Chapter 5 - The Man Who Helped Build My Empire
Charles Voss was waiting in my office the next morning.
He was standing beside the windows overlooking Manhattan, holding a cup of coffee he hadn't bothered to drink.
At fifty-three, Charles had the polished appearance of a man who had never been told no.
Silver hair.
Expensive suit.
An effortless smile that had helped us close deals worth more money than I had once imagined earning.
He had joined Morrison Dynamics when the company was worth less than ten million dollars.
Without him, we might never have survived our first financial crisis.
I had trusted him with everything.
Except, apparently, the truth.
"Daniel."
He turned as I entered.
"You're looking tired."
I shut the door.
"How did you know I was reviewing old files?"
Charles smiled.
"People talk."
"Which people?"
"Daniel, don't start."
I placed my briefcase on the desk.
"Who told you?"
His smile faded.
"Rebecca mentioned you're having some trouble at home."
I felt my jaw tighten.
"Rebecca works for my family."
"She's worried about you."
"She reports to me."
"Of course."
He spread his hands.
"Nobody is questioning that."
I sat.
"Then why did you send that message?"
Charles sighed.
"Because I know what grief can do to a man."
I didn't answer.
He moved toward the chair across from me.
"Lauren's death was devastating."
His voice softened.
"For all of us."
I watched him closely.
"But you can't keep looking for someone to blame."
I felt something settle inside me.
A quiet certainty.
He knew.
Not necessarily who caused the crash.
Not necessarily what Lauren had discovered.
But he knew enough to fear questions.
"Who said I was looking for someone to blame?"
Charles stopped.
"Rebecca said you've been asking about the accident."
"Did she?"
"Daniel, I'm trying to protect you."
"From what?"
He hesitated.
"From reopening wounds that nearly destroyed you."
I leaned back.
"Tell me about Margaret Reed."
Charles went very still.
Then he laughed.
"Margaret Reed?"
"Yes."
"That name is ancient history."
"Why was she dismissed?"
"Restructuring."
"She worked in records management."
"Lots of people did."
"Was she involved in compliance?"
Charles looked irritated.
"What's this about?"
I said nothing.
He stared at me.
Then something changed in his expression.
"That housekeeper."
I waited.
"Annie Reed."
"Go on."
"Rebecca told me she's been asking inappropriate questions."
"Such as?"
"About Lauren."
I folded my hands.
"And why would that concern you?"
Charles stood.
"Because your wife wasn't herself before she died."
The words seemed to echo through the office.
I remembered Lauren's note.
Don't trust the person who tells you I was confused.
I kept my face expressionless.
"What do you mean?"
Charles walked toward the window.
"She was under tremendous stress."
"From what?"
"Foundation audits."
"Audits don't usually make people unstable."
He turned.
"You're twisting my words."
"Then explain them."
Charles rubbed his forehead.
"Lauren had become obsessed with discrepancies in a grant program."
"What discrepancies?"
"Minor accounting inconsistencies."
"How minor?"
"Daniel."
"How minor, Charles?"
His eyes narrowed.
"A few million dollars."
I stared at him.
"A few million?"
"In a company our size, that's not unusual."
I stood.
"Where did the money go?"
"It wasn't missing."
"Then what was the discrepancy?"
Charles's mouth tightened.
"The paperwork was incomplete."
"Who handled it?"
"Compliance."
"Evelyn Shaw?"
He looked at me sharply.
"Why are you asking about Evelyn?"
"Because she resigned eleven days before my wife died."
He exhaled.
"She resigned for personal reasons."
"That's what the announcement said."
"Because it's true."
"Then why did Lauren keep her name in a note?"
For the first time, Charles lost control of his expression.
Fear.
Brief but unmistakable.
"You found a note?"
I didn't respond.
Charles stepped closer.
"Daniel, listen to me carefully."
His voice dropped.
"There are some things about Lauren's final weeks you don't understand."
"Then tell me."
He stared at me.
Then shook his head.
"Not here."
"Where?"
"Somewhere private."
I glanced around my office.
"We're alone."
"Not private enough."
I felt a chill.
Charles was looking toward the conference-room wall.
More specifically, toward the integrated communications panel beside it.
Morrison Dynamics developed secure enterprise systems.
Every executive floor contained sophisticated communication technology.
Including systems Charles's department administered.
"Are you saying my office is monitored?"
Charles looked away.
"I didn't say that."
"Then what are you saying?"
He stepped toward the door.
"Meet me tonight."
"Where?"
"The old headquarters."
I stared at him.
The building above the hardware store.
We still owned it.
Nobody used it anymore.
"Seven o'clock," he said.
He opened the door.
Then turned back.
"And Daniel?"
"What?"
"Don't bring anyone from the company."
He left before I could answer.
For several minutes, I sat alone.
I didn't know whether Charles was warning me or leading me into a trap.
Then my phone rang.
It was Annie.
"Mr. Morrison?"
Her voice was shaking.
"What happened?"
"It's Jordan."
I stood.
"Is he hurt?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"He drew something at breakfast."
I frowned.
"A drawing?"
"Yes."
"Annie, what are you trying to tell me?"
She began crying.
"He drew the car accident."
The office suddenly felt very cold.
"And?"
"There are two cars in his picture."
I closed my eyes.
"One is your wife's SUV."
I gripped the phone.
"What's the other?"
Annie whispered the answer.
"A black car."
A long silence followed.
May you like
Then she added:
"Jordan says the black car was following Mommy before the truck hit her."
