Chapter 9 - The Person I Trusted Wasn’t AloneI called Richard.
He answered immediately.
“What happened?”
“Where are you?”
A pause.
“Why?”
“Because I have photographs of you meeting my mother.”
Silence.
Then Richard said,
“Do not trust what you’re seeing.”
My stomach tightened.
“That's a strange thing to say.”
“Natalie, listen to me.”
“Were you meeting her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was trying to get information.”
“Without telling me?”
“I couldn't.”
“Why not?”
Another pause.
“Because I didn't know who was compromised.”
I stared at the photograph.
“Are you?”
Richard went quiet.
“No.”
I wasn't sure I believed him.
But before I could respond, he said,
“Come back to the office.”
I arrived twenty minutes later.
The conference room door was locked.
Richard opened it himself.
He looked exhausted.
“I should have told you earlier.”
I sat.
“Tell me everything.”
He did.
Months before I ever met him, Mercer Urban had begun investigating unusual subcontractor payments.
Richard had noticed them.
He traced them back to shell companies.
Those shell companies eventually connected to my father's old business.
But every time Mercer Urban got close, the trail vanished.
Someone inside the company's accounting structure was deleting records.
“That person was my mother?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Richard slid over a file.
“Your brother.”
I stared.
“But you said Blake wasn't controlling this.”
“He wasn't.”
“He was helping.”
“Yes.”
Richard explained that Blake had been recruited because of his access to my files.
But someone else coordinated the bigger operation.
“Who?”
Richard pointed to another name.
A senior executive at Mercer Urban.
Elliot Hart.
My eyes widened.
I knew the name.
Elliot was one of the company's most respected executives.
He had been mentioned in every press article about the Riverton project.
Richard continued.
“I suspected Elliot months ago.”
“Why didn't you expose him?”
“Because I needed proof.”
“Did he recruit Blake?”
“Yes.”
“Did he recruit my father?”
“We believe so.”
“And my mother?”
Richard shook his head.
“Your mother was already involved.”
I felt sick.
“So Elliot was the one behind everything.”
“We think he coordinated the corporate side.”
I stopped him.
“We?”
Richard nodded.
“There are still unanswered questions.”
“What kind?”
“Why you?”
I frowned.
“My designs.”
“Yes, but not just that.”
He opened another file.
It contained my professional records.
My licensing history.
My client list.
My tax records.
Then a photograph.
A design competition from seven years earlier.
My project had won first place.
Elliot Hart was one of the judges.
I stared.
Richard said,
“He knew your work before your family began using it.”
I couldn't speak.
“Why didn't he contact you directly?”
Richard answered,
“Because you were never supposed to know.”
“Know what?”
Richard reached into a locked drawer.
He removed a sealed envelope.
“This came from your grandmother.”
My breath caught.
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“Why do you have it?”
“Because Daniel Crowe gave it to me.”
I opened it.
Inside was a single page.
Grandma's handwriting.
Richard, when the time comes, protect Natalie. Do not let them convince her that she is the problem.
My eyes filled.
“She trusted you.”
Richard nodded.
“She knew your father's activities were connected to Elliot.”
I looked at him.
“And you?”
“I promised her I would keep you safe.”
I looked down.
The anger inside me softened for the first time.
Then Richard's phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“What happened?”
He listened.
Then whispered,
“Are you certain?”
He ended the call.
“What?”
“Elliot is gone.”
My blood ran cold.
“Gone where?”
“His office was emptied overnight.”
Richard showed me another photograph.
Elliot's office.
Computer removed.
Files gone.
Desk cleared.
Like someone had warned him.
I stood.
“How?”
Richard looked at me.
“Someone knew about the investigation.”
“Who?”
He stared at the photograph.
Then said,
“Someone inside this room.”
My heart dropped.
The door behind us clicked.
Richard turned.
No one was there.
But an envelope lay on the floor.
It had been pushed beneath the door.
My name was written across it.
I opened it with shaking hands.
Inside was a single sentence.
Your grandmother lied to you about who your real enemy is.
May you like
I looked at Richard.
And for the first time, I wondered whether the person who had supposedly protected me had been telling me only the parts of the truth he wanted me to know.
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