Chapter 7: The Fourth Name
Amara stared at the photograph until the faces began to blur.
Marcus Reed stood beside her father outside the original Brooks Global warehouse, wearing a cheap suit and the nervous smile of a young man who hadn't yet learned how cruel powerful people could be.
Samuel had one hand resting on Marcus's shoulder.
On the back, someone had written a date.
The night Samuel died.
And beneath it, four words:
*He was the last witness.*
“Amara?””
Marcus stood several feet away, watching her.
She turned the phone toward him.
“Tell me why someone photographed you with my father the night he died.””
Marcus looked at the screen.
For the first time since she had known him, he appeared genuinely unable to speak.
Then he took a slow breath.
“Where did you get that?””
“That's your first question?””
“No.”” He swallowed.
“It's just that I haven't seen that photograph in fifteen years.””
Amara's stomach tightened.
“You recognize it.””
“Yes.””
“And you never told me you were with my father that night.””
“I told you I was at the warehouse.””
“You told me you delivered an envelope and went home. You never told me you were photographed with him.””
Marcus rubbed his forehead.
“Because I didn't know the photograph existed.””
“Then explain what happened.””
He glanced toward the elevator.
“Not here.””
“Absolutely not. You don't get to decide when I hear the truth anymore.””
A pair of employees passed the corridor, laughing about something on a phone. Marcus waited until they disappeared around the corner.
Then he looked directly at Amara.
“Your father asked me to stay after the office closed. He was worried someone had accessed the trust records. He wanted me to help him compare the original ledger against the company's financial statements.””
“Did you find anything?””
“Yes.””
“What?””
“Transfers that didn't match the approved expenses. Payments to companies that had no legitimate business relationship with Brooks Global.””
“Northstar?””
“I didn't see that name at the time. The transactions were hidden under different vendor accounts.””
Amara's hands tightened around her phone.
“What happened next?””
“Your father found a discrepancy in the employee-benefit trust. He said the missing money wasn't simply being stolen. It was being used to build a second financial structure outside the company.””
“Who was behind it?””
“He believed Victor was involved. But he wasn't certain who else was helping him.””
“And you were the last person to see him alive?””
Marcus shook his head.
“No.””
“Then why does the message say you were?””
“Because I wasn't the last person to see him. I was the last person to see him at the warehouse.””
Amara waited.
Marcus's voice lowered.
“Your father left at approximately eight thirty. Before he went, he gave me a sealed envelope and instructed me to deliver it to Harold Finch. I did. But when I returned to the warehouse parking lot to collect my car, I saw another vehicle leaving the service road.””
“Whose?””
“I couldn't identify the driver. The headlights were on, and the rain was heavy.””
“Did you see the license plate?””
“No.””
“Did you tell the police?””
“Yes.””
“Then why didn't you tell me?””
“Because I didn't know the driver had anything to do with the accident.””
Amara looked at him for a long moment.
“And the photograph?””
Marcus's expression darkened.
“Your father asked someone to take it. He said he wanted a record of who had been present that evening. He told me it was a precaution.””
“Who took it?””
“I don't know.””
She looked at the photograph again.
“Do you have anything else to tell me?””
Marcus hesitated.
Then he reached inside his jacket and removed a small, folded piece of paper.
“I kept this after the accident. I should have given it to you years ago.””
Amara snatched it from his hand.
The paper was an old visitor log from the warehouse. Most of the names were handwritten, with entry times beside them.
Samuel Brooks.
Marcus Reed.
Victor Brooks.
And one more name.
*Richard Bennett — 8:46 p.m.*
Amara's heart lurched.
“Richard told me he saw my father earlier that week.””
“He was at the warehouse that night,” Marcus said.
“I saw him leave through the front entrance while I was in the loading office.””
“Did you see him speak to my father?””
“Yes.””
“What did they discuss?””
“I couldn't hear everything. But Richard was upset. He said your father was about to make a mistake that would ruin the company.””
Amara stared at the log.
“Why didn't you tell the police?””
“I did. They interviewed Richard. He said he had left before your father.””
“Which was a lie.””
“Yes.””
The word settled between them.
Amara stepped away.
Richard had given her a note supposedly written by her father. He had admitted knowing about the trust. He had expressed regret for keeping quiet.
But he had omitted the fact that he was at the warehouse on the night Samuel died.
She called Evelyn Shaw.
“Where is Richard Bennett?””
“His office,” Evelyn replied.
“Why?””
“Don't let him leave the building.””
A pause.
“Amara, what's happened?””
“I have evidence that Richard was at the warehouse the night my father died. He didn't disclose it to the board.””
Evelyn's voice sharpened.
“Are you certain?””
“I have the visitor log.””
“Send it to counsel. I'll have security locate him.””
