Chapter 3 - THE DETECTIVE WHO CAME TOO FASTMargaret did not allow Detectives Pike and Russo into Emily’s hospital room.
Instead she met them in a small family consultation area two floors below.
She was accompanied by attorney Rebecca Sloan, an old friend and former federal prosecutor Margaret had called before sunrise.
Pike was broad-shouldered.
Middle-aged.
Irritated from the moment he entered.
Russo, younger and quieter, seemed less certain about being there.
Pike placed his badge on the table.
“We’re investigating the theft of proprietary corporate information belonging to Meridian Strategic Logistics.”
Rebecca raised an eyebrow.
“At six in the morning?”
“The complaint alleges sensitive government data may have been stolen.”
“By a hospitalized woman with cracked ribs?”
Pike looked at Margaret.
“We need to speak with Miss Carter.”
“She declined,” Margaret said.
“She’s also a potential suspect.”
Rebecca slid a legal pad onto the table.
“Then you definitely won’t be speaking to her without counsel.”
Pike’s jaw tightened.
“With respect, Admiral, this doesn’t concern you.”
Margaret studied him.
“You responded to a domestic disturbance involving my granddaughter last year.”
Pike’s face changed almost imperceptibly.
“I respond to hundreds.”
“Apartment 18B, Beacon Street.”
Margaret leaned forward.
“October twelfth.”
Russo glanced toward his partner.
Pike folded his arms.
“If you have an accusation, make it.”
“Not yet.”
Margaret stood.
“But when I do, you’ll recognize it.”
Pike left furious.
Russo stayed behind for half a second before following.
That half second was enough for Margaret to notice something in his expression.
Fear.
Rebecca noticed too.
“The younger one wants to talk.”
“Eventually.”
“Or he wants us to think he does.”
Margaret nodded.
“Also possible.”
By noon, Emily had been moved to a private room under an alias.
Margaret requested no special treatment except restricted visitor access.
She wanted as few people as possible knowing where Emily was.
Meanwhile, Rebecca contacted a trusted federal agent named Marcus Reed.
Margaret had worked with him during an earlier procurement investigation.
Marcus arrived wearing jeans and carrying two coffees.
“You always call when retirement is getting boring?”
“I’m not retired from being difficult.”
“Clearly.”
His humor vanished when Margaret showed him the messages on Emily’s phone.
He photographed the screen.
Documented timestamps.
Requested preservation of carrier records.
Then he asked the question Margaret had been avoiding.
“Who knew you were going to the terminal?”
Margaret counted.
Her driver.
Rebecca, whom she called from the car.
Her executive assistant, Thomas Bell.
And the dispatcher who had changed her transportation schedule.
“Four people,” Marcus said.
“Plus whoever they told.”
Margaret hated that answer.
She had trusted Thomas for nine years.
But trust was not evidence.
At 2:17 p.m., another message appeared on Emily’s phone.
Return the drive and this ends.
Marcus stared at it.
“They believe she still has it.”
“Good,” Margaret said.
“Why good?” Emily asked.
Margaret looked at her granddaughter.
“Because the real drive is somewhere they don’t know.”
Marcus agreed.
“As long as they keep searching for the wrong thing, we have time.”
That afternoon, Margaret and Rebecca drove to the Washington post office box.
Marcus insisted on sending agents ahead.
The box contained grocery coupons.
Two old alumni newsletters.
And a padded envelope Emily had addressed to herself.
Margaret’s hands were steady as Marcus opened it under evidence protocol.
Inside was a silver flash drive wrapped in tissue.
“This could be nothing,” he warned.
“Emily copied files quickly.”
It was not nothing.
The first folder contained contracts.
The second contained private photographs.
The third contained encrypted spreadsheets.
A fourth was labeled:
CLEANUP
Marcus stopped smiling.
“We’re not opening anything further on this laptop.”
He bagged the device.
“Digital lab.”
Margaret stared at the folder name.
“How long?”
“Forty-eight hours if I make enemies.”
“Make enemies.”
Marcus left with the drive.
Margaret and Rebecca were heading toward the elevator when Rebecca received a call.
She listened silently for twenty seconds before holding the phone away from her ear.
“Emily’s hospital floor just had a security breach.”
Margaret’s blood turned cold.
“What kind?”
“A man wearing hospital maintenance clothing tried to enter her room.”
They ran.
By the time they reached Bellevue, the man was gone.
Hospital security had stopped him because his badge did not scan correctly.
He claimed he was checking electrical wiring.
Then he fled down a stairwell.
Camera footage captured only part of his face.
Emily was unharmed.
But terrified.
Margaret entered the room to find her sitting upright despite the pain, clutching the blanket.
“They’re not going to stop.”
“Neither are we,” Margaret replied.
But that night brought worse news.
Marcus called at 11:40.
“We cracked part of the spreadsheet.”
“And?” Margaret asked.
“Meridian has been paying at least three law-enforcement officers.”
Margaret looked through the hospital window at Manhattan lights.
“Pike?”
“His name appears through an intermediary.”
“Anyone else?”
Marcus hesitated.
“There’s a federal employee.”
Margaret’s grip tightened around the phone.
“Who?”
“We only have initials.”
He paused.
“T.B.”
Margaret said nothing.
Thomas Bell.
Her assistant.
The man who had known exactly when she was going to Platform Six.
“Margaret?” Marcus asked.
“I’m here.”
“Do not confront him.”
“I know.”
“There’s more.”
Marcus took a breath.
“The payments go back seven years.”
“And Emily’s file isn’t the only one.”
“How many women?”
“At least eleven.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“Any names?”
“Natalie Shaw.”
“Danielle Pierce.”
“Monica Reyes.”
He paused.
“And one marked deceased.”
Margaret opened her eyes.
“Who?”
Marcus answered quietly.
“Sarah Keating.”
Margaret knew that name.
Everyone in Boston had heard it three years earlier.
Twenty-six-year-old Sarah Keating had fallen from the balcony of a luxury apartment after attending a Meridian holiday party.
Her death had been ruled accidental.
Margaret looked toward Emily sleeping on the bed.
Then she remembered the message.
Return the drive and this ends.
May you like
It had never been about corporate secrets.
It was about burying people.
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