Chapter 3 - The Missing MillionsThe fire alarm was a distraction.
I knew that before the first security officer ordered us toward the emergency stairs.
There was no smoke.
No heat.
No warning from the automated system identifying a floor or location.
Just a mechanical siren loud enough to scatter the board before the vote and send Nathan Cole into a building full of blind spots.
I pushed against the crowd moving toward the stairwell.
“Where is Nathan?”
A security guard caught my arm.
“Ma’am, you need to evacuate.”
“Release me.”
“Ms. Monroe, please.”
I pulled free and crossed to the elevator bank.
The digital display above Nathan’s elevator showed seventeen.
Then fifteen.
Then nothing.
Every number vanished.
“Why did the elevator stop?”
The guard looked at the dark panel.
“All elevators lock during a fire alarm.”
“He was inside.”
The guard reached for his radio.
Static answered.
Across the corridor, Gregory emerged from the conference room with Walter and our general counsel beside him.
“What happened?” he demanded.
“Nathan is trapped.”
Gregory glanced at the elevator.
“He should have used the stairs.”
“He entered before the alarm.”
“Then maintenance will retrieve him.”
I watched his face.
Too calm.
Far too calm.
“Call the fire department,” I said.
“They’ve already been notified.”
“Call them again.”
Gregory stepped closer.
“Eleanor, this is exactly the kind of erratic behavior the petition addresses.”
I turned toward him.
“Nathan just showed me a photograph of my daughter sleeping.”
For the first time, something flickered behind his eyes.
Not surprise.
Calculation.
“What photograph?”
“Taken tonight. Through a window.”
Walter frowned.
“Are you suggesting someone from the company photographed your child?”
“I’m saying Nathan was terrified, and now the elevator carrying him has stopped.”
Gregory lowered his voice.
“You are under enormous stress.”
“Do not do that.”
“Do what?”
“Speak softly while you call me unstable.”
The fire alarm cut off.
The sudden silence felt more violent than the noise.
A moment later, the elevator display returned.
The car was on nine.
Then eight.
Seven.
I pressed the call button repeatedly.
When the doors finally opened, the car was empty.
Nathan was gone.
His phone lay on the floor.
The screen was cracked but still glowing.
The photograph of Zoey had disappeared.
In its place was a text message.
YOU SHOULD HAVE KEPT QUIET.
I picked up the phone with the edge of my sleeve.
Gregory stared over my shoulder.
“Who sent it?”
“The number is blocked.”
“I’ll have security trace it.”
“No.”
His gaze sharpened.
“No?”
“You will not control the investigation.”
“This is my building.”
“This is my company.”
The words landed between us.
Neither of us looked away.
I called the police.
By six thirty, officers had searched the elevator shaft, stairwells, mechanical rooms and loading dock. Security footage showed Nathan entering the elevator on twenty-seven.
The next available image showed the empty car arriving on nine.
Footage between those floors had been erased.
Not corrupted.
Erased.
Captain Luis Ortega of the Midtown Major Crimes Unit stood beside me in the security office, watching the same twelve seconds of video for the fourth time.
“This system has redundant storage,” he said.
“It does.”
“Who can delete from both?”
“The head of security, the chief technology officer and the CEO.”
Gregory stood near the doorway.
“And Ms. Monroe,” he added.
Ortega glanced at me.
“Is that true?”
“I have administrative authority. I do not have operational passwords.”
Gregory folded his arms.
“Her ownership credentials override nearly every restriction.”
“Do they override yours?” Ortega asked.
Gregory’s mouth hardened.
“My lawyers will provide whatever you request.”
“That was not my question.”
Before Gregory could answer, an officer entered carrying a plastic evidence bag.
Inside was Nathan’s access badge.
“Found it in the freight corridor,” the officer said. “Door to the service alley was opened at four thirty-six.”
“Camera footage?” Ortega asked.
“Offline.”
“Convenient,” I said.
Gregory’s eyes moved toward me.
I ignored him.
