Chapter 4 - The Dead Man's Account
Ronan stared at the screen as though it had opened a grave.
The man in the video was older than the photographs hanging in Vale headquarters.
Gray at the temples.
Deeper lines around the mouth.
But unmistakable.
Cormac Vale.
Ronan's father.
Officially dead after a boat explosion on Lake Michigan eleven years earlier.
No body had been recovered.
Ronan had inherited the empire at twenty-eight.
Brendan had helped him stabilize it.
Cormac had become history.
Until now.
“That's impossible,” Evan whispered.
Ronan said nothing.
Cormac smiled through the screen.
“Hello, son.”
Ronan's voice came out quiet.
“You're dead.”
“Apparently not.”
“Where's Brendan?”
“Still asking about your uncle before your father. Brendan always did raise you better than I did.”
“Where is he?”
Cormac's smile disappeared.
“You'll know when you're ready to listen.”
The call ended.
Ronan stood motionless.
I watched the powerful man from the mansion disappear for one brief second.
What remained was a son whose dead father had just spoken to him.
Then Ronan rebuilt himself.
“Trace it.”
Martin began working.
I examined the transfers again.
If Cormac was alive, then every assumption changed.
Victor might be involved.
Patrick Doyle might be involved.
Brendan might be involved.
Or they might all be pieces in someone else's plan.
I filtered Grayson Strategic's payment history.
One recurring destination appeared every month for eleven years.
An offshore trust.
Beneficiary name hidden.
But the trust creation date made me stop.
Three weeks after Cormac's supposed death.
“Ronan.”
He came closer.
“What?”
“Someone has been funding an account since your father died.”
“How much?”
“Over twenty-two million dollars.”
Martin stared.
“That's not possible.”
“It is if the books were manipulated.”
I opened the trust's incorporation documents.
One witness signature appeared.
Victor Hale.
Ronan's CFO had known Cormac was alive.
Maybe for years.
Ronan walked away from the table.
His fists tightened.
I expected rage.
Instead he turned and asked, “Can you follow the money?”
“Yes.”
“Then do it.”
We worked until nearly midnight.
The trail ended at an abandoned printing facility on the south side.
Ronan assembled a small team.
I refused to stay behind.
“No.”
“That wasn't a request,” he said.
“I am the only person here who knows exactly what financial documents we're looking for.”
“You're also the only person here who isn't trained for this.”
“Then keep me behind you.”
He stared at me.
“You argue a lot for someone who was kidnapped eight hours ago.”
“I've had a difficult day.”
Evan laughed once.
Ronan gave him a look.
The abandoned facility was dark.
No guards outside.
No vehicles.
Too easy.
We entered through a side door.
The interior smelled of dust and machine oil.
In a back office we found boxes of financial records.
I opened the first.
Invoices.
Transfer confirmations.
Fake vendor agreements.
Every company connected to the sniper payments.
“This is it.”
Then Evan found photographs.
Ronan meeting politicians.
Ronan entering restaurants.
Ronan leaving his home.
Surveillance.
Years of it.
One photograph showed me.
I froze.
It had been taken six months earlier.
Outside Bellweather.
I was carrying groceries.
“Why do they have this?”
Ronan took it.
His expression darkened.
Another photo showed Martin.
Another Brendan.
Another Maeve Doyle.
Cormac had been watching all of us long before the red umbrella.
The kidnapping mistake suddenly felt less accidental.
Then I found a folder marked CALLAHAN.
My last name.
Inside were copies of my employment records.
My apartment lease.
My tax return.
A photograph of my parents.
And a document dated fourteen years earlier.
Bellweather hiring authorization.
Approved by Victor Hale.
My hands shook.
“I didn't know Victor then.”
Martin examined it.
“You may not have known him.”
Ronan looked at me.
“But he knew you.”
Why?
I kept searching.
At the bottom was a handwritten note.
KEEP NORA IN ACCOUNTING. SHE SEES PATTERNS OTHERS MISS.
I stared at it.
Someone had been positioning me for fourteen years.
Before I ever knew Ronan.
Before the sniper.
Before the kidnapping.
A sound came from the warehouse floor.
Metal scraping.
Ronan pushed me behind him.
Evan raised his weapon.
A figure stepped from the darkness.
Brendan Vale.
Alive.
His clothes were torn.
Blood covered one sleeve.
“Ronan.”
Ronan lowered his weapon slightly.
“Uncle?”
Brendan staggered toward us.
“They let me go.”
“Why?”
Brendan looked at me.
Then at the folder in my hands.
His face changed.
“Nora Callahan.”
I felt cold.
“You know me?”
Brendan nodded.
“I knew your father.”
My breath stopped.
“My father was an accountant.”
“No.”
Brendan shook his head.
“He was the man who discovered Cormac's first hidden network.”
I stared at him.
“My father died in a car accident when I was twelve.”
Brendan's eyes filled with something that looked like regret.
“It wasn't an accident.”
Ronan stepped closer.
“Who killed him?”
Brendan opened his mouth.
A red laser dot appeared on his chest.
Ronan shouted.
The warehouse window shattered.
May you like
Brendan dropped.
And from the darkness outside, a second laser moved directly toward me.
