"I know they're forged."
"By whom?"
Ethan stared at the screen.
"I don't know."
Then another document caught his eye.
The authorization dates.
Every transfer occurred on a Thursday.
Except one.
The final payment.
That one occurred on a Friday.
Ethan zoomed in.
The authorization had been approved by someone else.
Not Richard Hayes.
Not Edward Calloway.
A third name.
Victor Hale.
Ethan sat back.
Victor Hale.
Chief financial officer.
The man who had worked for his father for thirty-one years.
The man who had attended Ethan's graduation.
The man who had given him his first investment lesson.
Ethan felt something cold settle inside him.
"Find Victor."
Nolan exhaled.
"Victor retired fifteen years ago."
"Find him."
At eight the next morning, Ethan arrived at Calloway Tower.
He had barely entered the lobby when his assistant approached.
"Mr. Calloway."
"What?"
"Someone left this for you."
She handed him an envelope.
No name.
No return address.
Ethan opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Marissa.
Standing outside Bellweather.
Taken the previous day.
On the back was written:
LEAVE HER ALONE.
Ethan stared at it.
His expression became unreadable.
Nolan walked up behind him.
"What is it?"
Ethan handed him the photograph.
Nolan's face hardened.
"That's not a joke."
"No."
"Someone's watching her."
"And me."
Nolan looked around the lobby.
"Do you know who?"
"No."
Ethan folded the photograph.
"Not yet."
Marissa spent the morning applying for jobs.
She filled out seven applications.
Three restaurants.
Two hotels.
A bakery.
A catering company.
The last one asked:
Reason for leaving previous employment?
She stared at the box.
She typed:
Conflict with management.
Then deleted it.
She typed:
Terminated without cause.
Deleted.
Finally:
Seeking new opportunity.
She clicked submit.
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
"Hello?"
Silence.
"Hello?"
A man's voice finally spoke.
"You should stop asking questions about your father."
Marissa froze.
"What?"
"You heard me."
"Who is this?"
The line went dead.
She stood in the middle of the sidewalk.
Her hands were cold.
Her father had been dead for eight years.
She hadn't asked questions about him in years.
She called her mother.
No answer.
She tried again.
Nothing.
Fear replaced confusion.
She rushed home.
Elaine was standing in the kitchen when Marissa entered.
"Mom."
Elaine turned.
"What happened?"
"Did you call me?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Marissa closed the door.
"Someone called me."
Elaine's face changed.
"What did they say?"
"They told me to stop asking questions about Dad."
Elaine gripped the counter.
For several seconds she couldn't speak.
Then she whispered:
"They found us."
"Who?"
Elaine looked toward the window.
"The people your father was afraid of."
Marissa stared.
"My father was afraid of people?"
"Everyone is afraid of someone."
"What happened to him?"
"I told you."
"He stole money."
Elaine closed her eyes.
"No."
Marissa froze.
"What?"
"Your father didn't steal anything."
The room became silent.
"What are you saying?"
"I should have told you years ago."
"Mom."
"I was trying to protect you."
"From what?"
Elaine sat down.
"From the truth."
Marissa stared at her.
"Then tell me."
Elaine looked toward the hallway.
"Not here."
"Why?"
"Because this apartment isn't safe."
That evening, Elaine gave Marissa an old key.
It was small.
Brass.
The metal was dark with age.
"What's this?"
"Your father gave it to me."
"What does it open?"
"I don't know."
"Then why did you keep it?"
"Because he told me that one day you would need it."
Marissa turned the key in her fingers.
"What did he say?"
Elaine looked directly at her daughter.
"He said that if anyone ever came asking about the twelve million dollars, you were supposed to find a man named Thomas."
"Thomas who?"
"Just Thomas."
"Where do I find him?"
"I don't know."
Elaine paused.
"Your father said he'd find you."
THE STRANGER IN THE RAIN
Three days passed.
Nothing happened.
And somehow that frightened Marissa more than the phone call.
Silence could be a warning.
She returned to the routine of survival.
Job applications.
Groceries.
Medicine.
Laundry.
Bills.
But every time she walked down the street, she felt watched.
On Friday afternoon, she went to a public library to search old newspaper archives.
She typed:
Richard Hayes Calloway Development 1998.
Dozens of articles appeared.
One headline caught her attention.
ACCOUNTANT DENIES MILLION-DOLLAR THEFT
She clicked.
The article described her father as arrogant.
Greedy.
Uncooperative.
Marissa read every word.
Then she saw a photograph.
Her father outside the courthouse.
Beside him stood a young man.
Ethan Calloway.
She stared.
She recognized him.
Table twelve.
The man who had watched her get fired.
Her stomach tightened.
Why was he connected to her father?
She kept reading.
Then she found something strange.
The article said:
Calloway Development declined to comment on whether internal executives may have authorized the disputed transfers.
Executives.
Plural.
Marissa wrote down the names.
Edward Calloway.
Victor Hale.
Richard Hayes.
She searched Victor Hale.
Nothing useful.
Then she searched Thomas.
Hundreds of results.
No connection.
She closed the laptop.
Someone sat down across from her.
An old man.
Gray coat.
Gray hair.
He placed a newspaper on the table.
"You shouldn't be looking for Richard Hayes."
Marissa's heart stopped.
"Who are you?"
The man didn't answer.