Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Found the Missing Six Hours
The two men from the parking garage were not random thieves.
Boston police found no weapons on them, no drugs, no outstanding warrants and nothing that would explain why one of their phones contained Rachel’s photograph and home address.
By midnight, however, Daniel’s people had identified both men.
They were freelance dockworkers.
For the previous month they had been paid through a company called Seaboard Consulting.
Seaboard Consulting had no real office.
Its registered address belonged to a mailbox store in Quincy.
And three months earlier, Seaboard had received seventy-eight thousand dollars from Northshore Emergency Systems.
Daniel called Rachel at 7:04 the following morning.
She answered after the third ring.
“Do you always call people before sunrise?”
“It’s after seven.”
“That is before sunrise emotionally.”
A pause.
Then, very quietly, Daniel laughed.
It was the first time she had heard the sound.
Rachel sat up in bed.
She had spent the night with every lamp in her apartment turned on.
“Did you find something?”
“Yes.”
His voice changed.
“Northshore is paying people to watch you.”
The humor disappeared.
Rachel looked toward the chain on her apartment door.
“What do they want?”
“That is what I’m trying to determine.”
“I’m going to work.”
“No.”
Rachel closed her eyes.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The part where you stop asking and start ordering.”
Daniel was silent.
When he spoke again, the word came reluctantly.
“Please.”
That was somehow more effective.
Rachel rubbed her forehead.
“I have a compliance meeting.”
“It was canceled thirty minutes ago.”
She sat straighter.
“How do you know that?”
“Your hospital administrator called my legal department.”
“Why?”
“Because St. Catherine is suspending the Northshore contract.”
“That’s good.”
“They are also suspending you.”
Rachel stopped breathing for a moment.
“What?”
“Paid administrative leave. Pending review.”
Her grip tightened around the phone.
“Dennis.”
“I don’t know yet.”
“He told me to stop asking questions.”
Daniel’s voice sharpened.
“He said that?”
“Yes.”
“Yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I met you yesterday.”
“That has not prevented you from arguing with me.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“I enjoy arguing with you.”
Silence.
Rachel realized what she had said.
Daniel answered first.
“I noticed.”
She pressed her lips together.
“Tell me exactly what the hospital said.”
Daniel did.
St. Catherine’s official statement claimed Rachel had exceeded her authority by interrupting emergency care, removed confidential procurement records and contacted an outside contractor without authorization.
Rachel stood in her kitchen wearing pajama pants while fury pushed away the fear.
“I didn’t remove confidential records. I printed documents I was authorized to access.”
“I believe you.”
“You barely know me.”
“I know the timestamps were real.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m trustworthy.”
“No.”
Rachel waited.
Daniel continued.
“But it means someone moved quickly enough to suspend the person who found them.”
That was harder to argue with.
By nine, Daniel was sitting across from Rachel at a small café in Beacon Hill.
She had refused to meet at one of his offices.
He had refused to let her travel alone.
The compromise involved Daniel sitting at a table barely large enough for his shoulders while an elderly woman beside him discussed blueberry muffins with her husband.
Rachel almost enjoyed his discomfort.
Almost.
Daniel slid a folder toward her.
“Northshore incorporated fourteen months ago.”
Rachel opened it.
“Owner?”
“Martin Pike.”
“Who’s Martin Pike?”
“Dead.”
She looked up.
Daniel’s face remained expressionless.
“Eight years ago.”
Rachel stared at the incorporation date.
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“Somebody registered a medical supply company under a dead man’s identity?”
“Yes.”
“And St. Catherine approved them?”
“Yes.”
“That requires compliance documents, insurance certificates, bank verification and vendor screening.”
“Yes.”
She flipped the page.
“Someone inside the hospital helped.”
“Most likely.”
“Dennis.”
“Possibly.”
Rachel hated the answer.
Dennis was dismissive and insecure, but she had worked beneath him for four years.
People were easier to suspect when they were strangers.
Daniel seemed to read the hesitation.
“You don’t have to decide what he is before the evidence does.”
Rachel looked at him.
“That sounded almost healthy.”
“My sister has been in therapy for six years.”
Rachel smiled despite herself.
“Does she charge you for secondhand advice?”
“She should.”
The waitress approached.
Daniel ordered black coffee.
Rachel ordered eggs, toast and hash browns.
Daniel glanced toward her plate when it arrived.
Rachel raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You looked.”
“I was thinking that is the first normal breakfast I’ve seen anyone order around me in months.”
“What do the people around you eat?”
“Protein, regret and things called cleanses.”
Rachel laughed.
Daniel stared at her for half a second longer than necessary.
Then his phone vibrated.
His expression changed as he read the message.
“What?”
“Someone entered your apartment twenty minutes ago.”
The fork stopped halfway to Rachel’s mouth.
“What?”
“My men watching the building saw a maintenance employee leave through the service entrance.”
