Chapter 3 - The File Alexander Carried Into the Elevator
Marcus reached the stairwell before the door finished closing.
“Stay with her!”
He disappeared after Peter.
One security officer remained beside me.
The other ran toward the opposite staircase.
My heartbeat felt louder than the alarms.
“What just happened?”
The guard looked at the empty place where the folder had been.
“Someone took it.”
“Peter.”
“We don't know that.”
I did.
Because when the lights returned, I'd seen Peter's sleeve disappearing through the stairwell.
I looked down at my phone.
The encrypted attachment was still there.
That meant whoever had taken the physical folder might not have everything.
That possibility scared me more.
“What was in Alexander's file?”
The guard shook his head.
“Don't know.”
“I think I do.”
His name tag said Lewis.
“Ms. Carter, please wait for Officer Hale.”
“I found a $17.4 million discrepancy last month.”
He looked at me.
“What kind?”
“Vendor transfers.”
The words began assembling themselves inside my head.
I had found the issue while reconciling infrastructure expenses.
Three vendors.
Halcyon Systems.
North Prairie Consulting.
Lakeshore Management Group.
All receiving recurring transfers below levels requiring certain board approvals.
Together, they added up to $17.4 million across twenty-three months.
I flagged them.
Peter called me into his office the next morning.
“Legacy restructuring,” he'd said.
“Close it.”
I had asked for supporting documentation.
He smiled.
“Emily, sometimes being good at your job means knowing which questions don't need answers.”
I hated that sentence.
So I sent the issue to Finance Compliance anyway.
Nothing happened.
Or I thought nothing happened.
Apparently Alexander Reed had seen it.
My phone vibrated.
The encrypted file disappeared.
I stared.
“What?”
Lewis stepped closer.
“The attachment.”
It was gone.
The email remained.
The file did not.
Someone had remotely revoked access.
“Can they do that?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“IT administrators. Maybe.”
“Could Peter?”
“I don't know.”
I opened screenshots.
None.
I hadn't taken any.
Stupid.
I tried forwarding the email to my private account.
Delivery failed.
External messaging disabled.
Someone was erasing the trail while we stood there.
Then a new email appeared.
No sender name.
Only:
YOU SHOULD HAVE GONE HOME.
I showed Lewis.
He swore.
Marcus returned several minutes later, furious.
“Lost him on forty-two.”
“Lost him?”
“Emergency door opened into the parking elevator bank.”
“Peter left?”
“Probably.”
Lewis told him about the disappearing attachment.
Marcus took my phone.
“Airplane mode.”
“What?”
“Do it.”
I disconnected.
He nodded.
“Now nobody can wipe what's cached locally.”
“You think someone is inside our network?”
“I think someone is controlling it.”
My hands began shaking again.
“Alexander knew.”
Marcus looked at me.
“Yes.”
“You knew he wanted to meet me.”
“No.”
“But he named you in the email.”
“That surprised me as much as you.”
I didn't believe him.
He saw that.
Marcus sighed.
“Alexander and I served together.”
That was not what I expected.
“Military?”
“Army. Long time ago.”
“You never told anyone.”
“Wasn't anyone's business.”
“Why would a billionaire owner use a building security officer as an emergency contact?”
“Because I don't work for the building.”
I stared.
“What?”
“My security-company badge is real. My assignment isn't.”
“Then who do you work for?”
“Alexander.”
Lewis looked uncomfortable.
Clearly he knew at least part of this.
Marcus continued.
“Three months ago, Mr. Reed became concerned about financial irregularities and unauthorized access to board systems. He believed someone inside senior management was stealing from the company.”
“Seventeen million?”
“Potentially much more.”
“Why not call police?”
“He needed proof.”
“Why not hire investigators?”
“He did.”
“You?”
“Among others.”
I laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
“You've been pretending to be a lobby guard?”
“People speak freely around security.”
That was true.
Executives who would whisper around assistants would discuss mergers in front of guards, cleaners, drivers.
Invisible people collected everybody's secrets.
I knew that better than anyone.
“Was Peter involved?”
“We suspected someone in Finance.”
“That means yes.”
“It means suspected.”
“Alexander was coming to meet me because of my report.”
“Yes.”
“Then he collapsed.”
Marcus looked toward the elevator.
“Correct.”
A terrible possibility entered my mind.
“Did he have a heart attack?”
“Nobody knows yet.”
“What else could it be?”
Marcus didn't answer.
