Chapter 5 - The Drive
The next morning we did not plug the USB drive into my computer.
That was Emily’s idea.
Good instinct.
“If there’s company information on it,” she said, “I don’t want anyone accusing us of changing something.”
“Exactly.”
Instead, we took it to her attorney.
Rachel Monroe worked out of a renovated brick building downtown.
She was in her mid-forties, precise, calm, and completely unimpressed by dramatic people.
I liked her immediately.
“I handle family law,” Rachel told Emily, “but the moment I looked at the documents you emailed last night, I contacted a colleague who handles financial cases.”
She gestured toward a man across the conference table.
“David Kim.”
David wore glasses, a navy suit, and the expression of someone who rarely wasted words.
He pushed a legal pad toward himself.
“Before we discuss the drive, I want to understand something.”
He looked at Emily.
“Has your husband ever asked you to create a business?”
“No.”
“Sign documents for a business?”
“Yes.”
“What did he tell you they were?”
“Tax documents.”
“Did you read them?”
“Not closely.”
“Do you have copies?”
“Some.”
David nodded.
“And have you ever been paid by Hawthorne Advisory?”
“No.”
“Do you have a business bank account?”
“No.”
“Have you ever worked for Weston Ridge?”
“No.”
He placed one of the photocopies on the table.
“Then we have a problem.”
Rachel corrected him gently.
“Grant has a problem.”
David nodded.
“Potentially.”
Emily’s fingers tightened.
“What does the document mean?”
“It appears to identify you as an outside consultant authorized to receive payments connected to Hawthorne.”
“But I never received anything.”
“That’s what we need to establish.”
I sat quietly.
This was their work.
Not mine.
David looked toward me.
“Mr. Parker, your daughter says you witnessed part of yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“You recorded it?”
“Body camera.”
“Police have a copy?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Then he looked back at Emily.
“The best thing you can do now is stop trying to solve this yourself.”
She gave me a sideways glance.
David noticed.
“That includes your father.”
“I’ve already been told,” I said.
For the first time, he smiled.
Rachel placed a document in front of Emily.
“This authorizes us to preserve relevant records and communicate on your behalf. I also want you to change every password Grant might know.”
“I did last night.”
“All accounts?”
“Yes.”
“Cloud storage?”
Emily froze.
Rachel noticed.
“What?”
“We shared a photo backup account.”
“Photos only?”
“I thought so.”
David leaned forward.
“Thought?”
“Grant set it up.”
Rachel took notes.
“Change it.”
Emily reached for her phone.
Then stopped.
“My old phone is with police.”
“You have another device?”
“My dad gave me one.”
She logged into the account.
A minute later, she frowned.
“What is it?”
“There are folders here I’ve never seen.”
David stood.
“Don’t open anything.”
Emily removed her hands from the phone.
“Why?”
“Because if those are Grant’s files, we preserve access without exploring them.”
He called a forensic specialist.
Within two hours, the USB drive and Emily’s access to the shared cloud account were being handled formally.
We left the office shortly after noon.
On the sidewalk, Emily looked exhausted.
“Lunch.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
“Dad.”
“You’ve eaten half a piece of toast since yesterday.”
She surrendered.
We went to a small diner Susan had loved.
Emily ordered soup.
I ordered coffee.
Halfway through lunch, her new phone rang.
Unknown number.
She stared at it.
“Don’t answer if you don’t want to.”
She declined the call.
A voicemail appeared.
Emily hesitated, then played it on speaker at low volume.
A man’s voice.
Not Grant.
“Emily, my name is Thomas Reed. I work with your husband. I think you found something you were never supposed to find.”
The message continued.
“If Grant knows you have the drive, you need to understand that this is bigger than your marriage.”
Emily looked at me.
The voicemail ended with six words.
“Do not give it back to him.”
We said nothing for a moment.
Then the phone rang again.
Same number.
This time Emily answered.
“Hello?”
“Emily?”
“Yes.”
“Are you alone?”
She looked at me.
“No.”
“Good.”
“Who are you?”
“Thomas Reed. Senior accounting at Weston Ridge.”
“What do you want?”
“To tell you that your husband isn’t the only person who knows about Hawthorne.”
Emily’s face changed.
“Who else?”
Thomas breathed out slowly.
“Before I answer that, I need to know something.”
“What?”
“Did Grant ever tell you why your name appears on the vendor authorizations?”
“No.”
“He told people you created Hawthorne.”
Emily stood so quickly her spoon hit the floor.
“He what?”
Thomas continued.
“And three months ago, he started telling executives that you handled its books.”
“That’s not true.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because I approved the original vendor onboarding six years ago.”
Emily gripped the edge of the table.
Thomas said one final thing before ending the call.
“And Hawthorne didn’t begin with Grant.”
The line disconnected.
I looked at my daughter.
The $50,000 had been her way out of a bad marriage.
But now it appeared that Grant had tried to build something around her long before she knew she needed to escape.
May you like
And somewhere inside Weston Ridge was a person who had started the scheme before Grant ever joined it.
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