Chapter 8 - The Last Photograph
The threat made my fingers go numb. I looked through the glass conference-room door at Lily, still asleep under Rosa's blanket. She was safe. For the moment.
"Call the police," I told Mateo.
Audrey caught her breath. "Is that necessary?"
"A staff member is missing and somebody threatened my child. It's necessary."
Mateo called dispatch while I sent Naomi screenshots. I told her to contact our outside counsel, Priya Desai, and our independent forensic accountant. I had no intention of asking Martin's team to investigate itself.
Evelyn appeared carrying a paper cup of tea. She saw my face and set it down. "What happened?"
I showed her the message.
"I know that suite," she said quietly. "My husband photographed an event there before he died."
My attention sharpened. "What event?"
"A fundraising reception. Two years ago. Your husband was there."
Evelyn recognized me at last, not from publicity photographs, but from the memorial program. "Daniel Vance," she whispered. "You're his Clara."
I nodded.
"I'm sorry," she said. "He was kind to my husband."
Evelyn searched her phone and found the photograph. Daniel stood near the suite's window, smiling in his worn blue sweater. Behind him, a silver service cart reflected a second man holding an envelope. The face was indistinct, but the cuff showed a distinctive square emerald pin.
Martin wore an emerald pin at every company event.
"When was this taken?" I asked.
"October fourteenth. Ten days before Daniel went into the hospital."
Evelyn zoomed in on the silver cart. There, taped under its handle, was a small white label: LARKSPUR / 904.
A police officer entered the corridor. Before I could speak, Audrey's tablet chimed with a new instruction from operations.
May you like
EVACUATE SUITE 904. DESTROY ALL REMAINING PERSONAL EFFECTS.
Evelyn described Daniel as a man who had refused to let her husband's photographer invoice sit unpaid when a gala ran over budget. She said he took five minutes to listen, made two calls, and settled it that afternoon. It was a tiny memory from an ordinary workday, but I clung to it. Our grief had turned Daniel into a collection of milestones: his wedding, his diagnosis, his funeral. Evelyn had just handed me back a Tuesday. That made the evidence she carried feel even heavier. Whoever had hidden Larkspur's accounts hadn't only stolen money. They had helped bury pieces of a person who trusted them. I promised myself I wouldn't confuse that betrayal with proof of something worse.