Amara ended the call.
Then she looked at Marcus.
“Get the car.””
“Where are we going?””
“To the property holding my father's clock.””
Marcus hesitated.
“Amara, if Northstar is moving the clock, we need to involve the authorities. We shouldn't confront them ourselves.””
“We're not confronting anyone. We're documenting what happens and making sure the clock isn't destroyed.””
“And if the people moving it are armed?””
She met his eyes.
“Then you can explain to me why my father's evidence is worth less than the convenience of people who may have murdered him.””
Marcus said nothing.
They entered the elevator.
For several floors, neither spoke.
Then Marcus quietly asked, “Do you still trust me?””
Amara looked at the glowing floor numbers.
“I don't know.””
He nodded once.
It was the only answer he could have given that didn't make things worse.
The Manhattan property stood behind a row of modern office buildings, its entrance marked by a discreet brass plaque bearing the name of a commercial property-management firm.
A black delivery truck was parked outside.
Two men were carrying a wooden crate toward the rear loading bay.
Amara recognized the brass clock immediately.
Its carved wooden frame was wrapped in protective padding, but the circular face was visible through a gap in the covering.
“That's it,” she whispered.
Marcus photographed the scene from the pavement.
Amara approached the loading bay with her phone raised.
“Excuse me. Who authorized this removal?””
One of the men turned.
“Private property, ma'am. Please step back.””
“I'm Amara Brooks. That clock belonged to my father, and it may be relevant to an ongoing investigation.””
The man exchanged a glance with his colleague.
“We have a signed removal order.””
“From whom?””
“Northstar Operations.””
“Then you'll have no objection to showing it to the authorities.””
The second man lowered his end of the crate.
“Look, lady, we're just contractors. We don't know anything about your family.””
“Then tell me where you're taking it.””
“New Jersey.””
“Which address?””
Neither answered.
Marcus stepped forward.
“Until the ownership and legal status of this item are clarified, we recommend you suspend the transfer and preserve the chain of custody.””
The first man shook his head.
“We've been paid to deliver it today.””
Amara pulled out her phone.
“Then call whoever hired you. Tell them I'm here.””
The man looked at the screen, then at her face.
Something changed in his expression.
“Ms. Brooks,” he murmured, “we were told you'd come.””
Amara's blood went cold.
“Who told you that?””
He stepped away from the crate.
Before he could answer, a dark sedan pulled into the loading bay.
The rear door opened.
A woman stepped out wearing a navy coat and carrying a black leather bag.
Amara knew the woman immediately.
Patricia Cole.
“What are you doing here?”” Amara demanded.
Patricia looked toward the clock.
“I could ask you the same question.””
“You're on administrative leave.””
“And yet I still know how to make a phone call.””
She handed the contractors a document.
“Please continue with the delivery.””
Amara stepped in front of the crate.
“No.””
Patricia sighed theatrically.
“Amara, this is not your personal property. Northstar purchased the clock legally.””
“Then why are you here?””
“Because I manage the vendor relationship.””
“Not anymore.””
Patricia's smile vanished.
“You think you've won because you've embarrassed a few executives? You have no idea what you're dealing with.””
“Then educate me.””
Patricia looked past Amara at Marcus.
For one brief moment, fear crossed her face.
Then she leaned closer and whispered, “Ask Marcus what happened to the original ledger.””
Amara felt the air leave her lungs.
Before she could respond, a siren sounded at the end of the street.
Two police vehicles turned into the loading bay.
Patricia backed away.
The contractors immediately stopped moving the crate.
One officer approached Amara.
“Ms. Brooks?””
“Yes.””
“We've received a request to preserve this item as potential evidence. Nobody is to move it until the matter is reviewed.””
Amara nodded.
“Thank you.””
She turned toward Patricia.
But Patricia was already walking toward her sedan.
“Ms. Cole!”” Amara called.
Patricia stopped beside the open door.
“You're not going anywhere until you explain why you knew I would come.””
Patricia looked over her shoulder.
For the first time, she didn't bother pretending to be offended.
“Because someone told me.””
“Who?””
Patricia's eyes flicked toward Marcus.
Then she got into the car and shut the door.
As the sedan pulled away, Amara looked at Marcus.
He was staring at the clock.
“Marcus?””
He didn't answer.
“Marcus, look at me.””
Slowly, he turned.
His face had gone pale.
“There's something inside that clock,” he whispered.
“Something your father made me promise never to reveal.””
Amara's chest tightened.
“What?””
Marcus looked at the police officers securing the loading bay.
Then he met her eyes.
“The ledger wasn't the only thing he hid.””
He paused.
“Your father left a recording.””
May you like
And before Amara could ask what it contained, Marcus added one final sentence.
“A recording of the person who ordered his death.””
