Chapter 3 - The Secretary Became the Target
The note changed everything.
Until that moment, I had believed the danger centered around my father.
Now I understood.
Claire was part of it.
Maybe not the center.
But close enough that someone wanted her dead.
We left the warehouse through the rear exit.
Two cars followed us.
Claire noticed first.
"Don't take the highway."
"I wasn't planning to."
We drove through Savannah's industrial streets.
The first vehicle stayed behind.
The second disappeared.
I glanced at her.
"How did you know?"
"Professional habit."
"Your background gets stranger by the minute."
She looked out the window.
"So does yours."
I almost smiled.
We stopped at a secure property outside the city.
Only three people knew it existed.
Claire included.
That surprised me.
"How did you get this address?"
"You gave it to me."
"I did?"
"During your father's funeral."
I stared.
"I don't remember."
"You were drunk."
"I don't drink."
"You did that night."
She was right.
I had forgotten almost everything after midnight.
Claire sat on the couch.
"You trusted me before you remembered my name."
"Maybe I trusted you before I knew why."
She looked at me.
For a second, neither spoke.
Then her phone rang.
She checked the screen.
No number.
She answered.
"Hello?"
Silence.
Then a man's voice.
"You're running out of time."
Claire's face drained of color.
"Who is this?"
The line disconnected.
I stared.
"Who?"
She didn't answer.
"Claire."
"My brother."
I froze.
"He's alive?"
She shook her head.
"No."
Then tears appeared in her eyes.
"That's the voice he had on his last recording."
We spent the afternoon digging through old Blackridge files.
Claire found a coded reference to Project Gray.
I recognized the name.
It had belonged to my father.
"Project Gray was never completed."
"That's what you were told."
I looked at her.
"You've read the documents."
"Yes."
"What was it?"
"A network designed to expose illegal transfers between freight companies."
"So my father was investigating Northbridge."
"And Blackridge."
I frowned.
"My father was investigating me?"
"No."
"Then why Blackridge?"
"Because he suspected someone was using your company."
"Who?"
She tapped the table.
"Your cousin."
The answer felt inevitable now.
But I still resisted it.
Evan had saved my life twice.
He had covered my back.
He had been family.
"What if it's a setup?"
"Then we prove it."
"How?"
She smiled.
"Let him steal again."
I stared.
She explained.
"We create a fake shipment."
"Then?"
"We put money into a controlled account."
"Then?"
"We wait."
"What are you looking for?"
"Who moves the money."
We set the trap.
The fake shipment went through Newark.
A million-dollar transaction appeared under a legitimate vendor code.
The next morning, the funds disappeared.
Evan was the only person with the access required to authorize the transfer.
I confronted him in the office.
"You moved the Newark payment."
He looked at me.
"Yes."
I pretended surprise.
"Why?"
"Error."
Claire stood behind me.
"That was an expensive error."
Evan smiled.
"I'll fix it."
He walked away.
Claire whispered:
"Now."
"What?"
"Follow him."
We tracked him to a parking garage.
He met a man.
Not Northbridge's CFO.
Not Vincent Hale.
A woman.
She wore a gray coat.
Evan handed her a flash drive.
She handed him an envelope.
I took photographs.
Then the woman turned.
I recognized her.
My mother.
Dead for seven years.
I stopped breathing.
Claire gripped my arm.
"Roman."
I couldn't speak.
My mother approached us.
She was older.
But unmistakable.
"Hello, son."
My world collapsed.
"You died."
She shook her head.
"That was another lie."
"Why?"
"Because your father discovered someone was trying to control the company through him."
I stared.
"Who?"
She looked at Claire.
"Her brother knew."
Claire's eyes filled.
"Your brother and my mother knew each other."
My mother nodded.
"They worked together."
I looked between them.
"My father."
"My mother."
"Your brother."
"The Blackridge accounts."
Everything connected.
My mother stepped closer.
"Roman, Evan isn't doing this alone."
"Who is he working for?"
She hesitated.
"Desmond."
My uncle.
The only man besides my father who had been part of every major decision in our family.
"Is he alive?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
She looked at me.
"He's in Manhattan."
I laughed bitterly.
"Of course he is."
Then my mother added:
"And your wedding?"
I frowned.
"What about it?"
"You need to call it off."
"Why?"
"Because the woman you're engaged to is being used to control you."
I thought of Monica.
Claire looked at me.
"Who is she?"
My mother said:
"Desmond's daughter."
Silence.
May you like
Suddenly my engagement wasn't a family alliance.
It was a trap.
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