Chapter 13 - Nine O'Clock Tomorrow
Gerald Pritchard stopped answering calls the moment police asked about Halcyon Facility Consulting.
That alone did not prove guilt.
It proved he had a lawyer.
By six that evening, his lawyer had sent three emails.
The first claimed Pritchard had merely acted as registered agent for Dana’s company in exchange for a small fee.
The second denied any knowledge of fraudulent bank accounts.
The third threatened Tessa with a defamation claim if she accused him publicly of participating in identity theft.
Camille read all three and smiled without humor.
“People who are completely uninvolved love sending three letters before dinner.”
Tessa sat at her kitchen table with Eli and Noah in the next room doing homework.
“I do not care about him.”
“You should care a little.”
“He owns the building.”
“He tried to lock us out.”
“And now he wants me to be scared of a lawsuit.”
Camille folded the letter.
“You should not be scared.”
“You should be documented.”
Tessa looked at the clock.
7:22 p.m.
The anonymous caller had given her until nine the next morning.
Tell police Zo ordered the forged invoices.
Leave Chicago with the boys.
Or the next complaint would include drugs.
Camille had informed detectives.
They had offered temporary protective relocation.
Tessa refused.
Not because she was fearless.
Because relocation sounded too much like being removed from her own life.
“I am not disappearing because somebody wants me gone,” she said.
Camille did not argue with the principle.
She argued with the method.
“You can be brave from a hotel.”
“I cannot pay for a hotel.”
“The police can arrange—”
“No.”
Camille closed her eyes briefly.
“You and Zo Rossi are the same person in two different tax brackets.”
Tessa almost laughed.
“That is the meanest thing anyone has said to me this week.”
“It is Tuesday.”
“Exactly.”
Across town, I was sitting in an emergency audit committee meeting.
Adrian sat three chairs away.
He wore the same calm expression he had worn through fourteen years of crises.
The board chair, Eleanor Shaw, had the warehouse ledger projected on a screen.
My initials looked enormous.
ZR.
Twelve entries.
Two hundred thousand dollars in associated payments.
Eleanor removed her glasses.
“Zo, the committee is not accusing you.”
“That sentence always comes immediately before an accusation.”
“We are saying the records are serious.”
“They are fabricated.”
“Do you have proof?”
“Not yet.”
Adrian shifted slightly.
I looked at him.
He looked back with perfect professional concern.
Eleanor continued.
“Your personal household expenses ran through a corporate reimbursement channel.”
“On advice from tax counsel.”
“No one disputes that.”
“But if that channel was manipulated, shareholders may be exposed.”
“The amounts are immaterial to shareholders.”
“The governance issue is not.”
I hated when people used my own language against me.
One director tapped the table.
“The police investigation now touches the CFO, household staff, a shell vendor, and records bearing the CEO’s initials.”
“That is exactly why we should not interfere until facts are established.”
Adrian finally spoke.
“I agree.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
Of course he agreed.
He was trying to sound neutral while the room slowly moved toward restricting me.
Eleanor looked at him.
“Adrian, your own initials appear in the ledger.”
“They do.”
“Can you explain them?”
“No.”
He paused.
“Not yet.”
I almost admired the performance.
He was not defending himself too hard.
Innocent men sounded uncertain when confronted with unknown records.
Guilty men who knew that could imitate them.
“What I can say,” Adrian continued, “is that I will cooperate fully.”
Then he looked at me.
“And I believe Zo should too.”
There it was.
Not a knife.
A hand offered politely while someone moved the floor beneath me.
Eleanor folded her hands.
“The committee wants an independent review.”
“Fine.”
“Until preliminary findings are complete, we are asking you to recuse yourself from any company investigation touching these payments.”
“That is also fine.”
“And temporarily delegate certain approval authorities.”
“That is not.”
The room went silent.
“To whom?” I asked.
Eleanor did not answer immediately.
I looked at Adrian.
He held my gaze.
“To the CFO,” she said.
I laughed once.
No one else did.
“You want to transfer authority to a man whose initials appear beside mine in the same ledger.”
“Operational authority only.”
“Then give it to the COO.”
“The COO is in Singapore.”
“Call him.”
Eleanor’s voice hardened.
“This is not a negotiation.”
Everything in me wanted to make it one.
Then my phone buzzed on the table.
Lena.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Then a third time.
Emergency pattern.
I stood.
“Excuse me.”
Eleanor frowned.
“We are not finished.”
“I am.”
I left the room and answered.
“What happened?”
“Tessa got another call.”
“When?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
“Recorded?”
“Yes.”
I exhaled.
“What did they say?”
Lena played part of the recording.
The distorted voice filled my phone.
“Nine tomorrow morning.”
“You will go to Area Three headquarters.”
“You will say Rossi told Victor to use fake vendors for cash.”
“You will say you carried envelopes from the house.”
“You will say you were paid to sign.”
Tessa’s recorded voice was steady.
“And if I do not?”
A pause.
Then the caller said something new.
“We know where Eli walks to school.”
My vision narrowed.
The board meeting disappeared from my mind.
“Where are they now?”
“Apartment.”
“Police are moving the boys.”
“And Tessa?”
“She refuses to leave until she knows where they are going.”
“Good.”
“Zo.”
“What?”
“This next part matters.”
Lena played the recording again.
Near the end, Tessa asked a question the police had coached her to ask.
“How do I know you can make the drug complaint happen?”
The caller laughed.
A real laugh.
Not distorted enough.
Two seconds.
Maybe three.
Then he said, “Ask Gerald what he found under your sink.”
The call ended.
I knew the laugh.
Not perfectly.
But enough to feel sick.
I had heard it in conference rooms for fourteen years.
May you like
Adrian Bell.
