Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO NEVER CAME HOME FROM MILWAUKEE
His name was Owen Price.
Senior internal auditor.
Forty-six.
Married.
Two daughters.
I remembered him vaguely.
Quiet man.
Worked three floors below executive level.
Peter told me Owen resigned abruptly.
Moved to Seattle.
Apparently not.
Vanessa had gone to Milwaukee for a company retreat.
She met Peter afterward because he asked her to deliver a folder.
“I didn't know what was in it,” she said.
“What happened?”
She stood beside the cabin window.
“Peter met Owen inside a parking garage.”
“Why?”
“Owen had found the shell companies.”
My skin went cold.
Vanessa said she stayed inside the car while Peter confronted him.
Their argument became physical.
Owen threatened to go to federal investigators.
Peter shoved him.
Owen fell backward over a low concrete barrier.
Two levels.
Vanessa covered her mouth.
“I heard the impact.”
I stared at her.
“And you said nothing?”
“Peter came back to the car.”
Her voice shook.
“He told me Owen had attacked him. He said it was an accident.”
“Was it?”
“I don't know.”
“But you helped him.”
She started crying.
“Yes.”
Peter ordered one of his security contractors to move the body.
Vanessa never saw what happened next.
Days later, the company announced Owen had resigned.
Claire discovered the lie because Owen's wife contacted her.
“Why Claire?”
“Because Owen had mailed her something.”
Of course.
Claire always listened when people came to her.
I usually asked my assistant to handle them.
“What?”
“A ledger.”
Peter's fraudulent payments.
My authorizations.
Board members receiving money.
Then Vanessa told me something worse.
“Owen's body was never found.”
I looked at the shelves.
“Claire believed he might still be alive?”
“No.”
“Then why hide the evidence here?”
“Because Peter had someone inside law enforcement.”
That changed everything.
Claire hadn't gone to the police because she didn't know which police could be trusted.
Then headlights appeared through the trees.
Vanessa froze.
“Nobody followed us.”
“Apparently somebody did.”
I shut off the lights.
A black SUV stopped outside.
One man got out.
Not Peter.
Arthur Shaw.
Head of corporate security.
My employee for nine years.
He approached the front door.
I opened it before he knocked.
“Daniel.”
He looked relieved.
Too relieved.
“What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.”
“How did you find me?”
His answer came smoothly.
“Your car.”
Rental.
Paid cash.
Impossible.
I stared at him.
“Peter sent you.”
Arthur didn't deny it.
Instead, he looked past me.
“Where's Vanessa?”
I stepped into the doorway.
“Why?”
His expression hardened.
“She knows things that could hurt people.”
“Which people?”
“You.”
Interesting answer.
Then Vanessa whispered behind me:
“He was there.”
Arthur's eyes snapped toward her.
I turned.
“Where?”
“Milwaukee.”
Vanessa pointed at him.
“He's the one who moved Owen.”
Arthur's face changed.
Just enough.
Then he reached inside his coat.
I didn't wait.
I slammed the door into him.
He stumbled backward.
Vanessa locked it.
Arthur recovered and drove his shoulder against the frame.
Once.
Twice.
The wood cracked.
I grabbed the fireplace poker.
A third hit.
The door burst inward.
Arthur came through.
I swung.
He blocked it, shoved me against the wall, and raised his fist.
Then a gunshot cracked outside.
Arthur froze.
Not hit.
Warning shot.
A woman stood beyond the doorway.
Winter coat.
Dark hair.
Claire.
My ex-wife lowered the pistol.
“Get away from him.”
Arthur stared.
“Claire.”
She smiled without warmth.
“I told Peter not to send amateurs.”
Then she looked at me.
“You used the key.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Before I could ask anything else, she turned toward Vanessa.
“Tell Daniel the rest.”
Vanessa went pale.
May you like
Claire's eyes sharpened.
“Tell him who actually hired you to sleep with him.”
