Chapter 6
I didn't sleep that night.
Marcus sat across from me at my kitchen table while I read the anonymous messages again.
"Who sent them?" he asked.
"I don't know."
"Have you shown Daniel?"
"Yes."
Marcus leaned back.
My brother had always been protective of me.
Even when we were children, he couldn't stand seeing someone treat me unfairly.
Now he looked more worried than angry.
"Nia, you need to be careful."
"I am."
"No. You're treating this like another business problem."
I looked up.
"That's because it is a business problem."
He shook his head.
"Someone is talking about the night you nearly died."
The words struck me.
Nearly died.
I had spent months trying not to think about that night.
The doctors had diagnosed a severe medical emergency involving dangerous blood pressure complications and exhaustion.
Recovery had been slow.
Sometimes I still became dizzy when I worked too long.
But I had trusted the medical professionals who treated me.
And I had no reason to believe the diagnosis was wrong.
What frightened me now was the possibility that someone had used my emergency for their own benefit.
"We'll follow the evidence," I said.
Marcus nodded.
"Promise me something."
"What?"
"Don't meet anyone alone."
I reached across the table.
"I promise."
The following morning, I arrived at headquarters with Daniel and Margaret.
The investigation had already expanded.
An outside forensic accounting firm was reviewing financial transactions.
Independent employment investigators were interviewing staff.
And our security director, Andre Mitchell, was recovering archived access logs.
I walked into the conference room.
Andre stood beside a large monitor.
"We found the records from the night of your hospitalization."
My stomach tightened.
"Show me."
He displayed a timeline.
At 9:14 p.m., I had entered my office.
At 9:37, Thomas arrived.
At 10:06, he left.
At 10:19, I called Marcus.
At 10:28, building security contacted emergency services.
I stared at the screen.
"Who called security?"
Andre checked his notes.
"Rachel."
I frowned.
"My assistant?"
"Yes."
"Was she still in the building?"
"According to the access logs, she never left."
Andre changed the image.
A corridor camera showed Rachel rushing toward my office.
She opened the door.
Then disappeared inside.
Minutes later, emergency responders arrived.
My throat tightened.
Rachel had been the person who found me.
"Why would she suddenly resign?"
Andre hesitated.
"That's what concerns us."
He opened another clip.
The timestamp showed 11:43 p.m.
More than an hour after I had been taken to the hospital.
Thomas returned.
He used his access card to enter the executive corridor.
Then he walked directly toward my office.
I felt a cold wave move through me.
"What was he doing there?"
Andre shook his head.
"We don't know."
The footage showed Thomas leaving twenty minutes later.
He carried a slim black briefcase.
I recognized it.
It was mine.
I had used that briefcase for years.
It contained confidential documents and financial notes.
I stood abruptly.
"That's my briefcase."
Daniel leaned closer.
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
Andre paused the recording.
The engraved silver clasp was clearly visible.
I stared at Thomas's face.
Eleven years of trust.
Eleven years of friendship.
And there he was, leaving my office with my personal belongings while I lay unconscious in a hospital.
"Where is that briefcase now?" I asked.
Nobody answered.
I turned to Daniel.
"We need it."
He nodded.
"We'll request its return and preserve the footage."
Andre cleared his throat.
"There's another thing."
I looked at him.
"Tell me."
"Rachel's employment records show that her resignation was entered by an administrator using Richard's credentials."
"Did Rachel submit a signed letter?"
"No."
My pulse quickened.
"Was her final payment processed?"
"Yes. But the account details changed two days before the payment."
Daniel frowned.
"Changed to what?"
Andre displayed the bank information.
"The account belongs to a company we haven't identified."
I looked at Margaret.
"Then we don't even know whether Rachel received her wages."
She shook her head.
"No."
I felt sick.
Rachel had saved my life.
And someone might have been using her name without her permission.
My phone rang.
Maya.
I answered immediately.
"Nia?"
Her voice was shaking.
"What's wrong?"
"A woman came to the reception desk."
"Who?"
"She wouldn't give her name."
I stood.
"What did she want?"
"She asked whether Evelyn Carter had spoken to you."
I looked at Daniel.
Then I returned my attention to Maya.
"Where is she now?"
"She left."
"Did security get her on camera?"
"Yes."
Maya hesitated.
"Ms. Bennett, she gave me something."
"What?"
"A photograph."
My heart began pounding.
"Of what?"
"Your old office."
I froze.
Maya lowered her voice.
"There's a handwritten note on the back."
"Read it."
She inhaled shakily.
"It says, 'Rachel tried to stop them.'"
I looked at Daniel.
His expression hardened.
"Tell Maya not to touch anything else," he said. "We'll collect it properly."
I repeated the instruction.
Then we hurried downstairs.
Andre examined the photograph.
It showed my office exactly as it had looked before my illness.
The same desk.
The same bookshelves.
The same framed photograph of my mother.
But something was different.
A drawer beneath my desk stood open.
Inside was a red folder.
I remembered that folder.
It contained my private notes from an internal review I had begun shortly before becoming sick.
I had forgotten about it completely.
"That folder," I whispered.
Daniel leaned toward me.
"What about it?"
"I started investigating unusual payments before I went on leave."
I pressed my fingers against my forehead.
The memories were returning.
Small pieces.
A meeting with finance.
Questions about a consulting contract.
A disagreement with Thomas.
Then my hospitalization.
I looked at the photograph again.
Underneath the red folder was a small handwritten label.
I leaned closer.
And my heart nearly stopped.
The handwriting was mine.
The label read:
PROJECT NORTHBRIDGE — ORIGINAL EVIDENCE.
I stared at those words.
I had discovered the scheme months before Evelyn.
I had started gathering proof.
Then I became ill.
And somebody had taken the evidence from my office.
But who had sent the photograph?
And why were they trying to help me now?
Andre's phone buzzed.
He glanced at the message.
Then looked at me.
"We've identified the woman who delivered it."
I held my breath.
"Who?"
He turned the security image toward me.
The woman wore a dark coat and a baseball cap.
But when she looked toward the camera, I recognized her face.
Rachel.
My former assistant.
Alive.
May you like
Terrified.
And clearly trying to tell me something.
