Chapter 8 - The Camera Footage
I turned around.
Daniel was standing three feet behind me.
For one second, neither of us spoke.
Lila’s voice came through the phone. “Emily? Are you there?”
“Yes.”
“Do not confront him alone.”
Too late.
I ended the call.
Daniel looked at my face and understood immediately.
“What happened?”
“You were in my office.”
His brow furrowed.
“When?”
“Overnight.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Security has video.”
He actually laughed once, from shock.
“Emily, I was with you.”
He was right.
From midnight until morning, Daniel had been in our house. I had watched him sleep for perhaps forty minutes on the couch before dawn.
“When were you at my office last?” I asked.
“Wednesday.”
“Why?”
“I brought you lunch.”
“What time?”
“About one.”
The surveillance timestamp Lila had mentioned was 11:38 p.m. Friday.
“Then someone used old footage?”
“I don’t know.”
I studied him.
“Or someone who looks like you.”
Daniel’s expression changed.
“Peter.”
I remembered the wedding again. Daniel and his uncle shared the same height, same broad shoulders, same habit of walking with the right shoulder slightly lower. From a ceiling camera, in a dark coat, the resemblance could be strong.
But Peter was twenty years older.
“Does he have access to your clothes?” I asked.
Daniel stared at me as if the question were insane.
Then he stopped.
“My old office.”
“What?”
“At Caldwell headquarters. I keep spare suits there. Coats. Work boots.”
“Who has access?”
“Half the family.”
We drove separately to my firm’s office and met Lila and security director Owen Pike in the underground garage.
Owen showed us the footage on a tablet.
A man entered using a visitor badge at 11:31 p.m. The camera caught only his side and back. Dark overcoat. Daniel’s build. Daniel’s haircut.
At 11:38, he entered my floor behind a cleaning cart.
At 11:44, he left.
Daniel pointed to the screen.
“Pause.”
Owen froze the frame.
The man’s left hand was visible.
A heavy signet ring.
Daniel held up his own bare hand.
“Peter wears one.”
Owen zoomed in.
The ring face carried a dark oval stone.
Daniel exhaled. “That’s his.”
Lila folded her arms.
“Do we have enough to call police?”
“Enough to report,” Owen said. “Not enough to identify him conclusively.”
Then he looked at me.
“There’s another issue. The keylogger wasn’t plugged into your computer Friday. It had been there since at least Wednesday afternoon.”
Daniel went still.
The day he brought me lunch.
I looked at him.
“I didn’t put it there.”
“I know what the timeline says.”
His face flushed. “You think I installed it and then staged someone else on camera?”
“I think I don’t know what to think.”
He stepped back as though I had hit him.
Good, I thought again.
Then hated myself for thinking it.
Owen cleared his throat. “The device captured keystrokes locally. Whoever installed it had to retrieve it or connect to it physically. The Friday intruder may have come to collect the data.”
“Was it still there?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“So he failed.”
“Or he copied it.”
Lila looked at Daniel. “Who knew Emily’s floor?”
Daniel said, “Peter came to her office once during diligence.”
I remembered.
Three months ago. A surprise visit. Peter had brought a box of pastries for my team and spent ten minutes asking which conference room we used for Caldwell discussions.
I had thought he was charming.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I answered on speaker.
A man’s voice said, “You’re making this more complicated than Thomas did.”
Daniel’s face emptied.
“Peter?”
The caller ignored him.
“Emily, release the money Monday. Caldwell survives. Employees keep their jobs. Your marriage gets a chance.”
“And if I don’t?”
A soft chuckle.
“Then everybody learns who approved Northlight.”
“My forged username?”
“No,” he said. “Your husband’s.”
Daniel whispered, “What?”
The line disconnected.
Owen stared at us.
My phone immediately received an image.
It was a bank authorization form.
Northlight Materials. $310,000.
May you like
Approved by Daniel Caldwell.
Dated four months before he ever told me the company was in trouble.
