Chapter 5 - THE FLASH DRIVE
Caitlyn woke because the jet had stopped moving.
For one confused second, she did not know where she was.
Then she realized two things at once.
Her cheek was resting against something warm.
And every man in the cabin was avoiding looking directly at her.
She lifted her head.
Damian's shoulder was beneath it.
Mortification arrived faster than memory.
Caitlyn sat upright so quickly her neck hurt.
"Oh my God."
Vincent coughed into his fist.
Damian looked out the window.
"Good morning."
"I fell asleep on you."
"I noticed."
"Why didn't you move?"
His eyes shifted toward her.
"You needed sleep."
"You could have moved me."
"You were finally unconscious."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the only one you're getting before coffee."
Caitlyn looked around the cabin.
No one smiled.
That was suspicious.
She turned toward Vincent.
"Did I do anything embarrassing?"
Vincent's expression became solemn.
"You threatened to have three men thrown out of the plane."
Caitlyn stared.
"What?"
Vincent lasted two seconds before the corner of his mouth moved.
"I'm kidding."
Damian looked at him.
Vincent's smile disappeared.
"And now I regret it."
Caitlyn wanted the floor to open beneath her.
Then she remembered Noah.
Every trace of embarrassment vanished.
"Any update?"
Damian's face changed with the question.
"Nothing confirmed."
Caitlyn stood.
"Then we're wasting time."
"We landed four minutes ago."
"That's four minutes too many."
Damian said nothing.
The cabin door opened.
New York dawn was gray and cold.
They moved directly from the aircraft into waiting vehicles.
No one used the public terminal.
No one stopped for luggage.
Caitlyn sat beside Damian again, but this time an ocean of deliberate space separated them.
She pretended not to notice when he noticed.
The convoy entered Manhattan just after six.
Traffic had begun building, but Damian's driver found gaps that did not seem to exist for normal people.
Caitlyn's apartment was in a quiet building on West Seventy-Ninth Street.
Two Hamilton security vehicles were already outside.
A man approached the SUV as soon as Damian stepped out.
"Apartment is clear."
"Entry?"
"No forced entry."
"Cameras?"
"Lobby feed was looped for eleven minutes around two fourteen this morning."
Caitlyn stopped.
"Someone was here?"
The security man nodded.
"We think so."
She looked toward the building.
"The drive."
Damian blocked her path before she could move.
"Wait."
"You just said it's clear."
"He said the apartment is clear."
"What's the difference?"
"The difference is that I prefer to know what someone came for before I walk you into the room they searched."
Caitlyn crossed her arms.
"They came for the same thing we're here for."
"Maybe."
"What else would they want?"
Damian looked at the building.
"You."
The word settled heavily between them.
Caitlyn swallowed.
Vincent joined them.
"No sign they knew where the lockbox was."
"How do you know?" Caitlyn asked.
"Because your bedroom wasn't torn apart."
She frowned.
"It's not in my bedroom."
Vincent's eyebrows lifted.
Damian looked almost amused.
"Where is it?"
"Kitchen."
"You keep a fireproof lockbox in your kitchen?"
"Behind the flour."
Vincent stared at her.
"Why?"
"Because burglars look in closets."
Damian's mouth moved by the smallest fraction.
"Apparently so."
They entered the building.
Caitlyn's apartment looked normal at first.
Then she noticed the details.
A drawer in the entry table had not been closed all the way.
A framed photograph had been returned slightly crooked.
A stack of mail on the counter was reversed.
The intruder had been careful.
Not careful enough for someone who had spent two years ensuring Damian Hamilton's coffee mug stayed exactly three inches from the edge of his desk.
"Someone searched this place."
Vincent nodded.
"Yes."
Caitlyn went to the kitchen.
Damian followed.
She opened a cabinet above the refrigerator, moved two bags of flour, and pulled out a black fireproof case.
The lock was intact.
Her breath escaped.
"Key?" Damian asked.
Caitlyn reached beneath the refrigerator with two fingers and removed a magnetized key holder.
Vincent stared.
"You are either the most cautious secretary in Manhattan or secretly seventy years old."
"I grew up with a father who trusted banks but not drawers."
Caitlyn opened the case.
Inside were birth certificates, passports, insurance records, her parents' wills, several photographs, and a small sealed envelope.
Her father's handwriting was across the front.
FOR CAITLYN.
She stared at it.
The envelope had been there for three years.
She had assumed it contained the flash drive and nothing else.
Now the handwriting felt like a voice from a grave.
Her fingers hesitated.
Damian stood beside her but did not reach for it.
"Open it when you're ready."
Caitlyn looked at him.
"Noah doesn't have time for ready."
She tore the envelope open.
A small metal flash drive dropped into her palm.
A folded note followed.
Caitlyn unfolded it.
The paper trembled between her hands.
Cait,
If you're reading this because I asked you to, I probably owe you an explanation over coffee.
If you're reading this because I can't explain it myself, then I am sorry.
Do not give this drive to the police until you know who was driving the black sedan behind us.
Do not trust anyone who says the Northstar audit was only about money.
Take care of Noah.
He notices more than people think.
Love, Dad.
Caitlyn stopped at the final line.
He notices more than people think.
The kidnapper had said almost the same thing.
Her legs weakened.
Damian pulled a chair toward her.
She sat without arguing.
Vincent read the note over her shoulder.
"Black sedan."
"The caller said Noah saw the man who followed us onto the highway."
Caitlyn looked at Damian.
"My father knew someone was following them."
Damian held out his hand for the flash drive.
Caitlyn closed her fingers around it.
"No."
