Chapter 12 - The Night They Took the Servers
Detective Morales said no before I finished repeating the demand.
"You are not bringing an original contract to anyone."
"They have Miriam."
"We don't know that."
"They knew she was missing before the public did."
"That still doesn't prove they have her."
"They said alive."
Morales held my gaze.
"Which is exactly the word someone uses when they want you frightened enough to stop thinking."
I hated how calm she was.
I also needed it.
Rachel made three certified copies of the relevant pages.
Samuel returned the original agreement to his briefcase and refused to let it out of his sight.
Police planned to monitor the Riverside Hotel.
I would not go inside.
That was the deal.
At least, it was the deal until Hawthorne headquarters called Ethan at 6:14 p.m.
The building's main financial servers had gone offline.
Not electronically.
Physically.
Two rack units had been removed from the secure data room during a scheduled fire alarm test.
Grant stared at Ethan's phone.
"That room requires dual access."
"Whose?"
"Security and finance."
"Victor has finance."
"Had."
"Who has it now?"
Grant thought.
"Deputy CFO."
"Name?"
"Lauren Price."
Ethan swore.
"She's in London."
"Then someone cloned credentials."
Morales was already calling the officers stationed at headquarters.
"Nobody leaves the building."
Grant shook his head.
"Too late if the fire alarm was the cover."
He was right.
Security footage showed two men in contractor uniforms wheeling equipment cases into a service elevator.
Their badges scanned as valid.
Their faces were obscured by caps and masks.
One of them had a distinctive limp.
Olivia watched the clip twice.
"Martin."
Ethan's face went hard.
"You're sure?"
"He limped yesterday after carrying a tray."
Grant zoomed in.
"Old left-knee injury."
"Julian's driver had one," Ethan said.
The past had not stayed buried.
It had been working for somebody.
Morales changed the plan.
The Riverside Hotel demand could be a diversion from the server theft.
Or the server theft could be a diversion from the hotel.
Either way, we were being forced to divide attention.
"What exactly was on those servers?" I asked.
Ethan looked at Grant.
Grant answered.
"General ledger mirrors, vendor archives, audit snapshots, board document backups."
"Everything we need."
"A lot of it."
"Were there backups?"
"Offsite."
"Where?"
Grant's expression changed.
"One was decommissioned last month."
"By whom?"
"Victor's office."
"The other?"
"Cloud archive."
Rachel stared at him.
"You just told us not to trust networks."
"The archive is encrypted."
"Can Victor access it?"
"If he has the master key."
"Does he?"
Grant looked at Ethan.
"He shouldn't."
Ethan laughed without humor.
"That phrase has aged badly this week."
At seven, police located the truck used to remove the servers.
It was abandoned beneath an overpass.
The equipment cases were empty.
One contractor jacket remained in the back.
Inside the pocket was a receipt from the Riverside Hotel bar.
Too obvious again.
Morales held it up.
"They want us there."
"Then go," I said.
"We are going."
"I'm coming."
"No."
"Miriam asked for me."
"A caller asked for you."
"Same problem."
"Not same conclusion."
Samuel stepped in.
"Claire, listen to her."
I turned on him.
"You spent years listening to my father make decisions for me."
His face tightened.
"I'm not doing that now."
"It sounds familiar."
He accepted the blow.
"Then make your decision with all the facts."
He opened the agreement.
"If the original disappears, the certified execution copy still exists in court records from the financing closing."
I stared at him.
"Then why do they want this one?"
"Because this one contains Thomas's handwritten cross-references."
"To what?"
"The sealed schedule."
"Miriam's schedule."
"Yes."
Rachel looked at the margins.
My father had written short numbers beside several clauses.
4C.
7B.
12A.
I had assumed they were notes.
Samuel believed they were references to another document.
"So whoever called thinks this copy can lead them to the sealed schedule."
"Exactly."
Ethan stood.
"Then they don't have Miriam's copy."
We all looked at him.
"What?"
"If they had Miriam and her files, they wouldn't need Thomas's cross-references."
Morales nodded slowly.
"Unless she hid the schedule."
"Or destroyed it," Rachel said.
"Or gave it to someone," I said.
The room became quiet.
Miriam had called Samuel before disappearing.
Maybe she had done more than warn him.
Samuel looked uncomfortable.
I saw it.
"What aren't you telling me?"
He looked at me.
"Nothing."
"That was terrible."
Rachel nodded.
"Very bad lie."
Samuel sighed.
Then he reached inside his coat.
He removed a small brass key.
"Miriam mailed this to me two days ago."
I stared at him.
"And you didn't mention it?"
"I didn't know what it opened."
"You still don't."
"Correct."
"Was there a note?"
"One line."
"What line?"
Samuel's face tightened.
"If I call you, Claire is already in danger."
Anger flared through me so fast I had to stand.
"Give me the key."
He did.
No argument.
That helped more than an apology.
The key was old, heavy, and stamped with a number.
317.
Grant recognized it.
"Safe-deposit box."
"Which bank?"
"No bank mark."
Rachel searched the number against the red folder.
Nothing.
Then Olivia spoke.
"Miriam kept a private box at Union Mercantile."
I turned.
"How do you know?"
"Evelyn once made me follow her."
Everyone stared at her.
"What?"
"Three years ago."
"Why?"
"Evelyn thought Miriam was hiding trust statements from her."
"Was she?"
"I never found out."
"But you saw the bank."
"Yes."
Union Mercantile closed at five.
Its private vault reopened only by appointment the next morning.
Too late if the forty-eight-hour clock mattered.
Unless police could obtain emergency access.
Morales began making calls.
At eight-fifteen, her phone rang.
She listened without speaking.
Then her expression changed.
"Where?"
A pause.
"Is she conscious?"
I stood.
"Miriam?"
Morales held up one finger.
"We're coming."
She ended the call.
"A woman matching Miriam's description was found in a parked car behind a closed grocery store."
My heart slammed.
"Alive?"
"Yes."
"Can she talk?"
"Barely."
"Where?"
"St. Matthew's."
We were halfway to the hospital when another call came.
This one was from the officers watching the Riverside Hotel.
A package had been left at the front desk under my name.
Inside was a printed photograph of Miriam sitting in a chair.
On the back, someone had written a message.
The woman you found is not the one who has the schedule.
Beneath it was a second line.
May you like
Ask Ethan what happened to Julian's passenger.