“You have men watching my building?”
“Yes.”
“Daniel.”
“We can discuss your anger after we discuss the person currently searching your bedroom.”
Rachel was already reaching for her coat.
Daniel caught himself before touching her arm.
“Rachel.”
“I’m going home.”
“No.”
“You don’t get to—”
“They may still be inside.”
That stopped her.
He leaned forward.
“Boston police are on the way.”
“My laptop.”
“Can be replaced.”
“My father’s watch is there.”
His voice softened.
“Then we’ll get it back.”
She looked down.
“My father died three years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
Rachel swallowed.
“He wore that watch every day for twenty-nine years.”
Daniel stood.
“We’ll get it back.”
There was no dramatic promise in his tone.
He said it the way another person might say they were going to pick up groceries.
When they reached Rachel’s apartment, the door showed no damage.
Inside was worse.
Nothing obvious had been stolen.
The television remained.
Cash in a kitchen drawer remained.
Her jewelry box had been opened but not emptied.
The intruder had searched papers.
Drawers had been removed.
File folders were dumped across the bed.
Her hospital notebook was gone.
So was the flash drive she had used to save manufacturer serial lists.
Rachel stood in the doorway.
“This is because of Northshore.”
“Yes.”
Daniel’s men moved quietly through the apartment with gloves.
Rachel crossed to the nightstand.
The wooden box holding her father’s watch lay open.
Empty.
She stared at it.
Daniel saw her face.
He did not say anything.
Ten minutes later, one of his guards called from the hallway.
“Found something.”
The watch lay inside a trash bag near the rear stairwell.
Whoever had searched the apartment had apparently knocked the box onto the floor, picked up the watch with other papers, then discarded it after realizing it was worthless to them.
Daniel brought it to Rachel himself.
She took it carefully.
“Thank you.”
“I told you we would get it back.”
Rachel looked up.
“You always have to be right?”
“Often.”
“That must be exhausting.”
“For other people, probably.”
Despite everything, she smiled.
It disappeared when a police detective entered the room.
Over the next hour, Rachel gave her statement.
By noon, St. Catherine called again.
The hospital wanted her laptop.
Her access badge.
Her work phone.
And every copy of Northshore-related records.
Daniel’s lawyer advised her not to surrender anything without written preservation guarantees.
The hospital’s counsel threatened termination.
Rachel paced her living room.
“I’m going to lose my job.”
Daniel stood by the window.
“You may.”
She glared.
“Very comforting.”
“I could lie.”
“Please don’t.”
“Then yes. You may lose your job.”
Rachel sat on the couch.
“I’ve worked there seven years.”
“I know.”
“I finally saved enough for the senior procurement certification. I was supposed to take the exam next month.”
Daniel remained quiet.
She looked at him.
“You probably think this is small.”
“No.”
“You run a company worth billions.”
“That doesn’t make seven years of someone else’s life small.”
The words caught her off guard.
Daniel reached inside his coat and placed a business card on the table.
“Moretti Freight has an internal compliance department.”
Rachel stared at him.
“No.”
“You haven’t heard the offer.”
“You’re going to offer me a job because I helped your sister.”
“I’m going to offer you a temporary consulting contract because you found a forged logistics record in under five minutes.”
“I’m not working for you.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know what you do.”
“I move freight.”
“Lily said people think you own more than trucks.”
“Lily is observant.”
“That is not an answer.”
Daniel sat across from her.
“My legitimate businesses include shipping, warehousing, commercial real estate, restaurants and private security.”
“And the illegitimate ones?”
The room went still.
One of Daniel’s guards by the doorway looked away.
Daniel did not.
“Those are not businesses I would ask you to participate in.”
Rachel stared at him.
“That might be the most careful confession I’ve ever heard.”
“It was not a confession.”
“Of course not.”
Daniel folded his hands.
“The Northshore shipment moved through one of my legitimate warehouses. If someone inside my company is falsifying freight records, I need to know who.”
“And you want me to find them?”
“I want you to look at the records and tell me what I’m missing.”
“Why me?”
“Because my accountants have been looking at those records for years.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“No.”
She considered him.
“How much?”
Daniel named a number.
Rachel nearly choked.
“That’s obscene.”
“It’s a six-week contract.”
“That’s more than I make in six months.”
“Yes.”
“I’d be overpaid.”
“I doubt that.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Do I get to tell you when your people are doing something stupid?”
“I suspect you will regardless.”
“Do I report only to you?”
“Yes.”
“Do I get access to the original warehouse scans?”
“Yes.”
“And if I find something criminal?”
Daniel held her gaze.
“You tell me.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
He knew it.
“If you find something that legally requires reporting, you report it.”
Rachel watched him carefully.
“You mean that?”
“Yes.”
“Even if it hurts your company?”
“Yes.”
“What if it hurts you?”
For the first time, Daniel paused.
Then he said, “Yes.”
