Chapter 3 - The Man on the Recording
I watched the footage three times.
The man entering Vincent's office had my face, my build, and even my dark navy suit.
But I hadn't been anywhere near the building at 8:19 p.m.
I'd been at home, putting Adeline to bed.
“Enhance the footage,” I ordered.
The security officer enlarged the image.
The man turned slightly toward the camera.
His face was mine.
But something was wrong with his left hand.
I have a small scar across my thumb from a childhood accident. It was clearly visible whenever I held something.
The man on the recording had no scar.
“Who accessed the security system?” I asked.
The officer checked the audit log.
“Only three people have administrator privileges. You, Mr. Vincent Hale, and Mr. Richard Hale.”
I looked at him.
“Where's the original recording stored?”
“On the internal server.”
“Then make a copy. And another copy somewhere nobody in this building can access.”
He nodded.
My phone rang again.
This time, it was Detective Harper from the Manhattan Police Department.
She had arrived with two officers and immediately requested that I accompany her to the conference room.
“I understand you're Vincent's nephew,” she said.
“That's correct.”
“And you discovered the body?”
“No. My daughter found him.”
Her expression softened.
“That's unfortunate. We'll need to speak with her eventually, but not until she's ready.”
I appreciated that.
Then she placed a photograph on the table.
It showed the blood-soaked paper I'd found.
“Mr. Hale, can you explain why your fingerprints are on this?”
“Because I picked it up.”
“That's not what I mean.”
She turned the photograph.
The note had been photographed before anyone entered the office.
It was lying on the desk.
My fingerprints were on the paper.
But the handwriting was mine.
I stared at the image.
The letter R had the same distinctive curve I used when signing documents.
I looked at Detective Harper.
“Someone copied my handwriting.”
“Possibly.”
“Why?”
She opened another folder.
“Because someone sent an anonymous email to our department three hours before the attack. It contained a statement accusing you of attempting to take control of Vincent's company.”
I felt my jaw tighten.
“Who sent it?”
“An encrypted account.”
She slid another photograph across the table.
This one showed a bank transfer.
Eight million dollars.
The recipient was a company registered under my name.
I had never heard of it.
“That's a setup,” I said.
“Maybe. But there's something else.”
She lowered her voice.
“Your uncle's blood was found on the inside of your jacket.”
I looked down.
There was a dark stain near my right cuff.
I hadn't noticed it.
“That's impossible.”
Detective Harper didn't respond.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
Stop looking for Richard. Ask your daughter what Vincent showed her before he was attacked.
I read it twice.
Then another message arrived.
And whatever you do, don't let Dr. Morales examine the little girl's necklace.
I slowly turned toward the hallway.
Adeline was sitting with a nurse.
Her tiny fingers were wrapped around the silver locket she had worn since birth.
May you like
The locket Vincent had given her.
The locket he had once told me never to let anyone open.
