Chapter 2 - THE CABIN CLAIRE NEVER SOLD
The drive to Maine took nearly sixteen hours because I refused to fly.
Airports meant records.
Private planes meant Peter would know.
For the first time in years, I traveled without an assistant.
Without a driver.
Without someone smoothing every inconvenience before it reached me.
I hated how exposed it made me feel.
Maybe Claire had felt exposed for years.
That thought irritated me.
Mostly because it was true.
The cabin sat near Rangeley Lake, half hidden by pine trees.
We had honeymooned there twelve years earlier.
Claire loved the place.
I sold it in my mind because she told me she had.
Apparently, I never checked.
I had become excellent at believing whatever made my life easier.
The brass key opened the side door.
Inside, everything looked wrong.
No furniture.
No family photographs.
No wedding memories.
Metal shelves.
File boxes.
A laptop.
Three encrypted drives.
Claire had turned our honeymoon cabin into an archive.
Vanessa stood in the doorway.
“She did all this?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
I looked at the labels.
Years.
One shelf contained Morgan Infrastructure contracts.
Another contained banking records.
Another had photographs of executives entering hotels, private clubs, and warehouses.
My company.
My people.
My signature appeared everywhere.
Then I found Peter's name.
Hundreds of pages.
Payments to shell companies.
Consulting invoices.
Land purchases.
Municipal permits.
I frowned.
“These look legitimate.”
Vanessa came closer.
“No.”
She pointed.
“Look at the addresses.”
Three different contractors.
Same mailing address.
A warehouse outside Milwaukee.
Claire had circled it.
Beside the address:
NO EMPLOYEES.
NO EQUIPMENT.
NO ACTIVE LICENSE.
My stomach turned.
Fake vendors.
How much money?
I began calculating.
Then stopped when the total crossed forty million.
“What was Peter doing?”
Vanessa whispered:
“Stealing.”
“No.”
Not just stealing.
Morgan Infrastructure had government contracts.
Public projects.
Bridges.
Transit.
If Peter had been laundering money through fake vendors, this could destroy the company.
Then I found another folder.
DANIEL AUTHORIZATIONS.
My throat tightened.
Inside were digital approvals with my name.
Some real.
Some not.
I knew immediately.
The forged ones lacked a tiny notation I always added when approving capital expenditures.
Peter had been authorizing millions using my identity.
Then I saw one approval that was real.
My signature.
My actual signature.
$8.4 million to Northlight Consulting.
I remembered it.
Peter had brought it to me during a board dinner.
He said it was a restructuring payment.
I signed without reading.
Claire had highlighted the transaction.
Beside it:
THIS IS THE ONE THAT CAN BURY HIM.
Him.
Peter?
Me?
I didn't know.
Then the laptop activated.
A video file opened automatically.
Claire appeared on screen.
Same cabin.
Same table.
She looked directly into the camera.
“Daniel, if you're seeing this, Peter either lost control or I did.”
I stopped breathing.
Claire continued.
“You are not innocent.”
That sentence hit harder than anything.
“You may not have known what Peter was doing, but you signed whatever he placed in front of you because questioning him was inconvenient.”
I looked away.
Even prerecorded, Claire knew exactly where to cut.
Then she said:
“And if Vanessa is with you, ask her what happened in Milwaukee on March 18.”
Vanessa went completely still.
I turned.
“What happened in Milwaukee?”
May you like
She whispered:
“I saw Peter kill someone.”
