Chapter 7 - The DinnerRichard Voss chose the restaurant.
That told me something immediately.
Powerful men preferred familiar rooms.
Familiar waiters.
Familiar exits.
Familiar people who understood when not to look too closely.
The restaurant occupied the forty-second floor of a private club in Seattle.
Members only.
No public reservations.
No press.
Perfect for secrets.
Richard arrived at seven thirty.
I arrived at seven twenty-nine.
He smiled when he saw me.
“Claire.”
“Richard.”
He kissed my cheek.
I resisted the urge to step away.
For eleven years, Richard had served on various Whitmore committees.
He had known Daniel.
Known my father.
Known me as a teenager.
After I returned publicly as chairwoman, he had been one of the loudest voices praising my leadership.
Now I knew six million dollars connected to Project Raven had been associated with his name.
I also knew one more thing.
The paper my father had hidden was not enough.
It was handwritten.
Powerful evidence for investigation.
Not enough by itself to prove the full network.
I needed Richard to talk.
We sat near the windows.
Seattle lights reflected across black glass.
“You’ve had an extraordinary year,” Richard said.
“That is one way to describe it.”
“Ethan. The trial. The foundation.”
“And now Project Raven.”
His fork stopped.
Only for a fraction of a second.
Then he smiled.
“Yes.”
“Did Daniel tell you?”
“The board hears things.”
“Interesting.”
“Why?”
“I hadn’t told the board we reopened it.”
Silence.
Richard sipped wine.
“You know how corporations work.”
“I’m beginning to.”
He laughed.
“Your father used to say the same thing.”
I leaned back.
“Did you like him?”
“Very much.”
“Did he like you?”
Richard paused.
“Jonathan respected me.”
Not the same answer.
I changed direction.
“Marcus kidnapped Mrs. Ruth.”
“I heard.”
“And Isabel Hale’s daughter.”
“Terrible.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“I’ve dealt with men like Marcus.”
“Have you?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Richard studied me.
There.
The slightest warning in his face.
“Professionally.”
I reached into my bag.
Not for the list.
For a photograph.
Marcus outside the marina in 2009.
Richard looked at it.
“What is this?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know.”
“We found evidence Marcus was connected to the boat my parents died on.”
“I’m sorry.”
I watched his eyes.
No shock.
He already knew.
“Richard.”
“Yes?”
“Did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That my father’s death may not have been accidental.”
He put down his glass.
“Claire, grief can make old facts feel different.”
“My grief isn’t new.”
“No.”
“But the need to assign meaning sometimes is.”
A beautifully sophisticated way of calling me irrational.
Ethan had done the same thing in smaller language.
You’re emotional.
You’re imagining things.
You’re overreacting.
Different man.
Same tool.
“I have the list.”
Richard’s face changed.
Completely.
For one second, the polished board member vanished.
“What list?”
I smiled.
“Now you’re surprised.”
He recovered.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Then why are you pale?”
“I’m concerned about you.”
“No, you aren’t.”
He glanced around the room.
“Where is it?”
There it was.
Not What is it?
Where is it?
I let the silence sit between us.
“My father found it before he died.”
Richard leaned closer.
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”
“Explain it.”
“You think this is about Marcus?”
“Isn’t it?”
“Marcus was a manager.”
“For whom?”
Richard said nothing.
“For whom?”
He looked toward the window.
“People whose names do not belong in conversations.”
“I already have their names.”
“You have paper.”
“So?”
“Paper burns.”
I held his gaze.
“People record conversations.”
Richard smiled faintly.
“Is that what this is?”
He glanced toward my dress.
My jewelry.
The table centerpiece.
He was looking for a microphone.
There was one.
But not where he expected.
A directional recording system had been installed in the private dining room hours earlier with the cooperation of investigators.
Everything was being captured.
I did not need to wear anything.
“You tell me.”
Richard sat back.
“Your father was stubborn.”
“So am I.”
“That isn’t always admirable.”
“What did he find?”
“He found a mechanism.”
“Money laundering.”
Richard’s eyebrow moved.
Confirmation.
I continued.
“Project Raven made legitimate corporate transfers. Marcus redirected the structure to mix outside money into transactions. Money came in dirty, moved through Whitmore-related entities, then left looking legitimate.”
Richard smiled.
“Very good.”
“Who were the clients?”
“You say you have the list.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“No.”
“Why did my parents have to die?”
His face became hard.
“They didn’t.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“Jonathan had an option.”
“What option?”
“Walk away.”
“From his own company?”
“From the investigation.”
I felt my nails press into my palm under the table.
