Chapter 11 - The Fingerprint
Daniel did not sleep that night.
Neither did I.
The fingerprint was real.
Marcus confirmed it twice.
Daniel sat at the kitchen island, staring at his own hand like it belonged to someone else.
“I touched the ledger,” he said.
“When?” I asked.
“Six months ago.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
He looked at Laura. “I found it behind the panel.”
“You told me you found the deed,” I said.
“I found both.”
The anger that rose in me was so sharp I almost could not speak.
“You found the evidence everyone is now risking their lives over, and you put it back?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Grant walked into the study while I was reading it.”
Daniel explained that he had barely managed to hide the ledger before Grant entered. Afterward, he became convinced the house was under surveillance.
That was why he had not removed it.
“That explains the fingerprint,” Marcus said. “Not the new entry.”
Laura leaned over the page. “The ink is fresh, but the ledger itself is old. Someone could have added Daniel’s initials later.”
“Why?” I asked.
“To frame him.”
Daniel looked at me. “Grant knows I’m investigating.”
My phone rang.
Charles.
This time I answered.
His voice was strained. “Grant is missing.”
“What do you mean missing?”
“He emptied his office. His company laptop is gone. And Helen Mercer just received documents accusing Daniel of embezzlement.”
Daniel stood.
Charles continued, “The board has suspended him.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
The ledger entry was not meant to convince me.
It was meant to destroy Daniel publicly.
By morning, the story was online.
WHITMORE HEIR LINKED TO SECRET PAYMENTS.
Reporters gathered outside Kingsley House.
Daniel’s photograph appeared on every business channel.
Charles wanted us to issue a denial.
Rebecca wanted silence until we understood the evidence.
Laura wanted Grant found before he disappeared for good.
I wanted one honest answer from my husband.
“Is there anything else?” I asked him.
He looked at me for a long time.
Then he nodded.
“One thing.”
My heart sank.
He reached into his jacket and placed a key on the table.
“There is a safe-deposit box in your name.”
I stared at him.
May you like
“How do you know?”
“Because six months ago,” he said, “your grandmother’s bank called me after someone tried to open it using your identification.”
