Chapter 2 - The Man Behind the Glass
Emily returned to the forty-first floor expecting a second interview.
Instead, Alexander Whitmore was waiting alone.
Her father's name was hidden beneath a folder on his desk.
“Sit down, Ms. Carter.”
Emily sat.
Alexander studied her carefully.
“Did you know your father worked for Whitmore Holdings?”
Emily blinked.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Alexander watched her reaction.
There was no calculation in it.
Only confusion.
“My father repaired industrial equipment,” she said. “He worked contract jobs. He died when I was fourteen.”
“How?”
“Car accident.”
Alexander said nothing.
Emily shifted.
“Why are you asking me about my father?”
Alexander had spent the previous twenty minutes reading the first pages of Daniel Carter's file.
Most were ordinary.
Contract technician.
Facilities access.
Temporary assignment.
Then the record changed.
Internal audit cooperation.
Restricted.
Confidential.
The final page was missing.
Alexander wasn't ready to tell Emily.
Not yet.
“Your surname appeared in an old company record.”
“What kind?”
“I'm determining that.”
Emily's eyes narrowed.
“Does this have something to do with my interview?”
“I don't know.”
That answer frightened her more than reassurance would have.
Alexander changed direction.
“I'd like to offer you a temporary analyst position.”
Emily stared.
“I'm sorry?”
“Ninety-day probation. Finance compliance support.”
She almost laughed from disbelief.
“You're offering me a job?”
“Yes.”
“Because of my spreadsheet?”
“Because you found something worth investigating.”
Emily thought of Vanessa.
“Does Ms. Price agree?”
“No.”
Alexander's answer was so immediate Emily almost smiled.
Almost.
“What happens after ninety days?”
“If you're good enough, you stay.”
“And if I'm not?”
“You don't.”
Emily appreciated that.
No charity.
No inspirational speech.
No pretending.
“When would I start?”
“Monday.”
She looked at her hands.
Monday.
A real salary.
Health insurance after thirty days.
Enough to keep Noah enrolled.
Enough to help her mother.
“Okay.”
Alexander extended his hand.
Emily took it.
Neither noticed Vanessa watching through the glass wall.
But Vanessa noticed everything.
Especially the file on Alexander's desk.
DANIEL CARTER.
That evening, Emily came home carrying groceries.
Real groceries.
Not because she had been paid yet, but because she'd allowed herself to use twenty dollars from the emergency envelope after signing the employment papers.
Diane saw the grocery bags.
“What happened?”
Emily smiled.
“I got it.”
Her mother froze.
“The job?”
Emily nodded.
Noah came running from his bedroom.
“You're serious?”
“Temporary.”
He hugged her anyway.
For several minutes, the Carter apartment felt lighter.
Then Emily mentioned Alexander's question.
“Something weird happened.”
Diane was unpacking vegetables.
“What?”
“He asked about Dad.”
A tomato slipped from Diane's hand.
It hit the counter.
Emily stopped.
“Mom?”
Diane picked it up too quickly.
“What did he ask?”
“Whether Dad worked at Whitmore.”
“No.”
The answer came too fast.
Emily stared.
“Mom.”
“He didn't.”
“Mr. Whitmore said there was a company record.”
Diane's face had lost its color.
“Emily, listen to me.”
“What?”
“If anyone at that company asks about your father again, you don't know anything.”
“I don't know anything.”
“Good.”
“Mom, what are you talking about?”
Diane gripped the counter.
“Take the job if you need it. Work hard. Come home.”
“Why?”
“Just don't go looking into Daniel's past.”
Emily had never heard her mother call him Daniel.
Always Dad.
Always your father.
Never Daniel.
“Mom—”
“Promise me.”
Emily couldn't.
Monday morning, she entered Whitmore Holdings through the employee entrance.
Nobody laughed at her clothing.
Not openly.
But people looked.
Word had traveled.
The thrift-store applicant had been personally hired by Alexander Whitmore.
By lunch, three versions of the story existed.
By three o'clock, there were seven.
Emily ignored them.
Her workstation was on the thirty-sixth floor.
Not executive level.
Not glamorous.
Just a desk.
It felt magnificent.
She worked.
And worked.
And worked.
At 6:40 p.m., most employees left.
Emily stayed.
At 7:15, she found the first problem.
The freight adjustment account had been modified.
Not corrected.
Modified.
Someone had moved the suspicious transactions into another category after her interview.
Emily checked the timestamp.
Friday.
6:12 p.m.
Less than two hours after she'd shown Alexander the spreadsheet.
Someone knew.
She printed the audit trail.
A shadow fell across her desk.
Emily looked up.
Martin Hale stood there.
“You work late.”
She covered the page instinctively.
“So do you.”
Martin smiled.
“Be careful with that.”
“With what?”
“Curiosity.”
He walked away.
Emily waited until the elevator doors closed.
Then she looked at the audit trail again.
The user who had modified the transactions wasn't Martin.
It was an executive account.
VP-ADMIN-07.
Emily searched the internal directory.
No match.
She tried archived accounts.
Nothing.
Then her computer screen went black.
A message appeared.
ACCESS REVOKED.
Emily reached for her phone.
Before she could call IT, another message appeared.
Not from the company system.
An email.
No sender name.
Subject:
YOUR FATHER MADE THE SAME MISTAKE.
Emily's breathing stopped.
There was one attachment.
A photograph.
She opened it.
Her father stood outside Whitmore Holdings.
Beside him was a much younger man Emily immediately recognized from company portraits.
Alexander's father.
Richard Whitmore.
And between them sat a black metal case.
May you like
On the back of the scanned photograph someone had written a date.
The day before Daniel Carter died.
