Chapter 4 - Someone Was WatchingI did not tell my father.
That decision lasted 17 minutes.
Then Olivia took one look at my face and said, “Who is he?”
“My dad.”
Charles immediately contacted security.
I hated it.
My father, Thomas Mercer, hated it more.
He was 61 and had spent most of his adult life believing any problem could be solved by working harder and complaining less.
When I explained why a private security contractor would be parked outside his house, he stared at me.
“You've finally gotten interesting.”
“This isn't funny.”
“Little bit.”
“Dad.”
His smile disappeared.
“Are you in danger?”
“I don't know.”
That was the truth.
He nodded.
“Then don't be stupid.”
Excellent paternal advice.
The investigation expanded.
Charles brought in Rebecca Sloan, outside counsel and former federal prosecutor.
We moved everything off company servers.
Rebecca confirmed what I suspected.
The vendor payments looked like a kickback structure.
But we needed proof.
Then Olivia found it.
Marketing had been preparing a client case study months earlier. Grant had sent her several Halcyon files for approved language.
Buried in the metadata of an old spreadsheet was an internal identifier matching Blue Ridge Strategic Solutions.
Grant had touched the file.
Not proof of theft.
But a connection.
Olivia stared at the screen.
“I almost married him.”
There was no self-pity in her voice.
That made it worse.
“You didn't.”
“Because I caught him cheating.”
“You also discovered financial fraud.”
“Apparently Madison provided a public service.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Olivia looked at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You laughed.”
“I do that.”
“I've never seen it.”
“We've barely spoken.”
“Still counts.”
Over the next 2 weeks, we spent more time together than I had spent with anyone outside work in years.
Olivia was not what I expected.
She hated expensive restaurants.
Loved gas-station coffee.
Could identify almost any 1990s song within 3 seconds.
And had a habit of stealing my pens.
“You have 11 of them.”
“I like yours.”
“They're identical to the supply closet pens.”
“Then why are you counting?”
I had no answer.
One Thursday, we worked past midnight.
A thunderstorm rolled over Charlotte.
The lights flickered.
Olivia was sitting barefoot in the conference room, shoes abandoned under the table.
“Can I ask you something?”
“No.”
She smiled.
“Why are you like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like somebody installed a security system around your personality.”
I leaned back.
“That's very specific.”
“Marketing.”
I should have ignored her.
Instead, maybe because it was midnight, I told her about my mother.
Not everything.
Enough.
Olivia listened.
No interruptions.
No pity.
When I finished, she said, “So you decided leaving first was safer.”
“I don't leave.”
“No. You make sure nobody gets close enough for leaving to matter.”
That irritated me because it was accurate.
“You've known me 2 weeks.”
“I've worked in branding for 7 years. I identify patterns.”
“You're branding my childhood trauma?”
“I'm extremely versatile.”
I laughed again.
Then something changed.
Her smile softened.
My chest tightened.
For one dangerous second, neither of us looked away.
My phone rang.
Rebecca.
The moment disappeared.
She had found something.
Blue Ridge was only one company.
There were 4.
Combined payments exceeded $16 million.
And at least one approval had come from inside Holloway and Pierce.
That meant the scheme wasn't merely a corrupt client.
Someone at our firm was helping them.
The next morning, Charles called an emergency meeting.
Before it began, my supervisor, Martin Shaw, walked past me.
He had supervised me for 5 years.
Recommended my promotions.
Defended my bonuses.
He smiled.
“Busy lately, Mercer?”
“Always.”
His eyes moved toward Olivia.
Then back to me.
“Be careful who you trust.”
He walked away.
That afternoon, I checked the audit approval history.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Martin Shaw.
My mentor.
My boss.
May you like
The man who had taught me almost everything I knew about corporate finance.
And suddenly I understood why every irregularity I had flagged had been dismissed.
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