Chapter 6 - WHAT THOMAS LEFT BEHINDNorthstar Energy had been Thomas's largest client.
Before his death.
The detective explained that the company had been accused of falsifying electricity-consumption data for commercial properties.
I didn't understand.
“Why would Monica be involved?”
“We don't know.”
“But my house?”
“Your property may have been used as a test location.”
I felt sick.
The electricity wasn't necessarily the goal.
It might have been the data.
Someone had been measuring how much energy could be drawn through residential infrastructure without triggering immediate suspicion.
Monica's Tesla had been the perfect excuse.
A harmless-looking vehicle.
A neighbor.
A simple extension cable.
Nobody would think twice.
Until the numbers changed.
I looked at Frank.
“Thomas knew about this?”
“Possibly.”
The detective handed me a copy of an old report.
Thomas's signature was at the bottom.
He had flagged unusual activity three weeks before he died.
My hands began shaking.
“What happened after he reported it?”
The detective looked at me carefully.
“He received threats.”
I remembered.
Three weeks before Thomas died, he had started checking the locks.
He had told me not to answer unknown numbers.
I had assumed he was stressed.
I had never asked why.
“Why didn't he tell me?”
“Maybe he was protecting you.”
The sentence felt like a knife.
Three years of grief suddenly changed shape.
I had thought Thomas's death was an accident.
A highway collision.
Rain.
A truck crossing the center line.
But now there was a question I couldn't ignore.
Was it really an accident?
That night, I opened an old box from Thomas's office.
Receipts.
Pens.
Photographs.
A broken watch.
Then I found an envelope.
My name was written on it.
ELLIE — IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME.
I almost couldn't open it.
Inside was a flash drive.
And a handwritten note.
Don't trust the obvious thief.
Watch the person who benefits from the theft.
I stared at the words.
Monica wasn't the mastermind.
She was a participant.
Maybe even a pawn.
I gave the drive to the detective.
They opened it in a secure environment.
There were dozens of files.
Financial records.
Energy consumption charts.
Property maps.
Then a list of addresses.
My address was number seventeen.
Monica's address was number eighteen.
And beside both properties was the same code:
PHASE TWO — RESIDENTIAL TEST.
Frank looked at me.
“This is organized.”
I nodded.
“Who runs it?”
The final file opened.
One name appeared.
RICHARD MONROE.
I knew that name.
Everyone in town did.
Richard Monroe owned the largest private energy consulting company in the county.
He had donated money to local schools.
Sponsored charity events.
And three years earlier, he had attended Thomas's funeral.
I remembered shaking his hand.
I remembered him saying:
“Thomas was a good man.”
My stomach turned.
The detective stood.
“We're going to bring him in.”
But before he could leave, my phone rang.
Monica.
I answered.
Her voice was trembling.
“Eleanor?”
“Yes.”
“Please help me.”
“What happened?”
“I know what they want.”
“Who?”
She whispered:
May you like
“Richard.”
Then the call ended.
