Chapter 12 - The Empty Account
The first missing account held $2.6 million.
The second held $4.1 million.
By 8:30 a.m., Whitmore’s finance team had identified nearly eleven million dollars moved through false vendor payments over three years.
Michael paced the conference room while speaking to the company’s bank.
“Freeze every payment connected to Beacon Logistics. I don’t care if it delays deliveries. Freeze it.”
Emma sat beside Eleanor, watching a company she had known only through paychecks and grocery aisles suddenly reveal a hidden nervous system of passwords, contracts, shell companies, and frightened executives.
Marissa’s drive contained hundreds of messages.
One from Alan Pierce read:
THE CHARITY NUMBERS ARE COVER. STOP ASKING QUESTIONS.
Another said:
COLE WILL DO WHAT HE’S TOLD. CARTER IS A PROBLEM.
Emma read that line twice.
“I was a problem before last night?”
Marissa nodded. “Customers kept praising you in surveys. You also questioned expired-food disposal numbers in April.”
Emma remembered. “Darren told me I was reading the form wrong.”
“You weren’t.”
“So they were watching me.”
“Yes.”
The knowledge made her skin crawl.
Michael stopped pacing. “Where is Alan?”
Grant checked his phone. “Not at home. Not at regional headquarters. His company car was found at Logan Airport.”
“Flight?” Eleanor asked.
“No ticket under his name.”
Marissa gave a humorless laugh. “Alan never travels under his own name when he’s scared.”
“How do you know?” Emma asked.
“Because I helped arrange his trips.”
Every eye turned toward her.
Marissa swallowed. “I told you. I’m not innocent.”
Detective Keene arrived with news from the cold-storage facility.
“Larkin left behind more than the laptop. We found shipping manifests for food moved from twelve Whitmore stores.”
“Twelve?” Michael said.
“Possibly more.”
Keene placed a map on the table.
Red circles covered eastern Massachusetts.
Emma’s stomach tightened.
This had never been about one bad manager.
Keene tapped a location near the harbor.
“One Beacon warehouse is still active. Officers went there twenty minutes ago.”
“And?”
“It was cleared out overnight.”
Grant frowned. “They moved everything that fast?”
“Almost everything.”
Keene slid a photograph across the table.
It showed a wooden crate stamped with a shipping code.
Inside were bundles of cash.
Michael stared at the picture.
“How much?”
“About six hundred thousand dollars.”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. “Why leave cash behind?”
Keene answered, “Because whoever emptied that warehouse was in a hurry.”
Then her phone rang.
She listened for ten seconds.
“They found Alan Pierce.”
Emma stood.
“Where?”
Keene looked at Michael.
“In your company’s private hangar.”
“And Larkin?”
May you like
Keene’s expression darkened.
“He’s there too.”
