Chapter 8 - THE LEDGER I HAD CARRIED FOR YEARS
“I don’t have a ledger.”
Grandma looked at me sadly.
“Yes, you do.”
“I would know.”
“No.”
She reached toward my necklace.
I instinctively touched it.
A small silver locket.
Oval.
Worn.
The only thing I had from my mother.
Grandma had told me Rachel wore it every day.
“You’re joking.”
Grandma shook her head.
“The ledger wasn’t a book.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“What was it?”
“A microfilm archive.”
I stared at the locket.
“No.”
“Your father copied the records and gave them to Rachel.”
My hands trembled as I removed the chain.
“You put evidence around my neck?”
“Not until you were eighteen.”
“That is not better.”
“I thought Raymond had stopped looking.”
“He obviously didn’t.”
Luke examined the clasp.
“There’s a seam.”
Police forensic technicians opened it carefully.
Inside was a tiny sealed capsule.
Digital conversion revealed dozens of photographed pages.
Dates.
Account numbers.
Names.
Payments.
Judges.
Police officers.
Union representatives.
Corporate executives.
And Raymond Hayes.
My stomach turned.
Then another name appeared.
Brian Keller.
My supervisor.
I stared.
“The man who fired me.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“He worked for Raymond.”
That explained how someone at Hayes Tower knew about me.
How they manipulated management.
How the calls came from inside the building.
They had been watching me before the elevator.
But why?
Luke scrolled farther.
Then froze.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“There’s a section marked elevator.”
My skin went cold.
The records were newer.
Someone had added files to the archive after my parents died.
Grandma stared.
“That isn’t Daniel’s writing.”
Margaret looked closer.
“It’s Arthur’s.”
Vincent’s father had continued the ledger.
One entry described a contingency plan.
If Raymond suspects Claire Bennett has the archive, isolate Vincent with her. Make the event look accidental. Observe whether Eleanor contacts either one.
I read it twice.
“The elevator.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“They trapped us together to flush Eleanor out.”
Grandma nodded.
“And it worked.”
My anger surged.
“People could have died.”
Margaret looked sick.
“Raymond never cared.”
Then Luke scrolled to the final page.
It was dated three days ago.
Not twenty-three years.
Not seven.
Three.
Someone had accessed the archive recently.
A digital signature appeared.
V.H.
Vincent Hayes.
I slowly turned toward him.
He looked equally confused.
“I didn’t do that.”
Luke stared at the screen.
“Boss, the access came from your private office.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
Only a handful of people could enter that room.
One was Luke.
One was Vincent.
One was Raymond.
And one was Vincent’s longtime executive assistant.
A woman named Natalie Pierce.
Vincent immediately called security.
No answer.
Then his phone buzzed.
A message from Natalie.
A photograph.
Raymond Hayes sitting in Vincent’s office.
Smiling.
May you like
Beneath it:
COME HOME, NEPHEW. BRING CLAIRE.
