Chapter 2 - The Ledger That Shouldn't Exist
Ronan read the message twice.
He did not shout.
He did not accuse anyone.
He simply looked around the room.
That frightened his men more than anger would have.
“Lock the property,” he said.
Every door was secured within seconds.
Phones were collected.
Security feeds were isolated.
Nobody left.
Ronan took my phone and enlarged the photograph.
The angle showed part of the chandelier behind me.
“That narrows the position,” I said.
He looked at me.
“The picture was taken from my right side. Probably twenty to thirty feet away.”
Evan immediately moved toward the eastern wall.
Three men had stood there.
One was the heavier kidnapper.
Another was a security guard named Mason.
The third was gone.
Ronan's face changed.
“Where's Cole?”
Nobody answered.
Evan checked the hallway.
“Cole?”
Silence.
Ronan walked toward the security room.
I followed before anyone could stop me.
He glanced back.
“You stay here.”
“Someone just photographed me from inside your house.”
“Exactly.”
“So standing alone in the room full of suspects seems like a poor accounting decision.”
That earned me a sharp look.
Then he continued walking.
I followed.
The security room contained twelve monitors.
One showed the west entrance.
Another the garage.
Another the rear garden.
Ronan's security chief replayed the last ten minutes.
Cole appeared on camera entering a service corridor.
He never came out.
They opened another feed.
Empty.
“Blind spot,” Evan muttered.
Ronan looked at him.
“In my house?”
“Temporary camera failure.”
“When?”
Evan checked.
“Seven minutes ago.”
I said quietly, “The same time the photograph was sent.”
Ronan's eyes turned cold.
They searched the corridor.
Cole was gone.
A side door had been opened using a valid security code.
No forced entry.
No alarm.
Someone inside Ronan's organization had escaped immediately after I received the threat.
Ronan ordered teams to find him.
Then he turned to me.
“We're going to Bellweather.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
“You're planning to enter a financial office full of cameras while half the city probably knows your face.”
“I own suits.”
I blinked.
Evan looked away to hide amusement.
Thirty minutes later, Ronan returned wearing a charcoal suit, white shirt and dark tie.
The tattoos disappeared beneath expensive fabric.
He looked less like a fighter.
More dangerous, somehow.
We entered Bellweather through the underground garage using my employee badge.
The office was almost empty.
Thursday evenings were quiet.
I led Ronan and Evan to the accounting floor.
My desk looked exactly as I had left it.
Coffee mug.
Calculator.
Stack of expense reports.
Yellow sticky notes.
Except one thing was missing.
My laptop.
I stopped.
“Someone took it.”
Ronan looked around.
“Who has access?”
“IT. Management. Cleaning staff.”
“And your supervisor?”
“Martin.”
We entered Martin Kessler's office.
Empty.
His computer was gone too.
On his desk sat a shredded document bag.
I checked the trash.
Nothing.
Ronan opened a drawer.
Inside was a prepaid phone.
He handed it to me.
One message remained.
TRANSFER CONFIRMED. V WILL NOT SURVIVE SECOND ATTEMPT.
Ronan's expression became stone.
The next attack was already planned.
I searched Martin's desk.
A folder had been hidden beneath a false bottom.
Inside were printouts.
Dozens of transfers.
Amounts.
Dates.
Shell companies.
I recognized the pattern immediately.
“These are layered payments.”
“For what?”
“I don't know yet.”
I spread them across the desk.
Then I noticed something.
Every company eventually routed money back through one entity.
North Meridian Consulting.
Ronan stared at the name.
“You know it?” I asked.
“My organization uses it.”
“For what?”
“Private acquisitions.”
“Who controls authorization?”
“Three people.”
“Names?”
Ronan hesitated.
Then answered.
“Me. My chief financial officer, Victor Hale. And my uncle, Brendan Vale.”
I looked at him.
“One of those three signatures appears on every transfer.”
Ronan leaned closer.
“Which?”
I traced the authorization code.
BH-17.
“Brendan.”
Ronan said nothing.
Evan cursed softly.
“Your uncle?”
Ronan's expression gave nothing away.
“My uncle helped raise me.”
“That doesn't make the ledger wrong.”
“I know.”
We copied everything.
Then the lights went out.
Evan pulled his weapon.
“Down.”
Ronan pushed me behind the desk.
Footsteps sounded outside.
Slow.
Controlled.
Someone stopped at Martin's door.
The handle moved.
Locked.
A voice came through the glass.
“Nora?”
I froze.
I knew that voice.
Martin.
“Nora, open the door.”
Ronan raised one finger to his lips.
Martin continued.
“I know you're in there.”
I whispered, “He shouldn't know.”
Ronan nodded.
Martin's voice changed.
“Tell Ronan Vale I can explain the money.”
Ronan's eyes narrowed.
Then Martin said something that made every person in the office stop breathing.
“Tell him Brendan wasn't paying the sniper.”
A pause.
“He was paying the man who ordered it.”
May you like
The door handle turned again.
And this time, the lock clicked open from the outside.
