Chapter 5 - The Phone Call From a Dead Man Was the Warning We Couldn't IgnoreMy father's voice.
Impossible.
I replayed the voicemail.
There was no recording.
Only the live call.
But I knew that voice.
The pause between words.
The quiet rasp.
The slight weakness on certain consonants.
It was him.
Or someone who knew him very well.
We didn't tell Chloe.
Not yet.
Declan and I returned to the office.
The board meeting was scheduled for noon.
Vaughn wanted emergency authority over the company.
I suspected why.
The shipment crisis had damaged our stock valuation.
The board wanted a temporary executive committee.
Vaughn expected to lead it.
I walked into the room.
Everyone looked at me.
Vaughn smiled.
“Harper.”
“Let's begin.”
He presented the numbers.
Losses.
Penalties.
Cancelled contracts.
He made it look devastating.
Then he said:
“Given the current instability, the board should consider temporary operational control.”
I looked around.
“By whom?”
He smiled.
“A committee.”
“Led by you.”
He paused.
“That would be appropriate.”
I placed Declan's notebook on the table.
The room went silent.
“What is that?”
“Evidence.”
I opened it.
Shipment codes.
Shell companies.
Private warehouses.
Payments.
A director stared.
“Where did you get this?”
“From the employee you fired.”
Vaughn's face tightened.
“You were not authorized to access those records.”
“I own the company.”
“Not if the board removes you.”
I smiled.
“Then perhaps we should vote.”
Vaughn leaned back.
“You're making a mistake.”
“I've made several.”
I looked at him.
“I'm trying not to make another.”
We began reviewing the evidence.
Then a board member asked:
“Where did the money go?”
I answered:
“To companies controlled by Vaughn Pritchard.”
Silence.
Vaughn stood.
“That is ridiculous.”
I placed the financial records on the table.
He looked down.
His face changed.
“This has been fabricated.”
“Then explain the payments.”
He couldn't.
The board chairman looked furious.
“Vaughn.”
But before he could respond, the conference room doors opened.
Federal investigators entered.
Everyone froze.
One agent said:
“Mr. Pritchard, you're under investigation.”
Vaughn stared at me.
“You.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
The agent stepped forward.
“Your accounts have been flagged.”
Vaughn suddenly smiled.
“You think this ends with me?”
Then he looked at me.
“You have no idea who you're fighting.”
He was arrested.
The room was silent.
I should have felt relief.
Instead, I felt dread.
Because if Vaughn wasn't the mastermind, then who was?
That afternoon, we searched his office.
We found a hidden safe.
Inside:
My father's medical records.
My sister's accident report.
Declan's employment file.
And a photograph.
My mother.
I stared.
My mother had died when I was twelve.
Why was she in Vaughn's safe?
Declan took the photograph.
“Look.”
A date.
Three years after her death.
I felt cold.
“What does that mean?”
“That she may have been alive.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Harper.”
“No.”
My mother had been buried.
I had attended the funeral.
I had seen the coffin.
But the coffin had been closed.
I remembered that.
The photograph was recent.
She stood outside a building in Boston.
Beside her was a man.
My father.
Alive.
I couldn't breathe.
My father wasn't dead either.
Or at least, the photograph suggested he had survived longer than we knew.
Chloe entered the room.
She saw the photograph.
Her face drained of color.
“That isn't possible.”
I couldn't answer.
She picked it up.
“Where did you find this?”
“In Vaughn's safe.”
She looked at me.
“Harper.”
“I know.”
“My God.”
Declan looked toward the door.
“Someone is coming.”
Footsteps.
Security shouted.
Then the door opened.
A man stood there.
Older.
Gray hair.
Holding a cane.
My heart stopped.
My father.
Alive.
He looked at Chloe.
Then me.
May you like
And said:
“I knew you'd find the truth eventually.”
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