Chapter 4 - The Secretary Who Changed Sides
Ellis did not deny it.
That made me trust him slightly more and fear the situation much more.
“How could Alexander know?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re the investigator.”
“I’m aware.”
Mercer took Ellis’s phone.
Ellis objected.
Mercer ignored him.
Within minutes, two agents were examining his devices, his billing account, and the temporary office he had used while following Alexander.
Ellis sat across from me in my father’s dining room with both hands visible on the table.
It would have been almost funny if my life hadn’t been disintegrating in real time.
“Did you tell anyone I hired you?”
“No.”
“Assistant?”
“No.”
“Partner?”
“No.”
“Friend?”
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No girlfriend.”
“Convenient.”
He leaned back.
“Sophia, if I were working for Alexander, why would I send you evidence at JFK?”
“To control what I knew.”
“That is possible.”
His honesty irritated me.
“You could pretend to save me while steering me exactly where they wanted.”
“Yes.”
“Stop agreeing.”
“You’re a financial consultant.”
“You understand risk.”
“If I tell you there is zero possibility I’ve been compromised, you’ll know I’m lying.”
Mercer returned.
“His devices are clean so far.”
“So far.”
“Yes.”
“Then how does Alexander know?”
“We have another possibility.”
“What?”
Mercer looked at Rachel.
Rachel went still.
“No.”
“You called your office after Sophia contacted you.”
“Of course I did.”
“Who did you speak to?”
“My paralegal.”
“Name?”
“Evan Doyle.”
“Anyone else?”
“My partner.”
“Which partner?”
Rachel’s expression darkened.
“Owen Pierce.”
Ellis sat up.
“The same Owen Pierce who represented Hale Strategic three years ago?”
I turned toward Rachel.
“What?”
Rachel closed her eyes.
“He did two matters.”
“You never told me.”
“They were unrelated.”
“You handled my prenup.”
“Yes.”
“Your partner represented Alexander.”
“Years before.”
“And you didn’t think that was worth mentioning?”
“I disclosed it in the conflict letter.”
I almost laughed.
“Which page?”
“Page six.”
Of course.
The fine print.
My entire life was hiding in fine print.
Mercer was already asking for names, phone records, permissions.
Rachel looked at me.
“I would never help Alexander.”
“I know.”
The words came before I could stop them.
She looked relieved.
Then I added, “But two days ago I would have said the same thing about my husband.”
Her face fell.
I hated myself for saying it.
I hated Alexander more for making me question everyone.
Khloe had sent nothing else.
We waited.
An hour.
Then two.
Mercer wanted me in a secure hotel.
Rachel wanted me with private security.
I wanted answers.
Eventually, at 7:16 that evening, Khloe called from a blocked number.
Mercer connected the phone to a recording system.
I answered.
“Hello?”
For three seconds, there was only breathing.
Then Khloe whispered.
“Sophia?”
“Yes.”
“Are you alone?”
I looked at four federal agents.
“Yes.”
A lie.
She sounded close to tears.
“I need you not to hate me for five minutes.”
“I can’t promise that.”
Fairness seemed to surprise her.
“Okay.”
“What happened?”
“Alexander knows you didn’t get sick.”
My stomach tightened.
“How?”
“He checked the airline record.”
“What does it show?”
“That you canceled before boarding.”
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“He doesn’t believe you.”
“Why?”
“Because Curtis called him.”
Mercer leaned closer.
“What did Curtis say?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Khloe.”
“I’m trying.”
Her voice broke.
I waited.
“I wasn’t supposed to be part of this.”
I almost laughed.
“You wrote, ‘Once she signs, we control everything.’”
Silence.
Then she whispered, “I know.”
“So don’t insult me.”
“I’m not.”
“What did you think you were doing?”
“Helping him move assets.”
“You thought forged signatures were normal asset management?”
“I didn’t know the first signatures were forged.”
“How?”
“Alexander told me you signed them.”
“And you believed him?”
“I wanted to.”
That answer sounded painfully human.
“Why?”
Another pause.
“Because I loved him.”
There it was.
Not a suspicion.
Not a misunderstanding.
An affair.
I looked at Mercer.
He watched me carefully.
“How long?”
“Eight months.”
The words should have hurt more.
Maybe I had already spent all my pain.
“Before the proposal?”
“No.”
“Before the wedding?”
“Yes.”
“Did he tell you he would leave me?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
“How original.”
“I know how it sounds.”
“It sounds exactly like what it is.”
“He said he needed the marriage temporarily.”
My fingers tightened.
“For my assets.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“He said after the restructuring was complete, he would divorce you.”
“And marry you?”
She didn’t answer.
I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
“What changed?”
“Curtis.”
“What about him?”
“He came to our hotel room after we landed.”
“Our hotel room?”
She exhaled shakily.
“Mine and Alexander’s suite is connected.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course it was.
“Continue.”
“Curtis told Alexander you had hired Ellis.”
“How did he know?”
“I don’t know.”
“What else?”
“He said the brownstone search failed.”
Mercer’s eyes sharpened.
“Failed to find what?”
“A recorder.”
