminated.”
Silence.
Naomi pointed to another page.
“And this company doesn't exist.”
Henry frowned.
“What?”
She tapped the document.
“The contractor listed here.”
She looked at the others.
“It's a shell company.”
Henry's expression changed.
“How do you know?”
“Because its tax identification number belongs to a dissolved Nevada corporation.”
Nobody spoke.
Naomi continued.
“And this payment…”
She pointed to the final page.
“It's going to an account in Hong Kong.”
Henry leaned forward.
“Whose account?”
Naomi looked at him.
“That's the interesting part.”
She pointed to the name.
Carter Strategic Holdings.
Her own last name.
Naomi's face went pale.
Henry stared at the page.
“I thought you knew.”
“I don't.”
She stood.
“My father has never owned a company.”
Henry looked at the document.
“Then someone is using your family name.”
Naomi's phone rang.
Her father.
She answered.
“Dad?”
His voice was trembling.
“Naomi.”
“What happened?”
“You need to come home.”
“Why?”
“I found something.”
“What?”
A pause.
Then:
“Your mother left me a letter.”
Naomi's heart stopped.
“My mother?”
“She wrote it before she died.”
“What does it say?”
Her father's voice broke.
“It says never trust Victor Hale.”
THE LETTER FROM HER MOTHER
Naomi left Henry's office immediately.
She drove home faster than she should have.
Her father was sitting at the kitchen table.
An envelope lay in front of him.
Old.
Yellow.
The handwriting on the front was unmistakable.
Naomi.
She stared.
“Where did you find this?”
James looked exhausted.
“Your mother gave it to me before she died.”
“You never told me.”
“She made me promise.”
“Why?”
“Because she believed you were safer not knowing.”
Naomi sat down.
“What is happening?”
James looked at the envelope.
“I don't know.”
“You know something.”
He sighed.
“Your mother worked for Victor Hale.”
Naomi's eyes widened.
“What?”
“Before you were born.”
“How?”
“She was an analyst.”
“At his company?”
“Yes.”
Naomi remembered the phrase.
Numbers don't lie. People do.
“What did she do?”
“She discovered something.”
“What?”
James looked toward the window.
“Money was disappearing.”
“How much?”
“Millions.”
“From Victor's company?”
“Yes.”
“Did she report it?”
“She tried.”
“What happened?”
“She was fired.”
Naomi stared.
“And then?”
“She kept investigating.”
James pushed the letter toward her.
“Read it.”
Naomi opened the envelope.
Her mother's handwriting filled the page.
My darling Naomi,
If you are reading this, I have probably run out of time.
Naomi stopped.
Her hands began shaking.
She continued.
There are things I wanted to tell you.
Things I was afraid to say while I was alive.
Your father knows some of them.
He has protected you as well as he could.
But protection has a price.
Naomi looked at James.
He was crying.
She kept reading.
When I worked for Victor Hale, I discovered a network of companies moving money between San Francisco, Hong Kong, Singapore, and Shanghai.
At first I believed it was ordinary tax avoidance.
It wasn't.
The money was being used to purchase political influence.
Land.
Contracts.
People.
Naomi's breathing became shallow.
Victor was not the only person involved.
There was someone above him.
She turned the page.
The final sentence made her stop.
The person you should fear is not Victor Hale.
Below it was a name.
Edward Calloway.
Naomi looked up.
“Calloway?”
James nodded.
“Who was he?”
“Victor's former partner.”
“Former?”
“He died twenty years ago.”
Naomi looked back at the letter.
“Then why would Mom be afraid of him?”
James shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
“I don't.”
“Dad.”
James looked at her.
“I found your mother after she had already started investigating.”
“What happened to her?”
“She was killed.”
Naomi froze.
“You said she died of a heart attack.”
James closed his eyes.
“I lied.”
The room became silent.
Naomi stood.
“You lied to me my entire life?”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“The people who killed her.”
Naomi's voice broke.
“Who killed my mother?”
James looked toward the letter.
“I never found out.”
“But you suspected Victor.”
“Yes.”
“And Edward Calloway.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you never go to the police?”
“Because I was warned.”
“By who?”
James didn't answer.
Naomi stepped closer.
“Dad.”
He whispered:
“They showed me photographs.”
“What photographs?”
“Of you.”
She froze.
“When you were eight.”
Naomi sat down.
“They said if I talked, you would disappear.”
Her father reached across the table.
“I chose silence.”
Naomi pulled her hand away.
“You didn't choose silence.”
James looked at her.
“You chose me.”
She wanted to be angry.
She was angry.
But she also saw how tired he looked.
How frightened.