Chapter 6: The Woman in the Security Footage
I didn't tell the security manager to confront my uncle.
I told him to keep the staff away from Richard, preserve the footage, and contact the appropriate authorities if anyone attempted to remove company records without authorization.
Then I hung up.
Jessica was watching me.
“What did he say?””
I slipped my phone into my pocket.
“Richard is at my office.””
Her lips parted.
“That doesn't make sense.””
“Why not?””
“He said he was going out of town.””
“When?””
“This morning.””
I studied her face.
She looked genuinely confused, but confusion wasn't innocence. It was simply another piece of information.
I turned to Mr. Bennett.
“Can you stay with my mother while I go to the office?””
He shook his head.
“Not yet. Your mother should not be left alone with anyone who may have an interest in those documents. I can arrange for a colleague to meet us here, and we can contact the office together.””
My mother stood up.
“I want to go with you.””
“Mom, you don't have to put yourself through this.””
She reached for the overnight bag.
“I have spent eleven years believing that the worst thing your father left me was his empty chair at the breakfast table. If there is something else, I deserve to know.””
I couldn't argue with that.
We left the house together, with Mr. Bennett carrying the trust folder and my mother holding the photograph of my parents.
Jessica remained in the dining room.
Before I walked out, she called after me.
“David, don't let Richard tell you things that aren't true.””
I turned.
“Is there something he might say?””
She looked as though she wanted to answer.
Instead, she whispered, “Please be careful.””
For a moment, I nearly softened.
Then I remembered my mother's trembling hands at the sink.
I remembered the transfer form.
I walked out.
The drive to my office took twenty minutes. The sky had turned a brilliant gold, and the city glowed through the windshield. Traffic moved around us while my mind replayed every conversation I'd had with Richard over the years.
He had helped me secure my first major business loan.
He had introduced me to investors.
He had advised me when I was too inexperienced to understand the difference between a profitable opportunity and a dangerous one.
If he had been stealing from the family, how long had I been thanking him for it?
When we arrived, the security manager met us in the lobby.
His name was Thomas Reed, a broad-shouldered Black American man in his forties who had worked for me for six years. He looked deeply uncomfortable.
“Mr. Carter, I need to show you something.””
He led us into the security room.
Multiple camera feeds glowed across the monitors. Thomas opened the footage from the previous hour.
Richard appeared on-screen wearing a tailored gray suit. He walked through the lobby carrying a leather briefcase, nodded to the receptionist, and headed toward the records department.
A woman followed him.
She was tall, wore a red coat, and kept her face angled away from the cameras.
I leaned closer.
“Do you know her?””
Thomas shook his head.
“No. But she had a visitor badge.””
“Who issued it?””
“The receptionist. Mr. Hayes told her the woman was an outside auditor.””
Mr. Bennett folded his arms.
“Did he have authorization to access the records?””
“No, sir,” Thomas said.
“Not according to the current access list.””
I watched the footage.
Richard entered the records room. The woman waited in the hallway, looking at her phone. A few minutes later, Richard emerged carrying a cardboard archive box.
The woman opened her coat, revealing a large document pouch.
Richard placed several folders inside.
Then he leaned close and said something to her.
The audio was faint, but the security system had captured part of the conversation.
Thomas increased the volume.
Richard's voice crackled through the speakers.
“Make sure the original never reaches Bennett.””
The woman nodded.
“And the house?””
Richard glanced toward the elevator.
“Once Margaret signs, the rest becomes simple.””
My mother made a small sound beside me.
I turned.
Her face had gone white.
“Mom?””
She gripped the back of the chair.
“I know that woman.””
I looked at the screen again.
The woman had turned slightly toward the camera.
My mother stepped closer.
“Her name is Denise Walker.””
Mr. Bennett's expression changed.
“Denise Walker? The former bookkeeper?””
My mother nodded slowly.
“She worked with your father before he died. She used to come to our house for dinner.””
I stared at the monitor.
“Why would a former bookkeeper be helping Richard?””
Mr. Bennett didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he asked Thomas to replay the footage from the entrance.
The woman had arrived fifteen minutes before Richard. She hadn't entered the building directly. She had stood outside, made a phone call, and then approached the receptionist.
Thomas froze the image.
“Look at her left hand,” he said.
A gold ring glinted on her finger.
I recognized it.
It was an old family signet ring, engraved with the initials H.C.
My father had owned one.
Richard had another.
But this one was neither of theirs.
Mr. Bennett leaned closer.
“That ring belonged to your grandfather.””
I looked at him.
“How do you know?””
“Because I handled the inventory of his estate. It was listed among the personal items inherited by your father.””
My grandfather had died when I was a teenager. The ring had disappeared years ago, and my father had once accused Richard of borrowing it without permission.
I had forgotten the argument.
Apparently, my father hadn't.
Thomas continued playing the footage.
Denise left the building carrying the document pouch. Richard remained inside.
Then something unexpected happened.
The elevator doors opened, and another man stepped out.
He wore a navy suit and carried no briefcase. He walked directly toward the records room, spoke briefly to Richard, and handed him a small white envelope.
Richard opened it.
For the first time, his expression changed.
He looked frightened.
Not annoyed.
Not angry.
Frightened.
He immediately put the envelope into his jacket and headed for the stairwell.
I leaned toward the screen.
“Can we identify that man?””
Thomas zoomed in.
The image sharpened enough to reveal his face.
I felt my stomach drop.
I knew him.
He was Martin Cole, the chief financial officer of my company.
The man who managed our accounts, signed off on major payments, and had worked beside me for nearly a decade.
I turned toward Mr. Bennett.
“Tell me my father didn't suspect him too.””
The attorney's silence answered before his words did.
“David, your father requested an independent audit shortly before his death. Martin was one of the people he wanted investigated.””
I couldn't breathe for a moment.
Two men I had trusted with my family's future.
Both connected to missing financial records.
Both appearing in the same security footage.
And my wife had been receiving money from one of them.
I turned back to the monitor.
“Where is Martin now?””
Thomas checked the access system.
“His office badge was used twelve minutes ago.””
“Where?””
Thomas swallowed.
“The underground parking garage.””
He opened another camera feed.
Martin was standing beside a black SUV.
Richard approached him, holding the white envelope.
They spoke for a few seconds.
Then Martin handed Richard a set of keys.
Richard climbed into the SUV.
Martin remained behind, watching the vehicle leave.
Just before the garage exit, Richard's phone rang. He answered it, listened, and slammed his palm against the steering wheel.
The camera had no audio.
But I could read his lips.
She told him.
My phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
I answered without speaking.
A woman's voice came through, breathless and frightened.
“David Carter?””
“Who is this?””
“My name is Denise Walker. I know what happened to your father's ledger.””
I motioned for everyone to remain quiet.
“Where are you?””
“I can't tell you that yet.””
“Then why call me?””
“Because Richard is looking for the second ledger, and if he finds it before you do, your mother won't be the only person who loses everything.””
I gripped the phone.
“What does the ledger contain?””
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Proof that your father didn't just suspect your uncle of stealing money.””
A car horn sounded behind her.
She inhaled sharply.
“Mr. Carter, there's something about your father's final week that nobody ever told you.””
“What?””
“The last person who visited your father before he died was—”
The call cut off.
I stared at the screen.
Then a message appeared from the same unknown number.
It contained a photograph.
My father stood outside his house, smiling faintly, with one hand resting on the shoulder of a woman whose face had been partially obscured.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written a date.
The day before my father died.
May you like
And beneath it were four words.
*Ask Margaret about the hospital.*
