Chapter 3 - THE FRIEND WHO WASN'T A FRIEND
By midnight, I no longer knew whom to trust.
My wife had disappeared.
My son had been targeted.
Hundreds of thousands of dollars were missing.
And someone knew where Corinne was hiding.
I called my attorney, Rebecca Sloan.
She'd represented my real estate company for eight years.
When I explained what I'd discovered, she didn't interrupt once.
Then she said something that made my stomach tighten.
"Grant, do not confront Victor or Tessa."
"Why?"
"Because the documents suggest possible financial fraud and an attempted abduction. We need law enforcement involved."
"I've already contacted the police."
"Good. Preserve every message and don't disturb the records."
I looked toward the dark windows of my office.
"Rebecca, somebody knows where my wife is."
"Then send that photograph to the detective immediately."
I did.
The next morning, detectives arrived at the mansion.
They reviewed the envelope.
The bank transfers.
The photographs.
And Corinne's letter.
One investigator, Detective Marcus Reed, looked particularly interested in the image of the woman holding Owen.
"Do you recognize her?"
"Dr. Melissa Hale."
He nodded slowly.
"Victor Hale's sister?"
"Yes."
Detective Reed exchanged a glance with his partner.
My chest tightened.
"What?"
He hesitated.
"Mr. Keaton, we've been investigating financial irregularities involving a medical services company connected to the Hale family."
I stared.
"What kind of irregularities?"
"Fraudulent billing. Shell companies. Possible misuse of patient information."
I looked toward Corinne's letter.
"Does this involve my wife?"
"We're determining that."
Then Detective Reed asked an unexpected question.
"Did Mrs. Keaton have access to your business accounts?"
"Yes. She handled much of our household accounting."
"Did she ever question unusual transfers?"
I remembered Corinne sitting beside me at dinner two months earlier.
She'd mentioned an unfamiliar consulting fee.
I'd barely listened.
"Victor handles those details," I'd told her.
She'd looked concerned.
"Grant, I think you should review this."
I'd kissed her forehead and returned to my phone.
Another memory surfaced.
Corinne standing in my office.
Holding a bank statement.
"Something's wrong with the development account."
And me snapping:
"Corinne, please stop interfering in things you don't understand."
The shame hit so hard I had to sit down.
"She tried to warn me," I whispered.
Detective Reed looked at me.
"About what?"
I told him everything.
He wrote it down.
Then his phone rang.
He stepped into the hallway.
When he returned, his expression had changed.
"Mr. Keaton, we located the vehicle used by the woman at the hospital."
I stood.
"Where?"
"At a property owned by Victor Hale."
My heart pounded.
"Did you find Melissa?"
"Not yet."
He paused.
"But we found something else."
"What?"
"A storage unit registered to a company using your signature."
I stared.
"I never rented a storage unit."
Detective Reed nodded.
"That's what we suspected."
He placed a photograph on my desk.
It showed a room filled with file boxes.
Medical records.
Corporate documents.
And several baby supplies.
A brand-new bassinet.
Bottles.
Infant clothing.
Everything looked prepared for a child.
Then he showed me a second photograph.
Attached to the bassinet was a small decorative wooden sign.
It contained a name.
May you like
Not Owen Keaton.
OLIVER VAUGHN.
