Chapter 10 - The Man Who Could Be Andrew Whitman
Only six people had ever possessed administrative access equal to Andrew’s.
Two were dead.
One had retired.
One worked in London.
One was Andrew himself.
The sixth was Jonathan Pierce.
Andrew’s closest friend.
Chief operating officer of Whitman Technologies.
Best man at his wedding.
The person who had called Andrew from the hospital after Sarah’s crash because Andrew had been on a flight and unreachable.
Jonathan had sat beside him through the funeral.
He had taken control of the company for six weeks when Andrew could barely get out of bed.
“He could access my credentials,” Andrew said.
Owen did not answer.
He didn’t need to.
Security records showed Jonathan’s badge entering the executive data center the same evening Rachel’s files were targeted.
Jonathan claimed he was reviewing infrastructure issues.
Andrew invited him to the penthouse.
No police.
No board.
Just the two of them.
Jonathan arrived carrying scotch.
“I figured you need this.”
Andrew almost smiled at the cruelty of familiarity.
“Sit.”
Jonathan looked around.
“Where’s the kid?”
“With his mother.”
“They found her?”
Andrew watched his face.
No surprise.
Very little.
“You knew?”
Jonathan frowned.
“Knew what?”
“That Rachel Miller was alive.”
“No.”
“Then why aren’t you surprised?”
Jonathan stared.
“Because you look like you haven’t slept in three days. I assumed something happened.”
Andrew poured no drink.
“Did you access the evidence server?”
Jonathan’s face changed.
“Is that what this is?”
“Answer.”
“No.”
“Your badge was there.”
“My badge accesses half the building.”
“Your physical badge.”
“I was at the data center.”
“Why?”
“Server migration.”
“Using my credentials?”
Jonathan stood.
“You think I stole your login?”
“I think Sarah called someone the ghost in my house.”
Jonathan went very still.
Andrew saw it.
A fraction.
But enough.
“You’ve heard that before.”
Jonathan looked toward the windows.
“Andrew.”
“Where?”
“Sarah said it to me.”
Andrew’s heart hit his ribs.
“When?”
“A week before she died.”
Andrew stepped closer.
“She talked to you about the investigation?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“She asked me not to.”
“Everyone seems to enjoy keeping my wife’s secrets from me.”
Jonathan’s voice cracked.
“She thought someone was monitoring you.”
“Who?”
“She didn’t know.”
“Did she suspect you?”
Jonathan laughed bitterly.
“For about five minutes.”
“Why?”
“Because my credentials appeared in access logs.”
Andrew stopped.
“Just like mine.”
Jonathan nodded.
“Someone was cloning identities.”
“Who?”
“I spent months trying to find out.”
“After she died?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Look at yourself!”
Jonathan pointed at him.
“You couldn’t walk into Lily’s nursery without collapsing. You barely spoke. You signed documents without reading them. I thought if I handed you a conspiracy involving Sarah’s death, it would kill you.”
Andrew wanted to hit him.
Instead, he asked:
“What did you find?”
Jonathan sat again.
“The ghost account traces to an old systems architecture platform.”
“Which team?”
“Legacy security.”
“Who ran it?”
Jonathan looked at him.
“Your father.”
Andrew stared.
“My father died twenty-two years ago.”
“The credentials never died.”
Someone had maintained them.
Someone with access older than Andrew’s leadership.
Jonathan continued.
“There was one administrator after your father died.”
Andrew already knew the name before Jonathan said it.
“Evelyn Dane.”
Andrew closed his eyes.
Evelyn had served as interim technology chair during the transition after his father’s death.
Only nine months.
Long enough to create a hidden access structure.
“Why would the account survive?”
“Because she buried it inside backup authentication.”
Andrew’s phone buzzed.
Detective Ruiz.
“Andrew, we located Samuel Dane.”
The room changed.
“Where?”
“A private plane manifest under an alias. He landed in Indiana yesterday.”
“Where is he now?”
“We don’t know.”
Then Andrew’s building alarm sounded.
Once.
Twice.
Owen’s voice exploded through the security intercom.
“Lockdown. Andrew, move away from the windows.”
Jonathan stood.
“What’s happening?”
A gunshot cracked somewhere below.
Andrew froze.
Another.
Then Rosa screamed from the hallway.
Ethan.
Andrew ran.
He found Rosa near the stairs.
“Where is Ethan?”
Her face was white.
“He was in the library.”
Andrew reached the library.
Empty.
One window stood open.
Rain blew across the carpet.
On the floor lay Ethan’s wooden box.
And beside it, a small bloodstain.
Andrew heard his own voice as if from far away.
“No.”
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A man spoke.
“You protected my mother’s little witness once.”
Andrew’s grip tightened.
May you like
Samuel Dane.
“Now let’s see if you can do it twice.”
