Chapter 3 - The Voice on Daniel's Recorder
Vanessa released Grant's arm.
Nobody spoke.
I replayed the final seconds.
“The signature authorizing the transfer belongs to—”
Static.
“Daniel?”
Grant shut his eyes.
My sister whispered, “Grant?”
He looked at me.
“That proves nothing.”
I stepped into the hallway carrying the recorder.
“You were with my husband before he died.”
“No.”
“That's your voice.”
“It sounds like me.”
“Grant.”
His composure cracked.
“Fine. I met him.”
Vanessa recoiled.
“You told me you barely knew Daniel.”
“I didn't know him socially.”
“When?”
Grant looked toward Hayes.
“I want an attorney.”
Hayes nodded.
“That's your right.”
Dad suddenly looked terrified.
“This is Thanksgiving.”
No one responded.
It was such a ridiculous sentence that even Dad seemed to hear it after saying it.
I looked at Grant.
“When did you see Daniel?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Two days before the accident.”
“Why?”
“He contacted my company.”
“About?”
“A procurement discrepancy.”
“The missing equipment?”
Grant looked at Hayes.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
I stepped closer.
“Daniel is dead.”
“I know.”
“My son buried his father three days ago.”
Grant's face tightened.
“I know.”
“So stop protecting whatever you're protecting.”
Vanessa stared at him.
“Did you have something to do with Daniel's death?”
“No!”
The answer came instantly.
Too loud.
Noah appeared at the hallway entrance.
I turned.
Mom had been keeping him in the kitchen.
Apparently he had escaped.
“Mom?”
I went to him.
“Everything's okay.”
“Uncle Grant killed Dad?”
Vanessa gasped.
“Noah, no.”
I crouched carefully.
“We don't know what happened.”
“But you said—”
“I know.”
His chin trembled.
I hugged him.
This was exactly what Daniel had feared.
Protect Noah.
Not the investigation.
Not the evidence.
Noah.
I asked Mom to take him upstairs.
She hesitated.
Then she knelt.
“Come with Grandma, sweetheart.”
Noah looked at me.
“I'll come get you soon.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
When they disappeared upstairs, I faced Grant again.
“Start talking.”
He sat.
For the first time, the wealthy, polished man my sister had spent years presenting as evidence of her superior choices looked exhausted.
“My company discovered irregularities six months ago.”
Hayes remained standing.
“What irregularities?”
“Components ordered twice. Shipments rerouted. Serial numbers duplicated.”
“And you reported it?”
Grant laughed bitterly.
“To my chief financial officer.”
“Name?”
“Peter Lawson.”
Hayes's expression changed.
I noticed.
“You know him.”
“Former procurement officer.”
Grant nodded.
“He told me it was an accounting issue.”
“And you believed him?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I investigated quietly.”
Vanessa stared at her husband.
“You never told me.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
She flinched.
I knew that sentence.
People used it when secrecy had become impossible to defend.
Grant continued.
“Daniel contacted me because he found one of our shipment codes attached to equipment that never reached its destination.”
“Why didn't you tell investigators?”
“I did.”
Hayes frowned.
“To whom?”
Grant named an investigator.
Hayes went still.
“Major.”
“What?”
“That investigator was removed from Daniel's case yesterday.”
“Why?”
“Conflict of interest.”
Grant stared.
“What conflict?”
Hayes looked at him.
“He previously worked with Lawson.”
Silence.
The pieces weren't connecting yet.
But they were close enough to frighten me.
I returned to Daniel's case.
The notebook contained dates and abbreviated entries.
R741.
WSH.
PL.
Then another set of initials appeared repeatedly.
T.M.
I showed Hayes.
“Who is T.M.?”
He shook his head.
Grant looked over.
His face changed.
“You know,” I said.
“No.”
“Grant.”
“I don't know the person.”
“But you recognize the initials.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“One of our internal authorization accounts uses TM.”
“Whose?”
“I don't know.”
“You own the company.”
“I own forty-one percent. There are other partners.”
Vanessa sat beside him.
“Why didn't you tell me any of this?”
“Because somebody broke into my office two months ago.”
Her face went pale.
“What?”
“They didn't steal money. They copied files.”
I looked at Hayes.
“When?”
Grant gave the date.
Hayes checked Daniel's notebook.
Daniel had written something that same day.
G contacted.
Watching him now.
Grant stared.
“He knew?”
“He knew someone was watching you.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Major Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“This is Special Agent Lena Ortiz, Army CID.”
Hayes straightened.
I put the phone on speaker.
Ortiz continued.
“Colonel Hayes informed me that Captain Mercer's private materials had been transferred to you.”
“Yes.”
“Do not surrender those materials to anyone unless Colonel Hayes or I personally identify them.”
“Understood.”
“We also recovered security footage from Fort Reynolds.”
My heart pounded.
“From the night Daniel died?”
“Yes.”
Hayes moved closer.
“What does it show?”
Ortiz paused.
“Captain Mercer entered the motor pool at 21:14.”
I waited.
“He was not alone.”
Grant stared at the phone.
“Who was with him?”
“We're still enhancing the footage.”
“Male or female?”
“Male.”
“Military?”
“Appears civilian.”
My eyes moved to Grant.
He shook his head.
“It wasn't me.”
Ortiz continued.
“There is something else. The vehicle Captain Mercer later drove had been serviced approximately forty minutes before departure.”
Hayes asked, “By whom?”
“The maintenance record was falsified.”
I felt cold.
“So the accident—”
“We are no longer treating mechanical failure as accidental.”
My hand went to the desk.
The room tilted.
Daniel had known.
He had left the evidence because he had known.
Then Ortiz said, “Major, I need you to look at something.”
My phone buzzed.
An image arrived.
Grainy security footage.
Daniel was walking beside a man.
The man's face was turned away.
But his jacket had a distinctive silver clasp.
Vanessa suddenly grabbed my wrist.
“Oh my God.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
She pointed at the photograph.
“I've seen that jacket.”
“Where?”
Her eyes moved slowly toward our father.
Dad had been standing silently near the dining room.
May you like
His face had gone white.
Vanessa whispered, “Dad wore it the night Daniel came here.”
