Chapter 4 - THE BOY WHO DIDN’T LAUGH
Owen Mercer called at 2:17 that afternoon.
Madeline almost ignored him.
She was sitting with Ethan in a conference room at North Bridge, comparing the Bellweather vendor records against Carter Meridian’s commercial holdings, when her phone displayed an unfamiliar number.
She answered only because Owen immediately sent a text.
I WAS THERE. I SHOULD HAVE STOPPED IT. PLEASE GIVE ME TEN MINUTES.
Madeline read it twice.
Ethan watched her face.
“Who?”
“Owen Mercer.”
“The third guy?”
“The one who laughed less.”
“That is not usually considered a legal defense.”
“It isn’t.”
Madeline called him back.
He answered immediately.
“Thank you.”
“You have ten minutes.”
“I deserve less.”
That surprised her.
Owen sounded completely different from the young man in the ballroom.
No alcohol.
No audience.
No borrowed confidence.
“I need to show you something,” he said.
“Send it.”
“I can’t.”
“Then describe it.”
Silence.
“Mr. Hale will know.”
Madeline looked toward Ethan.
She put the call on speaker.
“What will Martin Hale know?”
“That I took it.”
Ethan leaned toward the phone.
“Owen, this is Ethan Rowan.”
Another pause.
“I know who you are.”
“How?”
“My father hates you.”
Ethan smiled without amusement.
“Then we have something in common.”
Owen released a nervous breath.
Madeline returned to the point.
“What did you take?”
“A ledger.”
She stopped writing.
“What kind?”
“Not money. Names.”
“Whose names?”
“Kids.”
That word changed her posture.
Owen continued.
“Scholarship applicants. Employees’ children. People Bellweather helped. Or said they helped. I don’t really understand it.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Preston’s father’s office.”
“Why were you in Martin Hale’s office?”
“Because Preston and Chase have been stealing whiskey from his private cabinet since we were seventeen.”
The shame in Owen’s voice was almost painful.
“I know how that sounds.”
“It sounds believable,” Ethan said.
Owen swallowed audibly.
“About three months ago, I went in there alone. There was this binder under the cabinet. I thought it might contain something embarrassing about Preston. I was drunk.”
Madeline resisted reacting.
“There were names. Hundreds. Some had numbers beside them. Some had red marks.”
“Did you photograph it?”
“All of it.”
Madeline sat straighter.
“Why?”
“Because one of the names was Rosa Alvarez.”
Ethan’s expression changed.
Madeline caught it.
“You know her?”
He nodded slowly.
“Former banquet supervisor at the Bellweather.”
Owen heard him.
“She worked there thirteen years. Then suddenly disappeared.”
“Terminated,” Ethan said.
“No,” Owen replied. “That’s what Preston told me too.”
Madeline’s pulse accelerated.
“What happened?”
“My mother volunteers at St. Agnes Rehabilitation Center. Rosa is there.”
The room became quiet.
“She had a fall,” Owen said. “Fourteen months ago. Service stairs at the Bellweather. Broken pelvis. Spinal damage. She told the hospital she slipped.”
“But?” Madeline asked.
“But her name in Martin Hale’s ledger had a red mark and $240,000 beside it.”
Ethan stood.
He walked toward the window.
Madeline saw anger cross his face before he buried it.
“What else?”
“Ethan’s sister.”
He turned.
Owen continued reluctantly.
“Naomi Rowan.”
For the first time since Madeline had met him, Ethan lost control of his expression.
He went pale.
Madeline whispered, “Who is Naomi?”
“My sister.”
Owen said nothing.
Ethan looked at the phone.
“My sister died six years ago.”
“I know.”
“Why would her name be in Martin Hale’s records?”
“I don’t know.”
Ethan’s hand flattened against the conference table.
“Send us the photographs.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“No. Listen to me.”
Owen’s breathing had quickened.
“Somebody broke into my apartment this morning.”
Madeline and Ethan exchanged a look.
“They didn’t take my watches. Didn’t take cash. Didn’t take my laptop.”
“The ledger photographs?” Madeline asked.
“Gone.”
“Where were they stored?”
“An old tablet.”
“Backed up?”
“No.”
Ethan closed his eyes briefly.
Then Owen said:
“But I printed one page.”
Madeline’s hope returned.
“Where?”
“My car.”
“Go get it.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
Another pause.
“Because my car is gone too.”
Madeline stood.
“What?”
“Stolen from the garage.”
Ethan’s voice sharpened.
“Where are you now?”
“A café near Lincoln Park.”
“Stay there.”
“I don’t think I should.”
“Owen.”
“I think someone followed me.”
Madeline heard street noise.
A horn.
Then Owen whispered:
“Wait.”
His breathing stopped.
“What?” she asked.
“There’s a black SUV across the street.”
Ethan was already putting on his coat.
“Owen, go inside the nearest public building.”
“I am inside.”
“Do not leave.”
“They’re getting out.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
Madeline’s chest tightened.
“Owen?”
A bell chimed faintly through the phone.
A door opening.
Someone entered the café.
Owen whispered, “Oh, God.”
Then the connection ended.
Madeline stared at the phone.
Ethan was moving.
“Call police.”
She did.
Ethan grabbed his keys.
“You stay here.”
Madeline gave him a look.
“No.”
“This may not be some rich-boy scandal anymore.”
“It stopped being that when my father’s CFO appeared in the video.”
“You don’t know who is following him.”
“Neither do you.”
“That is exactly my point.”
Madeline picked up her coat.
“Ethan.”
He looked at her.
“If someone is erasing evidence, we are already in this.”
Twenty-five minutes later, they reached the café.
Police had arrived first.
No ambulance.
No crime scene tape.
Madeline felt herself breathe again.
Owen was sitting in the back corner with two officers.
He looked younger than twenty-six.
One sleeve of his tuxedo shirt from the previous night was still visible beneath his coat.
He had not gone home long enough to change.
When he saw Madeline, humiliation crossed his face.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
He pointed toward a man being questioned near the entrance.
“The SUV.”
Madeline looked.
The man appeared confused.
An officer approached.
“They weren’t following him. Vehicle belongs to a private medical transport company.”
Owen laughed once.
It was hollow.
“I’m losing my mind.”
“Maybe,” Ethan said. “Maybe not.”
Owen reached into his shoe.
The officer immediately stiffened.
Owen lifted both hands.
“Paper.”
He pulled a folded sheet from beneath the insole.
“I lied about where I kept it.”
Madeline stared.
Owen handed it to her.
The page was covered with names.
Numbers.
Dates.
Codes.
She found Rosa Alvarez.
240,000.
She found Naomi Rowan.
87,500.
Then she found something else.
MADELINE CARTER.
Her name.
A date from seventeen years earlier.
Beside it:
1,250,000.
Madeline looked at Ethan.
Then at Owen.
“That’s impossible.”
Owen said nothing.
The date was six months after Madeline’s mother died.
Under her name were two letters.
M.C.
And beneath them, handwritten in black ink:
KEEP HER OUT OF BELLWEATHER.
Madeline read the sentence three times.
Her father had told her the Bellweather Grand was simply a hotel.
Her mother had never mentioned it.
And yet seventeen years ago, someone had paid more than a million dollars for something connected to Madeline.
Something important enough to preserve in a secret ledger.
Ethan looked at her.
“You need to ask your father what happened here.”
Madeline folded the page carefully.
“No.”
May you like
She looked at the date again.
“I need to ask him what he’s been hiding.”