“You threatened him.”
“Marcus did.”
“You paid Marcus.”
Richard’s silence answered.
“You had my father killed.”
The words came out quietly.
Richard looked directly at me.
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“No one ordered Jonathan’s death.”
I almost laughed.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to understand that plans change when people refuse to cooperate.”
“What was the plan?”
“Scare him.”
“How?”
“Tamper with the boat. Force him to cancel the trip. Make him understand access could be taken away.”
“My mother was on that boat.”
“She was not supposed to be.”
Something inside me went completely still.
“You knew.”
“Marcus knew.”
“And he went ahead anyway.”
Richard’s jaw tightened.
“Marcus always believed fear worked best when it became personal.”
I wanted to reach across the table.
I wanted to destroy his calm face.
Instead, I asked:
“And Samuel Price?”
Richard stopped drinking.
“What about him?”
“Where is he?”
“You’re wasting time.”
“Is he dead?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is Marcus working for you now?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
Richard smiled.
“Marcus stopped working for anyone years ago.”
“Then why does he want the list?”
“Because everyone on it has a reason to kill him.”
That mattered.
Marcus was not simply protecting the network.
He was protecting himself.
The list could expose clients.
But it could also prove Marcus had facilitated their laundering.
Richard leaned closer.
“You should destroy it.”
“Why?”
“Because if you release those names, you won’t know which danger comes first.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s advice.”
“My father got your advice too?”
“Yes.”
“And he died.”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps you’re not very good at giving advice.”
Richard’s eyes hardened.
I knew we had enough to detain him for questioning.
But I wanted one more thing.
“Where is Marcus?”
Richard shook his head.
“No idea.”
“Where would he go?”
“No idea.”
“What does he want besides the list?”
“To survive.”
“How?”
“By making a deal.”
“With whom?”
“Anyone afraid enough.”
A waiter approached.
Richard suddenly grabbed my wrist.
Hard.
The waiter stopped.
Richard smiled.
“My apologies. Private conversation.”
The waiter left.
Richard leaned toward me.
“You think law enforcement controls this room.”
My blood chilled.
He knew.
“You think Daniel controls the building.”
His grip tightened.
“He doesn’t.”
The lights went out.
Not dimmed.
Out.
People shouted.
Glass shattered somewhere.
I ripped my arm free.
Emergency lighting came on red.
Daniel had insisted I wear one item.
A panic transmitter built into my watch.
I pressed it.
No response.
Richard was gone.
The stairwell door slammed.
I ran after him.
Not because it was wise.
Because I knew something had changed.
At the stairwell, I found one security officer unconscious.
Alive.
I heard footsteps below.
I followed two floors.
Then a hand grabbed me from the darkness.
I fought.
“Claire!”
Daniel.
I stopped.
“Richard?”
“Gone.”
“How?”
“Service elevator.”
“What happened to security?”
“System was overridden.”
“Inside access?”
“Yes.”
Not one traitor.
More.
We returned to the dining room.
Investigators secured the floor.
The recording system had survived.
Richard’s admissions were captured.
Within an hour, warrants were being prepared.
But Richard vanished.
Just like Marcus.
At midnight, I returned home under heavy security.
Mrs. Ruth was sitting in my kitchen.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I poured water.
She saw the bruises forming around my wrist.
Her expression changed.
“Who did that?”
“Richard.”
She stood.
“Where is he?”
“What are you going to do, hit him with your purse?”
“If necessary.”
I smiled.
Then stopped.
“Richard said my mother wasn’t supposed to be on the boat.”
Mrs. Ruth came closer.
“He said they only meant to scare my father.”
“You believe him?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s the right answer.”
I sat.
“For fifteen years I thought my parents died because something broke.”
“Something did.”
I looked at her.
“People.”
That night, I could not sleep.
At 3:12 a.m., Daniel called.
“We found something.”
“What?”
“Richard’s financial records.”
I sat up.
“Tell me.”
“He’s been transferring money to Marcus for years.”
“How much?”
“Nearly forty million.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
Then Daniel paused.
“But the most recent transfer was yesterday.”
“To where?”
“A trust connected to a medical facility in British Columbia.”
“Medical?”
“Yes.”
“Whose care?”
“We had to go through several layers.”
“Daniel.”
He exhaled.
“Samuel Price.”
I stood.
“What?”
“He’s alive.”
For seventeen years, everyone had believed the missing auditor was dead or gone forever.
He was neither.
May you like
Samuel Price had been alive the entire time.
And Marcus Hale had been paying to keep him somewhere no one would find him.