Rachel did not fully believe him.
But she believed he wanted to mean it.
That was enough to make her take the card.
Three days later, she entered Moretti Freight Holdings through a private executive elevator and discovered that Daniel’s world ran on security badges, quiet fear and extremely expensive coffee.
Daniel’s chief operating officer was his cousin Julian Moretti.
Julian was thirty-eight, handsome in a polished, effortless way Daniel was not, with a smile that arrived quickly and disappeared just as fast.
“So you’re Rachel Morgan.”
Rachel looked up from the conference table.
“I’ve been accused of that.”
Julian smiled.
“My cousin says you found our impossible delivery.”
“I found a timestamp.”
“Which apparently makes you the most important person in the building this week.”
Daniel entered behind him.
“It makes her the only person who noticed it.”
Julian’s smile tightened.
Rachel caught the change.
Small.
Almost invisible.
Daniel did not.
Or perhaps he did and simply gave nothing away.
For the next four days, Rachel lived inside shipping manifests.
She found three more impossible deliveries.
Then six.
Then eleven.
All connected to Northshore or companies that shared the same freight broker.
Every shipment had passed through one of two facilities.
Chelsea Warehouse Four.
And Harbor Point Terminal.
Julian controlled both.
Rachel did not accuse him.
She had learned something from Daniel.
Let the evidence decide what people are.
On the fifth evening, she found something worse.
The shipments were not merely counterfeit.
Some of the legitimate medical devices entering Moretti warehouses were being replaced with cheaper unauthorized units before delivery.
The genuine devices then disappeared.
Sold somewhere else.
Someone was making money twice.
Rachel leaned back from her screen.
Daniel stood at the office window speaking quietly on the phone.
When he finished, she said, “I know how they’re doing it.”
He crossed the room.
Rachel turned the laptop.
“They’re swapping inventory during the overnight transfer.”
Daniel looked at the chain-of-custody report.
“That would require warehouse authority.”
“Yes.”
“At what level?”
“Senior.”
His expression became unreadable.
Rachel tapped another line.
“And someone inside St. Catherine is approving the substitutions after delivery.”
“Dennis?”
“Maybe.”
Daniel stared at the screen.
“How many people know you found this?”
“You.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Rachel frowned.
“Why?”
His phone rang.
He answered.
The voice on the other end spoke for less than ten seconds.
Daniel’s face changed.
“Where?”
He listened.
Then hung up.
“What happened?” Rachel asked.
Daniel looked at her.
“Someone cut the brake line on your car.”
Rachel did not move.
She had left the vehicle in the St. Catherine employee garage before her suspension.
Daniel continued.
“A hospital security officer noticed fluid beneath it before they moved it.”
Rachel’s mouth went dry.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She sat slowly.
Daniel came closer, then stopped far enough away not to crowd her.
“You cannot go back to your apartment.”
“I have nowhere else.”
“You do.”
Rachel looked at him.
“No.”
“I own a secure residence.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Rachel.”
“I’m not moving into your house.”
“My penthouse has eighteen-hour physical security, controlled elevators and a private floor.”
“Eighteen hours?”
“Six hours are covered electronically.”
“That is somehow not the reassuring detail you think it is.”
Daniel almost smiled.
Then his face hardened.
“Someone entered your apartment. Someone followed you in a parking garage. Now someone has tampered with your car.”
Rachel stared at the laptop.
“This is insane.”
“Yes.”
“People don’t do this over hospital equipment.”
“They do when hospital equipment is hiding something larger.”
“What larger thing?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Rachel stood.
“I’m not becoming your prisoner because you don’t know.”
Daniel’s eyes sharpened.
“You would not be a prisoner.”
“Your people follow me.”
“Because two men had your home address.”
“You decide where I go.”
“Because someone cut your brakes.”
“You want me living in your building.”
“Because I prefer you alive.”
The words hit harder than either expected.
Daniel looked away first.
Rachel’s anger weakened.
“What exactly are you asking?”
“For now?”
“Yes.”
“Stay in my penthouse guest suite.”
“For how long?”
“Until we identify who is targeting you.”
“No conditions?”
“No.”
“No cameras in my room.”
“Of course not.”
“I can leave when I want.”
“With security.”
“Daniel.”
“With security until someone stops trying to kill you.”
She stared at him.
He stared back.
Rachel sighed.
“You are deeply irritating.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“By many women?”
“My sister.”
Rachel picked up her bag.
“Fine.”
Daniel reached for the door.
She stopped him.
“This does not mean I trust you.”
His hand remained on the handle.
“No.”
“It means I currently trust whoever cut my brakes less.”
Daniel opened the door.
“I can live with that.”
Neither of them knew then how literal those words would become.
Because within two weeks, Rachel would no longer be sleeping in Daniel Moretti’s guest room.
May you like
She would be wearing his ring.
And the person who suggested it would be Daniel himself.
