Chapter 7: The Man on the Screen
The showroom went silent.
Not quiet.
Silent.
Every monitor above the reception desk had gone black.
Jordan stared at the screens.
Vanessa stood with one hand pressed against her chest.
The attorney slowly lowered his phone.
Mrs. Reed looked at Marcus.
“Who was that?””
Marcus didn't answer.
She stepped closer.
“Marcus.””
His eyes remained fixed on the dark monitors.
“Where did you get that footage?”” he asked.
Mrs. Reed frowned.
“I didn't.””
“Who controls the security system?””
“The security company.””
“Who has administrator access?””
She hesitated.
“Me. The general manager. And our head of security.””
Marcus finally looked at her.
“Anyone else?””
“No.””
“Think carefully.””
“I am.””
“Then think harder.””
Mrs. Reed's expression hardened.
“I know my own system.””
Marcus nodded.
“Apparently someone knows it better.””
Jordan stepped between them.
“Hold on.””
Marcus looked at him.
“That footage showed you.””
“No.””
“It looked exactly like you.””
“It wasn't.””
Jordan pointed at the screen.
“Same clothes. Same walk. Same key.””
Marcus said nothing.
Jordan's voice rose.
“You expect us to believe that?””
Marcus looked at the dark monitor.
“Yes.””
Jordan laughed nervously.
“That's insane.””
The attorney stepped forward.
“There's a simple explanation.””
Marcus looked at him.
“What's that?””
“Someone is trying to make it appear you were here yesterday.””
“Why?””
“To frighten us.””
Marcus shook his head.
“No.””
The attorney frowned.
“No?””
“If they wanted to frighten you, they succeeded.””
He looked at the black screens.
“But that's not the point.””
Mrs. Reed asked, “Then what is?””
Marcus walked toward the monitor.
“The timestamp.””
“What about it?””
“It wasn't edited.””
The attorney's expression changed.
“How do you know?””
“Because the camera feed isn't stored the way ordinary footage is.””
Mrs. Reed stared at him.
“How would you know that?””
Marcus turned.
“I've seen this system before.””
Everyone froze.
Jordan looked at Vanessa.
Vanessa looked at the attorney.
The attorney's face had gone rigid.
Mrs. Reed whispered, “Where?””
Marcus didn't answer.
Instead, he walked back to the luxury sedan.
He reached into the open trunk.
The attorney immediately said, “Don't touch that.””
Marcus ignored him.
He picked up the black case.
It was heavier than it looked.
He placed it on the marble floor.
Then he crouched beside it.
Mrs. Reed watched.
“What are you looking for?””
“A serial number.””
“Why?””
“Because if the case belongs to this dealership, it should have one.””
Marcus turned it over.
Nothing.
No serial number.
No manufacturer's mark.
Only a small scratch near one hinge.
He ran his thumb across it.
Then stopped.
Vanessa noticed.
“What?””
Marcus looked at the scratch.
“Someone opened this before.””
The attorney said, “Obviously.””
Marcus shook his head.
“Not like that.””
He pointed to the hinge.
“This was forced.””
Mrs. Reed crouched beside him.
“When?””
Marcus studied the metal.
“Recently.””
“How recently?””
“Hours.””
Jordan looked toward the entrance.
“So someone brought it here today?””
Marcus nodded.
“Or last night.””
Vanessa's phone vibrated.
Everyone turned.
She looked at the screen.
Her face tightened.
Mrs. Reed held out her hand.
“Give it to me.””
Vanessa hesitated.
“Vanessa.””
Slowly, she handed it over.
Mrs. Reed read the message.
Her eyes narrowed.
“What does it say?””
Marcus asked.
Mrs. Reed didn't answer.
He stood.
“Read it.””
She looked at him.
“It says…”
She stopped.
Marcus waited.
“It says, ‘Don't trust the attorney.’”
The attorney went still.
Jordan looked at him.
“Is that true?””
The attorney's face hardened.
“Of course not.””
Marcus studied him.
“Then you won't mind answering one question.””
“What?””
“Where were you last night?””
The attorney stared at him.
Mrs. Reed's eyes narrowed.
“Answer him.””
The attorney looked at her.
“Why?””
“Because I asked.””
“I was home.””
“Alone?””
“Yes.””
Marcus asked, “Anyone verify?””
The attorney's jaw tightened.
“No.””
Marcus nodded.
“Convenient.””
The attorney stepped toward him.
“You're making accusations without evidence.””
Marcus looked at the black case.
“I'm asking questions.””
“You're acting like an investigator.””
“No.””
“What, then?””
Marcus looked him directly in the eyes.
“I'm looking for someone.””
The attorney's face changed.
“Who?””
Marcus didn't answer.
Jordan stepped closer.
“Then tell us.””
Marcus looked at him.
“You wouldn't believe me.””
“Try.””
Marcus's eyes moved toward the security monitor.
“The person on that screen.””
Jordan swallowed.
“Who is he?””
Marcus said nothing.
Vanessa suddenly spoke.
“I know.””
Everyone turned.
Marcus looked at her.
Vanessa's face was pale.
“I've seen him.””
Mrs. Reed stared.
“When?””
Vanessa shook her head.
“I don't know.””
Marcus walked toward her.
“Where?””
“I said I don't know.””
“Think.””
She closed her eyes.
Then opened them.
“He came here three weeks ago.””
Jordan looked shocked.
“What?””
Vanessa nodded.
“He asked about the same car.””
Marcus's expression changed.
“Did he give you a name?””
“No.””
“What did he look like?””
Vanessa swallowed.
“Like you.””
Jordan stared.
Mrs. Reed whispered, “Vanessa…”
“He had the same clothes,” Vanessa continued.
“The same boots. Same face.””
Marcus didn't move.
The attorney whispered, “That's impossible.””
Vanessa shook her head.
“I know what I saw.””
Marcus asked, “What did he say?””
Vanessa looked at him.
“He asked one question.””
“What?””
Her voice dropped.
“He asked if the owner still kept the original records here.””
Marcus's eyes hardened.
“Original records of what?””
Vanessa looked toward the black case.
Then back at Marcus.
“I don't know.””
Marcus stared at her.
“You're lying.””
Vanessa's face crumpled.
“I didn't know what he meant.””
“You do now.””
“No.””
“You've seen the case.””
“Yes.””
“And you recognized it.””
She didn't answer.
Marcus stepped closer.
“Vanessa.””
She whispered, “I was told never to open it.””
“By who?””
She looked toward the attorney.
The attorney's face went blank.
Mrs. Reed turned toward him.
“You told her?””
He didn't answer.
Mrs. Reed's voice sharpened.
“You told my manager not to open a case containing my own records?””
The attorney said quietly, “You don't understand.””
Marcus looked at him.
“Then explain.””
The attorney opened his mouth.
A loud metallic click came from the entrance.
Everyone turned.
The showroom doors had unlocked.
Then opened.
No one stood outside.
Just the bright morning street.
And on the marble floor, directly inside the entrance, sat another old black key fob.
Marcus stared at it.
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
No caller ID.
He answered.
A distorted voice whispered:
“Marcus…”
His eyes narrowed.
The voice continued.
May you like
“You have nine minutes.””
Then the call ended.
