Chapter 2 - The Men at My Door
Nobody moved.
The knocking came again.
Three deliberate taps.
Not loud.
That made it worse.
Ryan turned off the hallway light.
"What are you doing?" I whispered.
"Upstairs. Now."
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's happening."
"Emily."
The voice outside returned.
"Open the door."
Linda looked close to fainting.
I had never seen her afraid before.
That scared me more than Ryan did.
I pulled Sophie behind me.
"Who are they?"
Ryan lowered his voice.
"People I owe."
"You owe them eight hundred and forty thousand dollars?"
"No."
"Then what?"
He looked toward Sophie.
"Not here."
The man outside knocked again.
"Ryan, don't make us wake the neighbors."
I reached for my phone.
Ryan grabbed my wrist.
I jerked away.
"What did I say about touching me?"
"I'm trying to keep you alive."
The sentence stopped me.
Linda whispered, "Just give them what they want."
Ryan rounded on her.
"There is nothing to give them."
"That's your problem."
"My problem?"
He stared at his mother.
"You started this."
Her face changed.
And there it was.
Something deeper than a greedy mother asking for a credit card.
"Mom?" Ryan said.
Linda said nothing.
He stepped toward her.
"What did you do?"
The front door handle moved.
Locked.
Then a phone began ringing.
Ryan's.
Unknown number.
He answered.
"Yes?"
The voice was loud enough that I heard it.
"Open the door."
Ryan looked at me.
Then toward the kitchen.
There was another exit through the garage.
He whispered, "Take Sophie through the back."
"No."
"Emily."
"This is my house."
"For God's sake, stop saying that like a deed can stop a bullet."
Sophie started crying.
That decided it.
I took her hand.
"Come on."
Then something unexpected happened.
Red and blue lights flashed through the windows.
Sirens.
The men outside immediately returned to their vehicles.
Engines roared.
Both SUVs reversed out of my driveway.
Ryan stared.
"You called police?"
I hadn't.
Then my phone rang.
Rebecca.
"I called them," she said.
I nearly collapsed.
She had heard enough of the previous conversation to become concerned and contacted 911 after our call disconnected.
Within minutes, officers filled the driveway.
The immediate danger was gone.
The questions were not.
Ryan refused to explain the SUVs.
Linda claimed she knew nothing.
I told police about the slap.
Sophie told them she saw it.
Ryan was removed from the house.
Before he left, he looked back at me.
"Emily."
I said nothing.
"Don't go to Hartwell tomorrow."
"Why?"
"Please."
"Why?"
He glanced at the officers.
Then said:
"Because the money wasn't stolen from your company."
I stared.
"The money was moved to keep someone from stealing something worth a lot more."
"What?"
He was led toward the cruiser.
"Ask Rebecca about Project Bluebird."
My heart stopped.
I had never heard of Project Bluebird.
But Rebecca had.
I could tell the moment I called her.
"Who told you that name?"
"Ryan."
Silence.
"What is it?"
"I can't explain over the phone."
"Then come here."
Thirty-five minutes later, Rebecca sat at my kitchen table.
She was fifty-one, divorced, terrifyingly organized, and one of the few people I trusted without reservation.
She opened her laptop.
"Six months ago, Hartwell was approached by a hotel group."
"What group?"
"Bellamy International."
I knew Bellamy.
Everyone did.
Luxury hotels.
Resorts.
Residential developments.
"What did they want?"
"An exclusive supplier."
"For?"
"Their North American properties."
I stared.
"Why didn't I know?"
"Because it was preliminary."
"How preliminary?"
She hesitated.
"Not very."
I stood.
"You kept a major contract from me?"
"At the board's request."
"We don't have a board."
"Not Hartwell's board."
My skin prickled.
"Whose?"
"Bellamy's."
Rebecca opened a file.
Projected contract value:
$46 million.
My mouth went dry.
"Why would Bellamy hide this from me?"
"They weren't hiding it from you."
"Then who?"
"Competitors."
She pulled up another document.
Code name:
PROJECT BLUEBIRD.
Hartwell was the preferred supplier.
Final announcement scheduled Friday.
Friday.
Linda's message.
Keep Emily away until Friday.
I stared at Rebecca.
"How did Ryan know?"
"I don't know."
"Did you tell him?"
"No."
"Who else knows?"
"Four people at Bellamy. Me. Their outside counsel."
"That's it?"
"Supposedly."
I sat down.
If Hartwell landed a forty-six-million-dollar contract, the company would transform overnight.
Our valuation would soar.
Competitors would notice.
"So what does the $840,000 have to do with Bluebird?"
Rebecca's expression tightened.
"I was hoping you could tell me."
"I can't."
She turned the laptop.
Mercer Strategic Consulting had been created eleven days earlier.
The registered owner wasn't Ryan.
It wasn't Linda.
It was me.
I stared at the screen.
"That's impossible."
"There's more."
The company's mailing address was a private mailbox downtown.
Its formation documents carried my electronic signature.
And Mercer Strategic had used the $840,000 to purchase something.
"What?"
Rebecca opened another record.
Shares.
Not public stock.
Private shares in a company called Stonebridge Manufacturing.
I knew Stonebridge.
They manufactured specialized fixtures Hartwell depended on.
If someone controlled Stonebridge, they could control our ability to fulfill Bluebird.
My mind began connecting pieces.
"Someone is trying to corner our supply chain."
Rebecca nodded.
"And Ryan moved money first."
"Why?"
"Maybe to secure the shares before someone else did."
"Then why hide it from me?"
"I don't know."
My anger returned.
There was always an explanation that required Ryan to lie to me.
I was tired of explanations.
Then Rebecca opened one final document.
"I found this while you were talking to police."
A purchase offer.
Someone had offered $6.5 million for the remaining Stonebridge shares.
The buyer was hidden behind an LLC.
But Rebecca had traced the attorney.
She turned the screen.
I recognized the name immediately.
"Charles Voss."
Rebecca nodded.
Charles Voss owned Voss Living.
Hartwell's largest competitor.
He had tried to buy my company twice.
I rejected him twice.
Suddenly, I understood the men in the SUVs.
"Ryan was fighting Voss."
"Maybe."
"Then why did Linda say 'what we did'?"
Rebecca didn't know.
Neither did I.
At 2:13 a.m., my phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Ryan.
He was standing outside the police station.
Taken minutes earlier.
Someone was watching him.
Below it:
Your husband stole something that belongs to us.
Another message.
You have until Friday to return it.
Then a third.
A photograph of Sophie leaving school the previous afternoon.
My blood froze.
May you like
The final message contained only six words.
Next time, we photograph her closer.
