Chapter 3: Someone Had Been Inside
I didn't move.
Malik was tugging gently at my coat.
“Mommy?””
I put the phone on speaker.
“Julian,” I said, “say that again.””
His breathing was audible.
“Your office has been accessed.””
“By whom?””
“We don't know.””
“Do you?””
Silence.
“Julian.””
“We're checking.””
I looked at Marcus.
He was already signaling to one of the security officers.
“Lock down headquarters,” I said.
Julian inhaled sharply.
“You can't do that.””
“I just did.””
“Danielle, listen to me.””
“I've listened to you for seven years.””
My voice was steady.
“Now it's your turn.””
He lowered his voice.
“You're making assumptions based on incomplete information.””
“And you're making excuses based on a photograph of me.””
“That photograph was not supposed to be sent.””
“Interesting choice of words.””
“What?””
“You said it wasn't supposed to be sent.””
I looked at the dark screen of Paige's phone.
“That sounds less like denial and more like damage control.””
He said nothing.
“Who took it?””
“I don't know.””
“Who ordered it?””
“I don't know.””
“Who changed the employee instructions?””
“I don't know.””
“Then why did you call me?””
Another pause.
“Because I know what happens next.””
The line went silent.
I felt Malik's hand slip into mine.
“What happens next?”” I asked.
Julian's answer was barely audible.
“They'll try to make you the problem.””
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Marcus walked over.
“Was that Julian?””
“Yes.””
“What did he say?””
“That headquarters has been entered.””
Marcus's jaw tightened.
“Could be a setup.””
“It could be.””
“Do you still want to go?””
I looked at Malik.
“No.””
Marcus nodded.
“Good.””
We drove to my sister's house instead.
Malik fell asleep in the back seat fifteen minutes later.
The city moved outside the window.
Traffic lights reflected against the glass.
People laughed outside restaurants.
A delivery cyclist cut between two cars.
Everything looked normal.
That was the strange part.
At 7:46 p.m., I put Malik to bed.
At 8:03, I walked into my guest room and shut the door.
Then I called an independent cybersecurity firm.
Not our usual firm.
Not anyone connected to Julian.
A woman named Claire answered.
“I need an emergency forensic review.””
“Of what?””
“My company's systems.””
“Are you authorized?””
“I am the owner.””
“That helps.””
“No one else gets access,” I said.
“Not my executives. Not my IT department. Not my board.””
Claire paused.
“Why?””
“Because I think someone inside my company is manipulating records.””
“That is serious.””
“It is.””
“Do you have evidence?””
“Yes.””
I sent her the photograph.
Then the message screenshots.
Then the access logs Marcus had secured.
At 9:17, Claire called back.
“I found something.””
My heart started pounding.
“What?””
“Your executive credentials were used at 3:11 this morning.””
I sat up.
“I was asleep.””
“I assumed so.””
“From where?””
“Your office.””
“Could someone have cloned my credentials?””
“Yes.””
“Then why are you calling me?””
“Because they didn't just use your credentials.””
She paused.
“They accessed your private executive drive.””
I stood.
“What was on it?””
“Financial documents.””
“Which ones?””
“Acquisition files.””
I felt cold.
“What acquisition files?””
“Your company’s planned purchase of Bellmont Hospitality.””
I closed my eyes.
That acquisition had been worth nearly forty million dollars.
Only four people knew the final terms.
Me.
Julian.
Our CFO.
And our outside counsel.
“Did they download anything?””
“Yes.””
“How much?””
“Everything.””
I looked at the clock.
9:19.
“Can you trace the device?””
“I already did.””
“Where?””
Claire hesitated.
“Before I tell you, understand that location can be spoofed.””
“Tell me.””
“The device used to access your drive was registered to your executive suite.””
I frowned.
“That's impossible.””
“Why?””
“Because the office was empty.””
“Are you sure?””
“Yes.””
Claire went quiet.
Then she said,
“Danielle, I don't think the person who accessed your files was hiding outside the company.””
“What do you mean?””
“I think someone was inside the building.””
My throat tightened.
“Could security cameras confirm it?””
“Maybe.””
I called Marcus.
He answered immediately.
“I'm here.””
“Can you pull last night's footage from headquarters?””
“I already did.””
“And?””
“There’s a blind spot.””
“Where?””
“The executive floor.””
“Of course.””
He was silent.
“There's more,” he said.
“What?””
“The access card used to enter your office belonged to Julian.””
I sat down slowly.
“Are you sure?””
“Positive.””
I stared at the wall.
“Where is Julian now?””
“I don't know.””
“Find him.””
Twenty minutes later, Marcus called back.
“He checked into a hotel.””
“Which one?””
“The Fairmont.””
I looked at the clock.
“Send me the address.””
Then Malik appeared in the doorway.
His hair was messy.
He was rubbing one eye.
“Mommy?””
I quickly lowered my phone.
“Hey, baby.””
He walked toward me.
“Are you angry?””
“No.””
“You look angry.””
I knelt.
“I’m just thinking.””
“About the lady at the restaurant?””
I smiled faintly.
“Maybe.””
He climbed into my arms.
“Did she think we were bad?””
The question hit harder than anything Julian had said.
“No.””
“Then why didn't she want us there?””
I held him tighter.
“Because sometimes grown-ups carry ugly ideas.””
He thought about that.
“Can they put them down?””
I smiled through the ache in my chest.
“Yes.””
“How?””
“You stop being quiet about them.””
He nodded.
Then he asked the question that made me realize I had been looking at everything the wrong way.
“Mommy, is Uncle Julian a good guy?””
I froze.
“Why do you ask?””
“Because he came to school last week.””
My heartbeat changed.
“He did what?””
“He was waiting by the gate.””
I stared at my son.
“Did he talk to you?””
“He said you were busy.””
My skin prickled.
“What else?””
“Nothing.””
“Malik, did he give you anything?””
He nodded.
“A blue card.””
He ran to his room.
I followed.
He came back holding a small business card.
Julian's name was printed across it.
But on the back, in handwriting I didn't recognize, were four words:
*Ask your mother about me.*
I turned the card over.
My hands were shaking now.
Because beneath Julian's printed name was a handwritten number.
Not his.
It belonged to someone I hadn't spoken to in twelve years.
My father.
May you like
A dead man.
Or at least, that was what I had always believed.