That was an answer.
“Poison?”
Lewis said sharply, “Don't speculate.”
“Someone disabled cameras before he collapsed.”
Marcus raised a hand.
“Emily.”
“No. Someone stole the file. Someone deleted the attachment. Someone shut down communications.”
I looked at him.
“Did somebody try to kill him?”
Marcus said quietly:
“We don't know.”
The building network came back at 12:41.
Chicago police arrived seven minutes later.
They took statements.
Peter's name went into everything.
By two in the morning, they confirmed he'd exited the underground garage at 12:06 in a black Range Rover registered to Reed Global.
He stopped answering calls.
At 2:23 a.m., Marcus told me Alexander was alive.
Stable.
Intubated.
Northwestern Memorial.
I sat in a conference room on the forty-third floor and cried for the first time.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
I covered my face and cried because I'd spent the last three hours convincing myself I'd watched a man die.
Marcus pretended not to notice.
At 3:10, police escorted me home.
I lived in a one-bedroom apartment in Lincoln Park.
Nothing fancy.
Rent too high.
Radiator too loud.
Usually it felt safe.
That morning, it didn't.
I checked every room.
Then laughed at myself for checking every room.
I put my bag on the kitchen counter.
My hands still smelled faintly like hospital-grade sanitizer from the AED kit.
I couldn't sleep.
At 5:08, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then answered.
“Emily Carter?”
“Yes.”
“This is Dr. Samuel Brooks from Northwestern Memorial Hospital. Mr. Reed is awake.”
Relief.
Immediate and enormous.
“He's okay?”
“He's conscious. His condition is stable.”
I closed my eyes.
“Thank God.”
“He asked for you.”
My eyes opened.
“For me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
I dressed.
At 5:50, Marcus picked me up.
We reached the hospital before sunrise.
Two private security officers stood outside Alexander's room.
Marcus spoke to them.
One opened the door.
Alexander Reed looked very different in a hospital bed.
Smaller somehow.
His expensive suit was gone.
Hospital gown.
Oxygen tubing.
Bruising already visible along his chest.
My bruising.
He saw me looking.
“Doctor says you probably cracked two ribs.”
I froze.
His voice was rough.
“I am so sorry.”
He smiled faintly.
“I'm not.”
I stepped closer.
“You almost died.”
“So I hear.”
“You stopped breathing.”
“So I hear.”
“I thought I killed you when I felt your ribs—”
“Emily.”
I stopped.
He looked directly at me.
“Thank you.”
Two words.
Simple.
I nearly cried again.
Instead, I nodded.
“You're welcome.”
His expression became serious.
“Did anyone take the folder?”
Marcus answered.
“Yes.”
“Calloway?”
“Likely.”
Alexander closed his eyes.
“Damn it.”
I moved closer.
“You emailed me.”
He looked at me again.
“You found something no one else found.”
“The vendors.”
“They weren't vendors.”
“What were they?”
“Shell companies.”
My stomach turned.
“How much?”
“At least sixty-eight million.”
I stared.
Alexander continued.
“And the money isn't the worst part.”
Marcus stepped toward the bed.
“Alex.”
Alexander ignored him.
“The transfers were financing acquisitions nobody on my board authorized.”
“What kind of acquisitions?”
He looked at me.
“Employee information.”
I didn't understand.
“Personnel records?”
“Medical records. Financial data. Private communications.”
My skin prickled.
“Why?”
“We don't know.”
A monitor beeped softly.
Alexander reached toward the bedside table.
There was a sealed envelope.
My name was written across it.
He handed it to me.
“What is this?”
“The reason I was coming to find you.”
I opened it.
Inside was a printed photograph.
Me.
Leaving Reed Tower.
Three weeks earlier.
Taken from across the street.
Another photograph.
Me buying groceries.
Another.
Me entering my apartment.
My breathing stopped.
Someone had been following me.
At the bottom of the envelope was one final image.
Peter Calloway standing outside my apartment building.
Taken two nights earlier.
I looked at Alexander.
“Why was he there?”
Alexander's face hardened.
“That's what I was trying to find out.”
Then Marcus's phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His expression drained of color.
“What?”
Alexander pushed himself slightly upright.
Marcus lowered the phone.
“Chicago police found Calloway's Range Rover.”
“Where?”
“Lower Wacker.”
“And Peter?”
Marcus looked at us.
“The car was empty.”
May you like
He paused.
“But there was blood in the driver's seat.”
