Richard froze.
"A letter?"
Walter reached into his coat pocket and removed a plain white envelope.
There was no return address.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
He placed it on Richard's desk.
The message consisted of only sixteen words.
Your company is being sold from the inside. Look at the motorcycles. Then look at the books.
Richard read the message twice.
His mouth went dry.
"Who sent this?"
"I don't know."
"When did you receive it?"
"Four days ago."
"Have you shown it to anyone else?"
"No."
Richard stared at the paper.
Walter watched his reaction.
"Does it mean anything to you?"
"No, sir."
The answer came too quickly.
Walter noticed.
He had spent more than half a century negotiating with suppliers, investors, engineers, bankers, and competitors. He knew the difference between a man who was genuinely confused and one who was deciding how much truth he could safely reveal.
Richard was afraid.
The question was whether he was afraid of Walter or someone else.
"Sit down," Walter said.
Richard sat.
Walter remained standing.
"Twenty-three years ago, you came to me asking for a job. Do you remember?"
"Yes, sir."
"You had just lost your position at Henderson Automotive."
"That's right."
"You told me you had two children, a mortgage, and no savings."
Richard lowered his eyes.
"I remember."
"I hired you because Tommy Carter said you were an honest man."
Richard looked up sharply.
"Thomas recommended me?"
"He did."
"I never knew that."
"He thought you deserved another chance."
Walter moved toward the window.
"Tommy believed most people deserved a second chance. Sometimes he was right. Sometimes he wasn't."
Richard's hands tightened together.
Walter turned back.
"I'm going to ask you one question. I want a truthful answer."
"Of course."
"Is someone inside this company stealing from us?"
Richard stared at him.
The office was completely silent.
Downstairs, a motorcycle engine started in the service bay. Its distant growl vibrated faintly through the glass.
Richard looked toward the door.
Then he leaned forward.
"Mr. Sterling," he whispered, "I think you should leave."
Walter did not move.
"Why?"
Richard's eyes filled with something close to desperation.
"Because if the wrong people find out what you're looking for, this could become very dangerous."
Walter regarded him calmly.
"Who are the wrong people?"
Richard opened his mouth.
Then his desk telephone rang.
He flinched so violently that Walter noticed.
The display showed a name.
ARTHUR BELL — CHIEF OPERATING OFFICER.
Richard stared at the telephone.
Walter looked at the screen.
Then he smiled without warmth.
"Well," he said quietly. "Isn't that interesting?"
Richard did not answer.
The telephone continued ringing.
Walter held out his hand.
"Give it to me."
"Sir—"
"The phone, Richard."
Richard slowly lifted the receiver and handed it over.
Walter pressed the speaker button.
"Good morning, Arthur."
There was a moment of silence.
Then a familiar voice spoke.
"Walter?"
"Hello, old friend."
"Walter, where are you?"
"Visiting one of our dealerships."
Another pause.
"Which dealership?"
"The flagship showroom."
Arthur Bell's voice changed almost imperceptibly.
"You're in Columbus?"
"That surprises you?"
"Not at all. I simply thought you were at home resting. Your doctor wanted you to take things easy."
"My doctor worries too much."
"Walter, you really should have told me. I could have arranged a proper reception."
"I didn't want a reception."
"Of course. But surely you understand that our people need preparation when the chairman visits."
Walter looked at Richard.
"Do they?"
Arthur gave a small laugh.
"Well, you know what I mean."
"Actually, Arthur, I'm beginning to wonder."
Silence.
Then Arthur spoke more carefully.
"Is something wrong?"
Walter glanced at the anonymous letter.
"I've encountered a few things that concern me."
"What things?"
"Customer service. Recordkeeping. Some unusual decisions concerning our Heritage motorcycles."
Arthur answered immediately.
"Those matters fall under regional management. I'll have my team investigate."
"No need."
"Walter—"
"I'll handle it."
Arthur's tone hardened.
"That's not necessary."
Walter's eyes narrowed.
"Since when did I need permission to examine my own company?"
The silence that followed was considerably longer.
When Arthur finally spoke, his voice was warm again.
"Of course you don't. Forgive me. I'm only concerned about your health."
"That's kind of you."
"Come back to headquarters this afternoon. We can review everything together."
"Perhaps."
"Walter, I'd strongly advise against making any decisions before we've had a chance to talk."
Walter looked at the old photograph.
"Arthur, do you remember the first time we met?"
Arthur sounded confused.
"Of course."
"You came to our workshop looking for a job. You were twenty-eight years old and had just been dismissed from a manufacturing company in Detroit."
Arthur chuckled.
"I remember it well."
"You told me you were good with numbers."
"And I believe I've proved that."
"Yes," Walter said softly. "You certainly have."
He ended the call.
Richard stared at him.
Walter put the receiver down.
"Now," he said, "tell me why Arthur Bell is frightened of a seventy-eight-year-old man looking at customer complaints."
Richard's face had turned gray.
For almost a minute, he said nothing.
Then he opened the bottom drawer of his desk and removed a small brass key.
He stood, walked to a filing cabinet near the wall, unlocked its lowest compartment, and pulled out a thick blue folder.
He placed it in front of Walter.
"I've been keeping copies," he whispered.
Walter looked at the folder.
"Copies of what?"
"Things I wasn't supposed to see."
"How long?"
"Eleven months."
Walter opened the folder.
Inside were invoices, internal memoranda, photographs of damaged motorcycle components, warranty rejections, and printed email exchanges.
Several documents bore the signature of Arthur Bell.
Others referenced companies Walter had never heard of.
One name appeared repeatedly.
BLACKTHORN INDUSTRIAL SOLUTIONS.
Walter frowned.
"Who are they?"
Richard sat heavily.
"Officially, they're a specialist supplier of precision components."
"And unofficially?"
Richard looked toward the door again.
"I don't think they're a supplier at all."
Walter began reading.
The first invoice listed a payment of $184,600 for customized engine-management modules.
The second recorded $96,000 for prototype testing.
The third listed $312,000 for confidential engineering consultation.
All three had been approved by Arthur Bell.
"Where are the components?" Walter asked.
Richard shook his head.
"That's the problem. Nobody knows."
"Have they been delivered?"