Nathan had left me two statements.
Daniel’s death was not an accident.
The money was only the first lock.
I needed to understand both before Gregory closed the doors around me.
At seven fifteen, my attorney arrived.
Rachel Kim had represented my family for twelve years. She was small, sharply dressed and incapable of being intimidated by wealthy men with louder voices.
She walked into the security office, took one look at Gregory and said, “I assume he has already blamed you.”
Gregory scoffed.
“I have done no such thing.”
Rachel set her briefcase on the desk.
“You filed a competency petition and produced evidence of alleged embezzlement during an emergency meeting you had prepared for in advance. That is blame with stationery.”
Ortega almost smiled.
Rachel pulled me aside.
“Your voting rights are frozen until noon.”
“What?”
“Gregory obtained a temporary court order at five fifty-eight.”
“On what grounds?”
“Risk of asset dissipation.”
“He filed it before police finished searching for Nathan.”
“He filed it before the police arrived.”
I looked through the glass wall at Gregory.
“He knew.”
“He knew something.”
“How long does the freeze last?”
“Seventy-two hours unless we overturn it.”
“That gives him time to call another vote.”
“That appears to be the intention.”
My phone rang.
My mother.
I answered immediately.
“Is Zoey okay?”
A pause.
Then my mother’s voice, shaken and breathless.
“She’s safe. But someone was outside.”
“Where?”
“In the garden. The police found footprints beneath the bedroom window.”
My stomach turned.
“Take her away from the house.”
“I already called your driver.”
“No. Not the driver. I don’t know who we can trust.”
I closed my eyes, forcing myself to think.
There was one place Daniel had prepared for emergencies. A small apartment under another name in Brooklyn Heights. Gregory did not know about it.
Almost no one did.
I gave my mother instructions and ended the call.
Rachel watched me carefully.
“Eleanor, you need personal security.”
“I need security that Gregory did not hire.”
“I know someone.”
“Call them.”
By eight thirty, the board meeting had been postponed.
Gregory left through the executive garage surrounded by lawyers.
I remained behind with Rachel and Ortega, going through Nathan’s office.
His desk was immaculate except for a legal pad containing four handwritten numbers.
The first was my ownership percentage.
The second was the missing amount.
The third might have referred to the elevator floor where the system went dark.
The third number—three—had been circled twice.
Rachel opened a locked drawer using a key found on Nathan’s ring.
Inside was a photograph.
Not the image of Zoey.
An older picture.
Daniel stood outside a lakeside hotel with his arm around Gregory’s shoulder. Both men looked younger. Happier.
Beside them stood a woman wearing oversized sunglasses and a white scarf.
Diane.
On the back, someone had written:
June 14.
Three days before the first transfer.
I stared at the handwriting.
It belonged to Daniel.
Beneath the date was another sentence.
If anything happens to me, ask Diane what Gregory made her do.
The office door slammed behind us.
A woman stood in the doorway, pale and trembling.
Diane Ashworth.
Her perfect hair was pulled into a loose knot. Her eyes were swollen from crying.
She looked nothing like the woman from the ballroom.
“I know what you found,” she whispered.
I held up the photograph.
“Then start talking.”
Her gaze fell to Daniel’s handwriting.
“I can’t.”
“Someone photographed my daughter.”
“I know.”
“Nathan is missing.”
“I know.”
“My husband may have been murdered.”
Tears slipped down her face.
“I know.”
I crossed the room until only the desk separated us.
“What did Gregory make you do?”
Diane looked toward the hallway.
Then she reached into her purse and pulled out a silver key.
“He made me open Daniel’s hotel room.”
My throat tightened.
“Why?”
“Because Daniel had discovered the account.”
“What account?”
“The one Gregory used before he created yours.”
She placed the key on the desk.
“There was never forty-eight million dollars missing, Eleanor.”
I stared at her.
“What are you saying?”
May you like
“There were hundreds of millions.”
Before she could say more, a gunshot shattered the window behind me.
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