Chapter 11 - The Boss Who Sold My Secrets
Jonathan Pierce had watched me investigate Richard Croft for eighteen months.
He'd reviewed my reports.
Approved my travel expenses.
And congratulated me every time I uncovered another suspicious transaction.
Now a dead man's confession named him as someone involved in destroying evidence.
I slowly turned.
Jonathan was already moving toward the door.
"Stop."
He froze.
Arthur stood.
"Jonathan."
My boss forced a smile.
"These accusations are absurd."
I stared at him.
"Then you won't mind explaining why Croft knew I was undercover."
His expression hardened.
"Khloe, you're making a mistake."
I almost laughed.
Richard Croft had said the same thing.
Men accustomed to power seemed to have remarkably limited vocabularies when the truth caught up with them.
I looked toward the firm's independent counsel.
"Preserve his devices and access records through the appropriate procedures."
Jonathan slammed his hand against the table.
"You can't do this!"
The attorney remained calm.
"Mr. Pierce, the firm is required to investigate potential misconduct."
Jonathan stared at Arthur.
"Tell them to stop."
Arthur shook his head.
"No."
For the first time, I saw Jonathan genuinely frightened.
Then he whispered:
"You don't understand what happens if Blackbird collapses."
I stepped closer.
"Then explain."
He looked toward the windows.
"Thousands of investors lose money."
I shook my head.
"Thousands of workers already lost their retirement savings."
His face tightened.
"You think I'm the villain?"
"I think you've been hiding evidence."
He said nothing.
Over the following hours, independent investigators identified unusual communications between Jonathan and Richard Croft.
Croll's internal records showed confidential information from my investigation had been accessed without authorization.
Several files had been copied.
Others had been modified.
And one email connected Jonathan to payments from a Blackbird consulting company.
My stomach turned.
He'd been paid to protect Croft while pretending to investigate him.
But the most disturbing discovery involved Ethan.
Six years earlier, Jonathan had received a message warning that my brother planned to disclose the original pension theft.
He forwarded the warning to Charles Whitmore.
Two days later, Ethan disappeared.
I stared at the timestamp.
"Jonathan knew."
Arthur stood beside me.
"Yes."
I felt sick.
For six years, I'd believed my brother died because nobody knew he was in danger.
Now I understood.
People had known.
And chosen to protect their money instead.
Then my phone vibrated.
A new message appeared.
This one contained no threat.
Just an address.
A private apartment in Manhattan.
Beneath it were four words.
Come see your brother.
I stared at the screen.
Then another message arrived.
Come alone.
My heart pounded.
May you like
Because the sender was Ethan.
And for the first time in six years, he was asking to see me.
