Chapter 7
Sarah sat down like her legs had stopped working.
I stared at her.
“How many times was Jason in this house?”
She shook her head.
“Not like that.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“He came here.”
“How many times?”
“Daniel—”
“How many?”
Her voice became tiny.
“Maybe eight.”
The exact number.
My stomach turned.
“You told me he had never been here.”
“I know.”
“Five minutes ago you promised no more secrets.”
“I know.”
“You lasted five minutes.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I was scared.”
“Of what?”
“You.”
I almost laughed.
“Me?”
“Of losing everything.”
I pointed around the room.
“Look around, Sarah.”
She sobbed.
“I know.”
“When did he come here?”
“When you traveled.”
My chest tightened.
“And Emma?”
“Usually asleep.”
“Usually?”
“He never did anything around her.”
“That is not what I asked!”
My voice echoed.
Brennan stepped closer.
“Mr. Carter.”
I stopped.
Emma was upstairs.
I lowered my voice.
“Was Jason around my daughter?”
Sarah cried silently.
“Yes.”
I had to turn away.
Every instinct in me wanted to smash something.
Not Jason.
Not Sarah.
Anything.
A wall.
A chair.
My own desk.
Instead, I put both hands on the kitchen counter.
“Did he hold her?”
“Yes.”
My vision blurred.
“Did he play with her?”
“Once.”
“Did she know his name?”
“I don’t know.”
I closed my eyes.
Our house.
My daughter.
My wife’s lover.
Walking through our rooms while I was on business trips paying for the life Sarah said made her lonely.
Detective Brennan said, “We need to identify whether that device belongs to Jason.”
“Call him.”
“We already did. He agreed to come in.”
Sarah looked surprised.
“He did?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Brennan gave her a measured look.
“Maybe because he wants to clear his name.”
Or maybe because he knew he had nothing to hide.
Or maybe because he was very good at pretending.
An hour later, detectives left with Sarah to take a formal statement.
I finally drove Emma to my parents’ house.
My mother opened the door before I reached the porch.
She took one look at me.
“Oh, Daniel.”
That was all.
No questions.
No lecture.
She hugged me.
I almost broke.
My father came from the kitchen and took Emma.
“Come here, peanut.”
Emma smiled.
“Grandpa!”
He carried her away.
Mom looked at me.
“What happened?”
I sat at their kitchen table and told her enough.
Not everything.
I couldn’t.
My mother listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she covered my hand.
“Are you safe?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is Emma safe?”
“Police think she’s safer here for now.”
“Then she stays.”
“Mom—”
“She stays as long as she needs.”
I nodded.
“You can stay too.”
“I have to go back.”
“Why?”
“Because I need answers.”
She looked at me for a long moment.
“Answers won’t make betrayal hurt less.”
“No.”
“But you still need them.”
“Yes.”
She squeezed my hand.
Then she said something unexpected.
“Don’t let anger make your decisions.”
I stared at her.
“My wife cheated on me, stole from us, lied about gambling, brought a man into our home, and put Emma in danger.”
“I know.”
“And you’re telling me not to be angry?”
“No.”
She leaned closer.
“I’m telling you anger is useful for getting out of a burning building. It is terrible for deciding where to live afterward.”
I looked down.
“I don’t know if there’s a marriage left.”
“There may not be.”
She didn’t tell me to forgive Sarah.
That helped.
“But right now,” she said, “keep Emma safe. Keep yourself safe. Let police do their job. Then decide what you can live with.”
I nodded.
My father came back.
“Daniel.”
Something in his tone made me look up.
He held his phone.
“You need to see this.”
It was a news article.
LOCAL DEVELOPMENT BID SUSPENDED AMID CONFIDENTIALITY QUESTIONS.
My company name was in the headline.
So was mine.
The article said an anonymous source had provided internal documents suggesting improper handling of confidential pricing materials.
It mentioned no affair.
No gambling.
No extortion.
Yet.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I ignored it.
Again.
Again.
Reporters.
Probably.
Then Mark called.
“You saw the article?”
“Yes.”
“It gets worse.”
“Of course it does.”