His gaze sharpened.
"We need to inspect it on an isolated machine."
"Then I hold it while you do."
"Caitlyn."
"My father gave it to me."
Their eyes locked.
Damian nodded once.
"Fine."
Vincent looked surprised.
Caitlyn was too.
They returned to Hamilton Holdings through a private garage entrance.
The tower looked different now.
For two years, it had been the safest structure in Caitlyn's life.
The place where rules made sense.
The place where she knew which elevator, which coffee, which calendar, which door.
Now someone inside it had stolen her identity and found Noah.
Security had doubled overnight.
Phones were collected from everyone entering the executive floors.
No one entered Damian's office without being searched.
Several senior managers stood in the hallway looking angry and frightened.
Malcolm Hamilton was among them.
He wore a navy suit and a silver tie.
His expression warmed when he saw Caitlyn.
"Sweetheart, are you all right?"
Caitlyn stopped walking.
For the first time, the word did not merely annoy her.
It made her skin crawl.
"Don't call me that."
Malcolm blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"I've asked you before."
His smile returned, thinner now.
"Of course."
He looked at Damian.
"I heard there was some sort of security incident."
Damian did not slow.
"You heard correctly."
"The board is concerned."
"The board can remain concerned until I am available."
Malcolm's eyes moved to the envelope in Caitlyn's hand.
It happened for less than a second.
Recognition.
Then nothing.
Caitlyn saw it.
Damian saw Caitlyn see it.
Neither said a word.
They entered Damian's private conference room.
The door locked behind them.
Vincent set up an isolated laptop disconnected from every company network.
Caitlyn inserted the flash drive.
A password prompt appeared.
"Of course," Vincent muttered.
Caitlyn stared at the field.
Her father loved terrible passwords.
Family birthdays.
Dog names.
Baseball players.
But this one mattered.
He would have chosen something Noah would know.
She typed three notes from the cartoon melody Noah hummed when scared, translated into the name of the show.
Rejected.
She tried Noah's childhood nickname.
Rejected.
Then she remembered a game their father played on long drives.
He would ask them the same question at every state line.
What do we do when we're lost?
Noah always answered first.
Find north.
Caitlyn typed FINDNORTH.
The drive opened.
Vincent leaned closer.
Damian remained still beside her.
Seven folders appeared.
Northstar manifests.
Payments.
Driver logs.
Photographs.
Audio.
Internal memos.
One folder was labeled HAMILTON.
Caitlyn opened it.
The first document was a spreadsheet of payments routed through six shell companies.
The totals exceeded eighty million dollars.
The names attached to the payments included port supervisors, inspectors, warehouse managers, and local officials.
The final column contained initials.
M.H.
Caitlyn looked at Damian.
"Malcolm Hamilton."
"Probably."
"Probably?"
"Initials are not proof."
"You're defending him?"
"I'm telling you what survives in court."
Caitlyn stared.
"Court?"
Damian's face remained unreadable.
"You wanted answers."
"I want Noah."
"So do I."
Vincent opened the audio folder.
There were nineteen recordings.
The final file was dated two days before the crash.
Caitlyn clicked it.
Her father's voice filled the room.
"Robert, I traced the route changes."
A second voice answered.
Older.
Rougher.
Damian went completely still.
His father.
"And?"
"Malcolm is moving more than pharmaceuticals."
A pause.
"How much?"
"Enough that he has people inside three ports and at least two law-enforcement offices."
The recording crackled.
Thomas Elmore continued.
"He knows I'm looking."
Robert Hamilton swore.
"Then stop looking."
"You hired me to find it."
"I hired you to find theft."
Robert's voice lowered.
"I did not hire you to get your family killed."
Caitlyn stopped breathing.
Damian looked at her.
She could not look away from the screen.
Her father's voice came again.
"If I stop now, he wins."
"Thomas, listen to me."
The older Hamilton sounded frightened.
Not for himself.
"Take your wife and children somewhere for a week."
"I can't disappear without making him suspicious."
"He is already suspicious."
The recording ended.
Caitlyn sat frozen.
No one spoke.
Then Vincent whispered.
"Jesus."
Caitlyn opened the next file.
A photograph appeared.
Her father's car at a gas station.
Behind it sat a black sedan.
The image was grainy.
The driver was barely visible through the windshield.
Caitlyn zoomed in.
Older male.
Silver hair.
Strong jaw.
Vincent's face changed.
Damian's did not.
Caitlyn looked between them.
"Who is that?"
Vincent answered reluctantly.
"Malcolm's driver at the time."
"Name?"
"Peter Vane."
"Where is he now?"
Vincent typed into the company database.
The result appeared.
Peter Vane had died in 2021.
Single-vehicle accident.
Caitlyn laughed once.
It sounded empty.
"Of course he did."
Damian took out his phone.
"Bring Malcolm to my office."
Caitlyn grabbed his wrist before thinking.
Every person in the room froze.
Damian looked down at her hand.
Caitlyn released him immediately.
"Don't."
"Why?"
"Because if he had Noah taken, confronting him tells him what we know."
Vincent nodded slowly.
"She's right."
Damian stared at Caitlyn.
"You want to pretend nothing changed?"
"For as long as it takes to find my brother."
A faint sound came from the hallway.
Someone knocked.
Damian touched the screen beside the door.
Malcolm stood outside.
He smiled into the camera.
"Damian, the board is waiting."
Caitlyn looked at the photograph of the black sedan.
Then at Malcolm's face on the monitor.
For the first time in three years, the accident that destroyed her family had a living person attached to it.
May you like
And he was standing ten feet away.
