Chapter 4 - The Photograph
I stared at the picture until the faces blurred.
My father.
Thomas Reed.
The man who had raised me after my mother died.
The man who had spent three weekends helping me renovate my kitchen.
The man who had stood between Daniel and me only hours earlier.
He was sitting at a restaurant table with Daniel, Margaret, and Leonard.
Rebecca whispered, “Emma…”
“No.”
I enlarged the photograph.
The date appeared in the lower corner.
Six weeks earlier.
“Maybe there's an explanation.”
I wanted there to be.
My father was asleep in the adjoining room.
I walked in and turned on the light.
He woke immediately.
“Emma?”
I held up the phone.
“Explain this.”
He put on his glasses.
Then he saw the photograph.
His shoulders dropped.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
“You knew them.”
“Emma—”
“How?”
He sat on the edge of the bed.
“I can explain.”
“Please do.”
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then my father told me the truth.
He had known Margaret Collins for thirty-two years.
Before she married Daniel's father.
Before my father met my mother.
They had worked together at a small freight company outside Worcester.
Margaret had been in accounting.
My father had been a dispatcher.
Leonard Price had been there too.
I stared at him.
“You knew Leonard?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I hadn't seen him for decades.”
“That doesn't explain the photograph.”
My father rubbed his face.
“Daniel contacted me.”
“When?”
“About two months ago.”
“Why?”
“He wanted information about your house.”
My anger sharpened.
“What information?”
“Whether your mother had contributed money when you bought it.”
I stared at him.
“Why would that matter?”
“Because he was trying to determine whether anyone besides you could claim an interest in the property.”
I felt sick.
“And you met him?”
“I wanted to know what he was doing.”
“With Margaret and Leonard?”
“They were already there when I arrived.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
His eyes filled with regret.
“Because I thought I could protect you without destroying your wedding.”
The irony hurt.
He explained that Daniel had been asking increasingly specific questions about my finances. My father became suspicious and agreed to meet him.
At the restaurant, Margaret did most of the talking.
She suggested that marriage should “consolidate assets.”
Leonard said very little.
But my father noticed a folder beside him bearing Harrison Logistics' logo.
“Did you open it?”
“No.”
“Did you see anything?”
“One page.”
“What?”
“A list of distribution centers.”
My heart accelerated.
Project Northstar involved acquiring a regional company primarily for its distribution network.
“Why didn't you call Charles?”
“I didn't understand what I was looking at.”
“Why didn't you call me?”
He looked ashamed.
“Because Daniel convinced me it was related to a surprise he was planning for you.”
I turned away.
Daniel had manipulated everybody differently.
He had appealed to Margaret's hunger for status.
Leonard's greed.
My father's desire to protect me.
And my love for him.
My father continued.
“Two days later, I called Daniel and told him I wanted no part of whatever he was doing.”
“Did you contact Natalie?”
He looked confused.
“Who?”
So my father wasn't the anonymous source.
The next morning, Harrison Logistics convened an emergency board meeting.
I arrived without makeup, without sleep, and without my engagement ring.
Charles was waiting.
So were three attorneys and our head of cybersecurity.
They had discovered something worse.
My credentials had indeed been used.
But the files downloaded under my account had subsequently been transferred to an external storage service.
The payment account for that service belonged to Collins Strategic Consulting.
Daniel's company.
A company he had told me was still only an idea.
It had actually been incorporated seven months earlier.
Its registered mailing address?
My house.
My attorney, Sarah Klein, looked at me across the table.
“Did you authorize any of this?”
“No.”
“Did you sign incorporation documents?”
“No.”
She pushed another paper toward me.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
I stared at it.
“That's not mine.”
Charles leaned back.
“So we're looking at forgery.”
“Potentially identity theft,” Sarah added.
“And corporate espionage,” said cybersecurity.
Then the door opened.
A junior attorney entered carrying another file.
“There's more.”
Of course there was.
Collins Strategic Consulting had received three transfers totaling $186,000.
The sender was an investment company registered in Delaware.
Its beneficial owner wasn't immediately visible.
But the timing corresponded almost perfectly with the unauthorized downloads.
Someone had paid Daniel for information.
And someone inside Harrison had provided access.
Leonard was obvious.
Too obvious.
I remembered the email.
You exposed the wrong person first.
“What if Leonard isn't running this?” I asked.
Charles looked at me.
“What do you mean?”
“What if he's helping someone?”
The room became quiet.
Our attorney asked, “Who?”
“I don't know.”
Then Charles's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed almost immediately.
“What?”
Everyone watched him.
He stood.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Call the police.”
He hung up.
“What happened?” I asked.
Charles looked at me.
“Leonard's office was broken into last night.”
“What's missing?”
“His laptop.”
My stomach tightened.
“And Leonard?”
Charles hesitated.
“Nobody can find him.”
By noon, police had visited Harrison headquarters.
By two, reporters were outside.
By four, my canceled wedding had become secondary to rumors of corporate theft.
Daniel called seventeen times.
I answered the eighteenth.
“Where's Leonard?”
Silence.
Then:
“I don't know.”
“Wrong answer.”
“Emma, listen to me. This has gotten out of control.”
“It was under control when you were stealing from me?”
“I didn't steal anything.”
“You forged my signature.”
“That was paperwork.”
I almost laughed.
“You accessed confidential files.”
“Leonard gave me access.”
There.
I started recording.
“Why?”
Daniel breathed heavily.
“Because he said there was an opportunity.”
“What opportunity?”
“He said Northstar would make certain companies very valuable.”
“Who paid you?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Can't?”
A long silence.
Then Daniel whispered:
“You don't understand who you're dealing with.”
For the first time, he sounded genuinely frightened.
“Who am I dealing with?”
Before he could answer, I heard another voice on his end.
A woman's voice.
Margaret.
“Hang up.”
Daniel immediately disconnected.
I stared at the phone.
Ten seconds later, a message arrived.
Not from Daniel.
From the anonymous address.
Ask Margaret what happened at Beacon Freight in 1997.
I called my father.
He answered immediately.
“What happened at Beacon Freight in 1997?”
Silence.
May you like
Then my father said:
“That's the year your mother died.”
