Chapter 6 - The Woman at His Table
By Friday morning, Chicago knew something was wrong with Riverline.
No one knew what.
That was intentional.
Rumors moved faster when nobody could confirm them.
Cormack allowed three versions to circulate.
One claimed he was selling Riverline.
One claimed Gideon Marsh was buying him out.
One claimed federal investigators were examining the project.
Only one of those rumors had been planted by Cormack.
He refused to tell Fitz which one.
“Psychological warfare before breakfast,” Fitz muttered.
Cormack adjusted his tie.
“Coffee?”
“You’re impossible.”
Across the suite, Sloan stepped from the guest room.
Cormack forgot his answer.
She wore a charcoal suit.
Not borrowed.
Cormack had sent a tailor.
Sloan had refused the first three outfits because they were “ridiculous.”
She accepted the fourth only after learning the blazer had functional interior pockets.
Her hair was pulled back.
Minimal makeup.
Small silver earrings.
No black dress.
No oversized shoes.
No practiced smile.
She looked like herself.
Cormack realized he preferred that.
Sloan noticed him staring.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That was clearly something.”
“You look prepared.”
“That’s the nicest way anyone has ever said terrifying.”
Fitz entered.
He looked from Sloan to Cormack.
Then wisely said nothing.
The Riverline investor meeting began at eleven.
Thirty-two people sat around a long table overlooking the Chicago River.
Developers.
Bankers.
Attorneys.
Public officials.
At the far end sat Gideon Marsh.
Perfect suit.
Silver hair.
Calm smile.
Preston Halloway sat two chairs away.
He looked less calm.
Sloan entered behind Cormack.
Conversation stopped.
Gideon’s expression changed for less than a second.
That was enough.
Sloan saw it.
Cormack saw her see it.
Cormack took his chair.
Sloan sat at his right.
Gideon smiled.
“Miss Whitaker. We were concerned.”
Sloan opened her notebook.
“That makes one of us.”
Several heads turned.
Gideon’s smile remained.
Cormack almost enjoyed it.
The meeting began.
For twenty minutes, nothing happened.
Budget figures.
Construction schedules.
Permits.
Sloan wrote steadily.
Then Gideon placed a folder on the table.
“Before we continue, there is a matter of ownership.”
Cormack leaned back.
Here it came.
Gideon distributed copies of the transfer agreement.
“Mr. Vale agreed last month to assign controlling interest in Riverline to North Meridian Holdings.”
Whispers spread.
Cormack looked at the paper.
“I did?”
Gideon gave a sympathetic smile.
“You signed it.”
“Did I?”
Preston shifted in his chair.
Sloan kept writing.
Gideon tapped the final page.
“Your signature.”
Cormack looked toward Sloan.
“And notarized?”
Gideon glanced at her.
“Yes.”
“By Miss Whitaker?”
“Yes.”
Now every person at the table was watching Sloan.
Gideon leaned back.
“Perhaps she would confirm.”
Sloan stopped writing.
She placed her pen down carefully.
“No.”
Silence.
Gideon’s expression barely changed.
“No?”
“I did not notarize that document.”
Preston spoke quickly.
“Sloan, perhaps you don’t remember—”
“I remember every notarization in my journal for the last six years.”
She opened a leather-bound book.
“Date?”
Gideon gave one.
Sloan turned to the page.
She rotated the journal so others could see.
“That day I notarized two documents. A property affidavit for Mason Development and a deposition verification for Everett Crane.”
She looked at Gideon.
“Not Riverline.”
Gideon smiled faintly.
“Then your records are incomplete.”
Sloan’s voice stayed calm.
“No.”
She placed a certified copy of her notary commission on the table.
“My seal number on your document is wrong.”
That changed the room.
Preston went pale.
Sloan continued.
“My original seal was damaged eighteen months ago. The state issued a replacement with a different identification number.”
She pointed to Gideon’s document.
“The forged Riverline agreement uses my old seal.”
Cormack looked at her.
She had never mentioned this.
Good.
Even he had not known.
Gideon’s fingers tightened slightly.
Sloan looked at Preston.
“Only Halloway and Straoud had access to the old impression.”
Preston stood.
“This is absurd.”
The conference-room doors opened.
Two investigators from the Illinois Attorney General’s office entered.
Behind them came an assistant U.S. attorney.
Gideon looked at Cormack.
“You invited them?”
Cormack looked almost bored.
“No.”
Sloan answered instead.
“I did.”
Cormack turned toward her.
This time he was genuinely surprised.
She met his eyes.
“Clean chain of custody.”
The assistant U.S. attorney introduced herself.
“We have a warrant for records relating to North Meridian Holdings, Marsh Foundation, and associated medical transfers.”
Gideon remained seated.
His confidence did not crack.
But Sloan saw something worse than fear.
Calculation.
He was already planning another move.
The investigators approached Preston.
Preston broke first.
“I had nothing to do with the hospital transfers.”
Everyone turned.
The prosecutor smiled slightly.
“We didn’t mention hospital transfers.”
Preston realized his mistake.
Too late.
Chaos followed.
Lawyers whispered.
Phones appeared.
Investors demanded explanations.
Gideon stood calmly and buttoned his jacket.
He looked directly at Sloan.
“You believe this ends because someone asked questions in a conference room?”
Sloan stood too.
“No.”
She remembered the locked room.
Toby’s cold skin.
The chain around her ankle.
“I believe it starts because someone finally answered them.”
Gideon walked out under escort.
Not arrested.
Not yet.
Cormack watched him leave.
Sloan exhaled.
Her hands began shaking.
Cormack noticed.
Without speaking, he placed his hand beneath the table.
Palm upward.
Sloan looked at it.
Then at him.
He did not reach for her.
Did not decide for her.
He simply waited.
Sloan slowly placed her hand in his.
Cormack closed his fingers gently around hers.
No pressure.
No possession.
Just there.
The exact opposite of Gideon Marsh.
Sloan looked down at their joined hands.
Her eyes burned.
Cormack leaned closer.
“You did well.”
She laughed shakily.
“I almost threw up twice.”
“I noticed.”
“Of course you did.”
For one brief moment, she smiled.
A real one.
Then Fitz entered.
The smile vanished.
“What?”
Fitz closed the door.
“Royce is alive.”
Sloan stood.
Cormack released her hand.
“Where?”
“No idea.”
Fitz held up a phone.
“But he just sent us a message.”
Cormack took it.
Three words appeared on the screen.
May you like
MARSH HAS TOBY.
Sloan stopped breathing.
