Chapter 10 - The Night of the Gala
Coleman Security Services had received more than six hundred thousand dollars from Whitmore Holdings over the previous eighteen months.
The company was registered to a former private investigator who had once worked for the Whitmore family. Its declared services included executive protection, property security, and risk management.
The actual invoices were vague.
Some described routine surveillance. Others referred to transportation, special investigations, or emergency response.
Several payments had been approved by Victor Sloane.
One had been approved by Patricia.
Another had been authorized by Nolan himself.
“We need the service records,” Voss said. “If the company provided security during Rebecca's death or your assault, those records could establish who was present and who gave the instructions.”
Bridget contacted the prosecutor and requested subpoenas for the company's contracts, invoices, and personnel files.
While they worked, Catherine sent us a detailed message explaining why she had stayed away for so long.
After Margaret's death, Catherine had attempted to challenge the estate. She had received anonymous letters warning her that pursuing the claim could endanger people close to her. She withdrew the case and moved several times, changing her name and avoiding public records.
Years later, Rebecca Lane contacted her.
Rebecca had discovered a connection between the Whitmore accounts and the old security company. She believed the company had been paid to monitor Margaret before her death and had later been used to intimidate witnesses.
Catherine had given Rebecca the location of a hidden archive.
Rebecca died before she could recover it.
When I began investigating Nolan's business, Catherine recognized the pattern. She had tried to contact me anonymously, but someone intercepted her first message. She then approached Victor, hoping he would provide evidence against the family.
Instead, Victor attempted to use her identity to gain control of the trust.
Catherine had managed to escape, but she had spent the last several months moving between safe locations.
Her message ended with a warning.
Victor knows where the archive is. He doesn't know what it contains. Find it before he does.
The next afternoon, the prosecutor informed Voss that a search of Coleman Security Services' records had uncovered a surprising connection.
The company had provided private security for the Whitmore mansion on the night of my attack. Two employees had been assigned to the property, but neither appeared in the police statements submitted by Nolan's family.
One employee had resigned the following morning.
The other had disappeared.
His name was Marcus Reed.
The company file contained an emergency contact number linked to Isaiah Reed, the night custodian who had discovered me in the alley.
I stared at the screen.
“The man who found me?”
“Possibly his brother,” Voss replied. “We'll verify it.”
An hour later, Isaiah arrived at the hospital with Bridget's investigator.
He looked uncomfortable and kept his hands tucked into the pockets of his uniform jacket.
“I've been meaning to tell someone,” he said. “My brother worked for Coleman Security. He quit the night your husband left you outside the shopping center.”
“Did he see what happened?”
Isaiah nodded.
“He was assigned to monitor the property's service road. He told me he saw the SUV arrive and leave. He didn't know who was inside at first, but he heard a woman screaming.”
My throat tightened.
“Why didn't he come forward?”
“Because he was afraid. He said someone from the company called him the next morning and told him to forget what he saw. They said he'd lose his job and face charges if he spoke to anyone.”
“Where is he now?”
Isaiah looked down.
“I don't know. He hasn't answered my calls in three days.”
We immediately contacted the authorities. The prosecutor requested a welfare check and issued instructions to preserve Marcus's employment records.
But before the search could begin, a new development shifted the investigation.
Whitmore Holdings announced a gala to celebrate its latest expansion and reassure investors after rumors of financial irregularities began circulating.
The event was scheduled for Friday evening at the family's downtown hotel.
Nolan would speak.
Patricia would host.
Emma would attend as the company's public relations representative.
Victor was listed as the evening's guest of honor.
Bridget read the announcement twice.
“They're trying to project stability. They want investors to believe the rumors are nothing more than a domestic dispute.”
“Can we stop the event?”
“Not without a legal basis. The company can still hold a public function while an investigation is ongoing. But the prosecutor may be able to restrict access to certain records or assets.”
I looked at the announcement.
Then I looked at my own reflection in the dark computer screen.
My face was still bruised. One side of my forehead was bandaged. My wrist carried the faint marks of Nolan's grip.
The gala would be the first time the Whitmore family had appeared together in public since the attack.
And they were expecting the world to see a perfect family.
“What if I attended?” I asked.
Bridget stared at me.
“No.”
“Listen first.”
“You are recovering from a serious assault. You do not need to expose yourself to Nolan in person.”
“I need to decide how the evidence becomes public. They're already controlling the narrative. They're telling people I'm unstable. They're telling investors that the company is healthy. They're telling the court that I stole money.”
“And attending the gala could give them another opportunity to intimidate you.”
“Then we make sure they can't control what happens.”
Bridget remained silent.
I laid out the plan.
We would not enter the event without legal advice. We would not publish unverified allegations. We would preserve the original files and provide authenticated evidence to the prosecutor. If the prosecutor approved a coordinated action, the gala could become the place where the public saw the same evidence the investigators had seen.
Not a spectacle.
Not a revenge stunt.
An opportunity to prevent the Whitmores from using their influence to bury the case.
Bridget agreed to discuss the proposal with the prosecutor.
Two days later, Catherine called.
She had located the archive.
It was inside a rented storage unit registered under her adoptive father's name. The unit had been paid for in cash, and the contract was due to expire within a week.
Inside were original financial ledgers, handwritten letters from Margaret, and several audio recordings.
One recording contained Patricia's voice.
Another contained Leonard's.
The third had never been labeled.
Catherine sent a photograph of its cassette case.
Written across the front were three words:
THE REAL BENEFICIARY.
The discovery prompted the prosecutor to authorize a secure retrieval operation. Voss and a forensic team collected the archive under documented procedures.
Among the papers, they found a draft of Margaret's revised trust, dated three days before her death.
It named Catherine as the primary beneficiary of a substantial share of the family business.
The draft had never been filed.
Attached to it was a handwritten note.
If they refuse to honor this document, ask who profited from my death.
At the bottom, Margaret had listed three names.
Victor Sloane.
Patricia Whitmore.
And Adrian Mercer.
The regional police commissioner.
Voss went pale when he saw the last name.
“My former superior,” he said.
Bridget looked at the audio recordings.
“Then we have to assume the investigation may be compromised.”
The prosecutor arranged for the evidence to be reviewed by an independent task force outside Mercer's chain of command. The recordings were authenticated, and a forensic audio examiner began preparing transcripts.
One recording contained a conversation from the night before Margaret's death.
Patricia's voice came through first.
“She won't sign it.”
Leonard answered.
“Then she loses control.”
“She says Catherine should inherit the shares.”
A pause followed.
Then a man spoke.
“Leave it to me.”
The recording was too damaged to identify the third speaker immediately.
But I recognized the final sound.
May you like
A pen clicking against a table.
Nolan did that whenever he was thinking.
