Chapter 4 - The Missing Accountant
Mara studied the photograph of Celia’s wrist.
“You are sure it was not jewelry?”
“She was wearing no bracelet.”
“It could be an old injury.”
“It was fresh.”
Mara sent an agent to ask Celia about it.
Celia claimed she had caught her wrist on a wardrobe clasp.
I did not believe her.
Neither did Mara.
Before dawn, the Fairmont Grand had become the center of a federal investigation.
Agents removed computers from the foundation offices.
Hotel security copied every camera recording.
Donors were released one by one after interviews.
Reporters gathered outside the main entrance.
My picture was already spreading online.
One headline called me the battle-damaged daughter who disrupted a charity gala.
Another claimed I had accused my own family of stealing from veterans.
My father’s publicist moved quickly.
At five in the morning, she issued a statement saying Grant Warren welcomed a full investigation and remained deeply concerned about his youngest daughter’s well-being.
He was still trying to bury me beneath concern.
Mara took me to a secure federal office several blocks away.
She gave me coffee, a clean shirt, and a room with no windows.
I changed but kept my field jacket.
The dust on it felt more honest than anything my family had worn that night.
At six seventeen, an analyst found Rebecca Shaw.
She was not hiding under a false name.
She was in a private medical facility outside Baltimore.
She had been admitted eight months earlier after a serious car crash.
According to the records, she had severe memory impairment and no emergency contacts.
“Who paid the bills?” I asked.
Mara examined the report.
“A company called American Recovery Outreach.”
“That sounds like a charity.”
“It is owned by Pierce Strategic Management.”
Nolan had not killed Rebecca.
He had placed her somewhere no one would think to look.
We drove to the facility with three agents.
The building sat behind iron gates surrounded by winter trees.
It called itself a neurological rehabilitation center.
Inside, it smelled like disinfectant and boiled vegetables.
The director met us near reception.
Dr. Malcolm Reed was a narrow man with silver glasses and a voice trained to sound calm.
“Ms. Shaw is medically fragile,” he said.
“Stress could cause severe setbacks.”
Mara showed him the warrant.
“We need to determine whether she is here voluntarily.”
“Of course she is.”
“Then show us her consent forms.”
Reed’s confidence slipped.
“That may take time.”
“You have five minutes.”
We found Rebecca in a private room on the third floor.
She was fifty-nine, though she looked older.
A scar crossed the left side of her forehead.
She sat by a window assembling a puzzle meant for children.
When she saw me, her hands stopped.
“Elise?”
Mara and I exchanged a look.
Rebecca knew me immediately.
I knelt beside her chair.
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled.
“You look like your mother.”
“Rebecca, do you know why you are here?”
Her gaze moved toward the door.
“He said I needed rest.”
“Who?”
She pressed one finger against her lips.
“Walls listen.”
Mara checked the room.
An agent found a small microphone inside the smoke detector.
Rebecca began trembling.
I took her hand.
“You are safe.”
“No one is safe around Grant.”
Dr. Reed appeared at the door.
“This interview must stop.”
Mara blocked him.
Rebecca gripped my fingers.
“The ledgers are not here.”
“Where are they?”
“Your mother hid them.”
“Where?”
“She gave me a key.”
Rebecca glanced at the puzzle.
Several pieces had been arranged to form numbers instead of a picture.
Seventeen.
Twelve.
Thirty-one.
I memorized them.
“Is that a code?”
Rebecca nodded faintly.
“Hotel.”
“The Fairmont?”
“Not ballroom.”
She looked toward the microphone.
“Old room.”
Mara asked, “What is in the old room?”
Rebecca began to cry.
“The truth about the families.”
“What families?”
“The dead ones.”
Before she could explain, an alarm sounded.
Red lights flashed in the hallway.
A nurse shouted that smoke was coming from the west stairwell.
Mara ordered two agents to evacuate Rebecca.
I moved toward the door.
Then the power died.
The room went dark.
Rebecca screamed.
Glass shattered behind us.
A masked man came through the window from the maintenance ledge.
May you like
He held a syringe in one hand.
And he was moving directly toward Rebecca.