I looked toward the empty drawer in my father’s study.
“They took a recorder.”
“No.”
“What?”
Khloe whispered.
“Curtis said the recorder wasn’t there.”
I stared at Mercer.
“But the drawer was empty.”
“That’s why I’m calling.”
“What do you mean?”
“Alexander asked Curtis why he left the drawer empty if he didn’t find it.”
My heartbeat changed.
“Curtis said he didn’t.”
Nobody spoke.
Someone else had removed my father’s recorder.
Before Curtis arrived.
“Khloe, did Alexander say what was on it?”
“No.”
“Did Curtis?”
“He called it the insurance policy.”
“Against whom?”
“I don’t know.”
“Khloe, listen to me.”
“Where are you right now?”
“Hotel restroom.”
“Where is Alexander?”
“Talking to Curtis.”
“Can you leave?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“Because my passport is in Alexander’s safe.”
The room went still.
“Why does he have your passport?”
“He said the hotel had a security issue.”
“Khloe.”
“I know.”
“Do you have identification?”
“My driver’s license.”
“Credit cards?”
“One.”
“Cash?”
“About three hundred dollars.”
Mercer wrote something on a pad.
I followed his signal.
“Are you in immediate physical danger?”
“I don’t know.”
“That means yes.”
“He has never hit me.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
She started crying quietly.
“Curtis scares me.”
“Why?”
“Because someone else was here.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Man or woman?”
“Man.”
“Age?”
“Maybe sixty.”
“American?”
“Yes.”
“Name?”
“I didn’t hear it.”
“Did you see him?”
“Only for a second.”
“What did he look like?”
“Gray hair.”
“Tall.”
“Glasses.”
“Anything else?”
She hesitated.
“He had a ring.”
“What kind?”
“A gold ring with a black stone.”
My mind went blank.
Then a memory surfaced.
A hand signing my father’s hospital guestbook.
A gold ring.
Black onyx.
Walter Greer had worn one.
But Walter was dead.
I looked at Rachel.
She mouthed, What?
I shook my head.
“Khloe, did Alexander know the man?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because when he walked in, Alexander stood up.”
“That means nothing.”
“Alexander doesn’t stand for anyone.”
She was right.
“What did he call him?”
“I didn’t hear.”
Then we heard a sound on her end.
A door.
Khloe inhaled sharply.
“I have to go.”
“Wait.”
“Sophia.”
“What?”
“There is a blue folder in Alexander’s carry-on.”
“Why do I care?”
“Because your father’s name is on it.”
My heart stopped.
“What’s inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“You looked?”
“He never lets me touch it.”
“Khloe.”
The door opened wider on her end.
A man’s voice.
Alexander.
“Who are you talking to?”
The call disconnected.
For five seconds, the entire room remained silent.
Then Mercer started issuing instructions.
Agents in Maui moved toward the hotel.
A surveillance team was activated.
Phone-location requests went out.
I barely heard any of it.
I was thinking about the black onyx ring.
Walter Greer had worn one every day of his life.
I had noticed it as a child because he let me spin it around his finger during boring estate meetings.
But Walter Greer was dead.
I knew that because Ellis had confirmed it.
Eleven months ago.
Stroke.
Connecticut.
I turned toward Ellis.
“Show me Walter’s obituary.”
He pulled it up.
There was a photograph.
Walter at seventy-two.
Silver hair.
Glasses.
Gold ring.
Black stone.
I pointed.
“That.”
Ellis looked at me.
“Khloe described this.”
Mercer glanced over.
“People own similar rings.”
“Walter had it custom made.”
“How do you know?”
“My father gave it to him.”
That changed everything.
Mercer stepped closer.
“When?”
“After they closed a major deal twenty years ago.”
“Was it unique?”
“It had his initials inside.”
Ellis searched deeper.
Then frowned.
“What?”
“I can’t find a death certificate.”
Mercer took the laptop.
“What?”
“There’s an obituary.”
“A funeral-home notice.”
“Professional memorials.”
“But no publicly indexed death certificate.”
Rachel stared.
“Maybe privacy.”
“Maybe.”
Mercer called someone.
We waited.
Two minutes.
Five.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
His expression slowly hardened.
When he hung up, he looked directly at me.
“Walter Greer did not die in Connecticut.”
I felt cold.
“Where?”
“We don’t know.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means Connecticut has no death record for him.”
“Then the obituary?”
“Could have been arranged.”
“Why fake his death?”
Nobody answered.
Another agent approached Mercer and whispered something.
Mercer turned pale.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“The Maui team reached Khloe’s hotel room.”
“And?”
“Alexander isn’t there.”
“Khloe?”
“Gone.”
My stomach dropped.
“Curtis?”
“Gone.”
“What did they find?”
Mercer hesitated.
“Two packed suitcases.”
“One open safe.”
“Khloe’s passport is still inside.”
Then the agent handed him a photograph from the room.
A cream-colored suitcase lay open on the bed.
Gold hardware.
Almost identical to mine.
Inside it was a blue folder.
My father’s name written across the front.
May you like
And resting on top of that folder was a gold ring with a black stone.
Walter Greer’s ring.
