Chapter 6 - The Bookkeeper
The hospital room suddenly felt too small.
"My terminal?" I asked.
Mia nodded.
"That's what the audit trail showed. I copied one report before they wiped the system."
"Where is it?"
"Not on a computer."
Her lips were dry and pale. She looked at Daniel, then Nathan, then back at me.
"I printed it."
Nathan let out the smallest breath of relief.
Paper.
The one thing modern criminals always treated like furniture.
"Where?" he asked.
"My mother's apartment. In a cookbook."
Daniel was already moving toward the door.
"I'll send security."
"No," Mia said sharply.
He stopped.
"My mother doesn't know anything. If men in suits show up, she will panic."
"Then who can get it?"
Mia looked at me.
"You."
Nathan objected immediately. "Absolutely not."
"I'm not asking her to go alone."
"Claire is currently the subject of a board investigation, a forged credential event, and now an arson scene. We don't improvise errands."
Mia closed her eyes.
"Then you can wait until whoever burned the warehouse finds the report first."
That settled it.
An hour later, Nathan and I were in a narrow apartment kitchen in Eastwood while Mia's mother, Rosa, made coffee as if coffee could normalize anything.
"My daughter says you are her boss's boss," she said.
"Something like that."
"Her boss is an idiot."
Nathan coughed into his fist.
"On that point," I said, "we agree."
Rosa opened a cabinet and pulled down a stained copy of The Joy of Cooking.
Inside, folded between two pages about roast chicken, was a printout twelve sheets thick.
I spread it across the table.
The first page showed transaction approvals from my executive terminal over eight months.
I had not approved any of them.
Some dates I had been overseas.
Some I had been asleep.
One had occurred during my father's memorial scholarship dinner while I stood onstage in front of four hundred people.
"This proves my terminal was being spoofed," I said.
Nathan pointed to a field in the margin.
"Maybe. Or it proves someone with privileged access can make a transaction appear local."
The approval IDs ended in 47.
Every one.
Briar 47 Logistics.
Resolution 47.
A rhythm missing its third beat.
I ran a finger down the list.
"Why forty-seven?"
Nathan shook his head.
"We need the old governance books."
Martin Vale called before I could answer.
"Where are you?"
"Busy."
"The board meets in twenty minutes."
"I know."
"Claire, they have outside counsel presenting allegations of self-dealing through Mercer-linked vendors."
I laughed once.
"That's efficient. They steal through my accounts and accuse me of stealing."
Martin lowered his voice.
"I need you to listen to me. Do not attack Gabriel directly in the meeting."
"Why?"
"Because he already has four directors frightened enough to vote with him."
"And you?"
Silence.
"Martin?"
"Come to the meeting."
He hung up.
Nathan watched my face.
"That sounded reassuring."
"He is hiding something."
"Yes. Question is whether he is hiding it from them or from you."
We returned to headquarters through the parking garage because reporters had gathered at the front entrance.
Someone had leaked my marriage.
A headline flashed on Daniel's phone:
STERLING CREST PRESIDENT IN SECRET MARRIAGE CRISIS AMID INTERNAL REVIEW.
Another:
MYSTERY HUSBAND, PREGNANT MISTRESS, AND BILLION-DOLLAR BOARDROOM BATTLE.
I felt heat rise into my face.
Not from shame.
From violation.
My private pain had become a graphic beneath a stock photo.
Daniel touched my elbow. "We can cancel the meeting."
"No."
"Claire—"
"They want me emotional and absent. I will be neither."
The boardroom doors opened at four exactly.
Martin sat at my right.
Gabriel Mercer sat at the far end as an invited strategic partner, silver-haired, expensive, relaxed.
He smiled as though we were meeting for brunch.
"Claire. Difficult morning."
"For some people more than others."
The special investigator presented a thirty-minute summary.
Improper vendor relationships.
Unverified executive approvals.
Potential conflict of interest involving my husband.
Every sentence was designed to turn victim into architect.
When he finished, I placed Mia's paper report on the table.
"These approvals were generated from my terminal when I was physically elsewhere. I request a forensic preservation order across all Sterling Crest systems and all Mercer-linked vendors."
Gabriel's smile faded by one degree.
Martin leaned forward.
"I second preservation."
That surprised me.
Director Harlan Reed cleared his throat. "Before we proceed, there is a governance issue."
A binder slid toward him.
"The founder bylaws contain an emergency provision allowing temporary suspension of founder voting rights when the founder principal is under investigation for fraud affecting company assets."
Nathan whispered, "No."
I looked at Martin.
He had gone gray.
"You knew," I said.
"I knew they were looking. I did not know they found it."
Harlan continued.
"The clause remains active unless superseded by the founder voting trust instrument."
"Where is the instrument?" I asked.
No one answered.
Nathan flipped rapidly through the binder.
Then he found the cross-reference.
"Founder instrument 11-D," he murmured.
My breath stopped.
Same schedule as the seal.
Same schedule as the clock.
Harlan called the vote.
Four hands rose.
Then five.
Martin's stayed flat on the table.
The resolution passed.
My founder voting rights were frozen.
Not my title.
Not yet.
But the power beneath the title had just been cut away.
Gabriel folded his hands.
"Perhaps now," he said softly, "we can all behave rationally."
My phone vibrated under the table.
A text from Nathan, though he sat two seats away.
FOUND 1948 BYLAW NOTE. RESOLUTION 47 DOES NOT SUSPEND THE TRUST.
May you like
A second message followed.
IT ACTIVATES IT.
