Chapter 6 - THE PHOTOGRAPH ACROSS THE STREET
The photographer had caught Eliza from across a parking lot, but the face beside her in the picture was cut off.
It belonged to Peter Lang, who had brought her a folder at her attorney's request.
Grant used the crop to suggest an affair.
The allegation spread among a small circle of financiers faster than any correction.
Peter called his company's ethics hotline to disclose his contact with Eliza and recuse himself from decisions involving Grant where appropriate.
He refused to surrender the documents he had delivered.
They were copies of committee minutes.
One page showed that Grant had personally requested an expedited release of 2.4 million dollars from a family-connected investment vehicle.
The stated purpose was a medical emergency involving Eliza.
The attached hospital bill was stamped as paid.
The hospital confirmed no such invoice number existed.
"A fake bill," Wade said.
"An apparent fake," Naomi corrected. "We need authenticated records before calling it that in a report."
Wade closed his eyes, briefly ashamed at how ready he was to settle everything by force.
Eliza asked to see the document.
Her own purported signature appeared at the bottom beside a consent statement.
She recognized the flourish Grant used when he signed birthday cards for his mother.
"He put my name here," she said.
Her lawyer told her handwriting analysis would help but was not the only evidence.
The surrounding emails, devices, bank transfers, and witness testimony mattered too.
A week earlier Grant would have laughed at such details.
Now he spent the night calling former colleagues and demanding loyalty.
Most did not answer.
One did: Derek Shaw, a junior deal manager who owed Grant his promotion.
"I kept the archive drive," Derek confessed.
Grant went quiet.
"Where?"
"At my apartment."
"Destroy it," Grant said.
Derek's silence lasted so long that Grant checked the connection.
"Did you hear me?"
"I heard you."
"Then do it."
Derek ended the call and looked at the small black drive on his desk.
Its label read MERCER - ORIGINALS.
For two years he had told himself that helping Grant adjust numbers was normal business.
Now he had heard a direct request to destroy records during an investigation.
He placed the drive inside an envelope addressed to independent counsel.
Before he could seal it, someone knocked on his door.
Through the peephole, he saw Grant's mother, holding the spare key Derek had once given Grant.
May you like
"Open up," she called. "We only want to talk."