“Someone sent a packet to the Tribune.”
“What packet?”
“Emails, screenshots, banking records.”
My chest tightened.
“Whose banking records?”
“Yours.”
I stood.
“My personal accounts?”
“Some.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sarah never had access to my business banking.”
“The records look real.”
“How far back?”
“Two years.”
My mind raced.
“That isn’t Michael stealing papers from my office.”
“No.”
“Someone inside the company has access.”
“That’s what I think.”
I looked at my father.
“Mark, who can pull my executive reimbursement and account records?”
“Finance.”
“Who specifically?”
“Three people. Maybe four.”
“Give police their names.”
“Already did.”
I paused.
“Thank you.”
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“I need to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
“Did you authorize payments to Mercer Holdings?”
My stomach dropped.
“No.”
“There are payments from a company vendor account.”
“What?”
“Six payments over the last year.”
“How much?”
“About three hundred thousand.”
I sat back down.
“That’s impossible.”
“The vendor account lists Mercer Holdings as a consulting subcontractor.”
“We don’t use them.”
“I know.”
“Who approved it?”
“That’s the problem.”
“What?”
“Your authorization code.”
My mouth went dry.
“I did not approve those payments.”
“I believe you.”
“How can someone use my code?”
“Either they had your credentials or somebody altered the records.”
My father watched me.
My mother held Emma in the next room.
I felt trapped inside a story someone else was writing.
“Mark, shut down every nonessential transfer.”
“Already done.”
“Change executive credentials.”
“Done.”
“Get outside forensic accountants.”
“Robert hired them this morning.”
Good.
At least someone was thinking.
“When was the first payment?”
He checked.
“Eleven months ago.”
That was before Sarah said she met Michael.
Or at least before she claimed she met him.
“Who created Mercer Holdings as a vendor?”
“I’m pulling that now.”
“Call me.”
I hung up.
My father asked, “How bad?”
“Very.”
“Do you need a lawyer?”
“I already called one.”
“Criminal?”
I stared at him.
“I think I might.”
He nodded.
No judgment.
Just acceptance.
My phone buzzed.
Detective Brennan.
“We confirmed the device from your home.”
My pulse jumped.
“Jason?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“What did he say?”
“He says he used your printer.”
“For what?”
“To print concert tickets.”
I almost laughed.
“Did he scan confidential documents too?”
“He denies that.”
“But it was his phone.”
“Yes.”
“So how could someone scan from it without him?”
“That’s what we’re investigating.”
“Did you arrest him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because owning the device is not proof he made the scan.”
“He was in my house secretly.”
“That is proof your wife lied to you. It is not automatically proof of theft.”
I hated how calm Brennan remained.
But he was right.
“Did Jason know about my office?”
“He says he did.”
“Because Sarah told him.”
“Yes.”
“Did he know Michael wanted the bid?”
“He claims no.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I don’t make decisions based on whether I like someone’s story.”
“What happens now?”
“We obtained consent to examine his phone.”
That surprised me.
“He handed it over?”
“Yes.”
“Without a warrant?”
“Yes.”
Maybe Jason really did want to clear himself.
Or maybe he had already cleaned it.
Brennan continued.
“There is something you should know.”
I waited.
“Jason says Michael approached him six months ago about your company.”
My stomach dropped.
“What did Michael want?”
“He asked Jason to get close to your wife.”
The kitchen went silent.
My father heard it too.
I gripped the phone.
“Jason admitted that?”
“He says he refused.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Then accidentally slept with her.”
“That’s the part we’re sorting out.”
“What exactly did Michael ask him to do?”
“Gain her trust. Learn about your schedule. Find out what company material you kept at home.”
My skin crawled.
“And Jason claims he said no.”
“Yes.”
“Did he tell Sarah?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He says he thought Michael was bluffing.”
I closed my eyes.
“What kind of idiot believes that and then starts an affair with the target’s wife?”
Brennan didn’t answer.
Then he added, “Jason gave us another name.”
“What name?”
“Someone inside your company.”
I stood.
“Who?”
“He only knows a first name.”
I waited.
“Mark.”
I stopped breathing.
“No.”
“That’s what Jason says.”
“Mark has been my partner for twelve years.”
“I know.”
“He was best man at my wedding.”
“I know.”
“He held Emma the day she was born.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
My voice cracked.
“Mark called me this morning. He warned me about everything.”
“That doesn’t clear him.”
I walked away from my parents so they wouldn’t see my face.
“What connection does Jason say Mark has to Michael?”
“He says he saw them together.”
“When?”
“Four months ago.”
“Where?”
“A restaurant downtown.”
“That proves nothing.”
“No.”
“Did they talk?”
“Yes.”
“How does Jason know?”
“He followed Michael.”
I rubbed my face.
“Why would he follow his brother?”
“Because he says he was trying to find out why Michael was obsessed with your family.”
“Did he tell Sarah?”
“No.”
“Did he tell police before today?”
“No.”
“Convenient.”
“Yes.”
I paced the hallway.
“Do not confront Mark,” Brennan said.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“That sounded like you were planning to.”
“I said I wasn’t.”
“Good.”
The call ended.
I looked through the doorway.
My father was playing blocks with Emma.
My mother stood near the sink.
I remembered my wedding.
Mark beside me in a tuxedo.
His hand on my shoulder.
His voice saying, “You got the girl, brother.”
Twelve years of partnership.
Late nights.
Risks.
Failures.
Success.
Could all of it be fake?
My phone buzzed.
A message from Mark.
Got the vendor setup records.
Call me NOW.
I stared at it.
Then I called Detective Brennan back.
He answered immediately.
“Did something happen?”
“Mark wants to talk.”
“Don’t tell him we mentioned his name.”
“I won’t.”
“Put the call on speaker if you can.”
I did.
Then I called Mark.
He answered on the first ring.
“Daniel.”
“What did you find?”
“The Mercer vendor account.”
“Yes?”
“It was created last year.”
“By who?”
There was silence.
“Mark?”
“You’re not going to believe me.”
My stomach tightened.
“Try me.”
“The account was entered by my credentials.”
I looked at my father.
He had stopped playing.
“But you didn’t do it.”
“No.”
I waited.
Mark lowered his voice.
“I think someone has been using both our executive accounts.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said only a handful of people had access.”
“They don’t need our passwords if they compromised the internal admin system.”
“Who has admin access?”
“Our IT director. Two senior security engineers.”
“And?”
Another pause.
“Mark.”
“And?”
He didn’t answer.
“Mark.”
Finally he whispered, “Your brother.”
I went cold.
“What?”
“Ethan still has legacy administrator access.”
I stared into space.
My younger brother had worked for the company years ago.
Before we nearly destroyed our relationship.
Before he quit.
Before he told me he never wanted anything from me again.
“That account should have been disabled.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Mark said, “Daniel, when was the last time you spoke to Ethan?”
I already knew the answer.
Almost a year.
At our mother’s birthday.
We had argued.
Again.
About money.
About the company.
About Dad.
About everything.
“I need to go.”
“Daniel—”
I hung up.
My mother walked into the hallway.
“What is it?”
I looked at her.
“Where’s Ethan?”
She frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Where is my brother?”
“At home, I assume.”
“Which home?”
Her face changed.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“Ethan moved.”
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
“Where?”
She looked uncomfortable.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know where your own son lives?”
“He said he needed space.”
My pulse quickened.
“When did you last see him?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“At Emma’s birthday?”
She nodded.
I remembered.
Ethan had come late.
Stayed twenty minutes.
Barely spoke to me.
Then left.
My stomach turned.
“What was he wearing?”
Mom frowned.
“What?”
“At the birthday party.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Think.”
She stared at me.
“Black sweater. Jeans.”
Not gray.
Not Michael.
But Ethan knew our house.
He knew my office.
He knew the company.
He knew my passwords once.
He knew Mark.
And most importantly, he hated me enough that sometimes I wondered whether there was anything left between us except blood.
My phone buzzed again.
This time it was an email.
No sender name.
May you like
Subject line:
ASK YOUR BROTHER WHY HE NEEDED $200,000.
