Chapter 8 - Seventy-Two Hours
The phrase became a countdown.
Seventy-two hours.
Agent Chen did not explain what Grant meant by it.
She didn’t have to.
Records could disappear.
Accounts could be altered.
People could coordinate stories.
But Victor Lane had underestimated one thing.
Thomas Reed had already spent a year copying internal records.
Grant’s USB drive contained older versions.
Emily had paper documents mailed to her home.
Natalie had messages.
And my body camera had Grant talking about the money before he knew investigators were listening.
Separate pieces.
Different sources.
Harder to erase.
Emily moved into my house formally that weekend.
Not because she wanted to.
Because Rachel recommended she stay somewhere Grant could not easily approach without being noticed.
Emily slept in her old room.
The posters were gone.
But one small shelf still held high-school trophies and a photograph of her mother.
On Saturday morning I found her sitting on the floor in front of that picture.
“I should have left earlier.”
I sat on the desk chair.
“Probably.”
She looked surprised.
“You’re supposed to say no.”
“I’m not going to lie to make you feel better.”
A small smile.
Then I continued.
“But leaving earlier required knowing then what you know now.”
Her smile faded.
“I knew enough.”
“Maybe.”
“I made excuses.”
“Yes.”
She looked at me.
I let the silence sit.
Then I said, “That doesn’t make Grant’s choices yours.”
She picked at a loose thread in the carpet.
“Mom would have seen it.”
“Maybe.”
“She never trusted him completely.”
“Your mother didn’t trust anybody completely.”
That earned a real laugh.
Susan had been kind.
She had not been naïve.
Sunday evening, Rachel called.
Grant had requested communication through attorneys regarding the house and shared property.
Normal.
Expected.
But included in his proposed property list was something unusual.
A “personal data storage device.”
The USB drive.
He wanted it returned.
Emily almost laughed.
“He told me to destroy it.”
“His attorney claims it contains confidential personal information unrelated to any investigation.”
“Does it?”
Rachel answered carefully.
“The investigators will determine that.”
Monday morning, Weston Ridge announced Victor Lane was taking a temporary leave of absence for “personal reasons.”
By lunch, the story had reached local business media.
By evening, reporters were parked outside Weston Ridge headquarters.
Victor still had not been charged with anything.
But pressure was building.
Then Thomas Reed disappeared.
Not vanished in a dramatic sense.
He simply stopped answering.
His phone went directly to voicemail.
He did not show up for work.
He missed a scheduled meeting with Agent Chen.
Emily became frightened.
“What if something happened?”
“We don’t know that.”
“He told them he was scared.”
“Yes.”
“Shouldn’t somebody check?”
“They will.”
At 6:40 that evening, Thomas finally called.
From a hotel three counties away.
He had left voluntarily.
He believed someone had followed him after work.
Agent Chen arranged to bring him in safely.
The story should have calmed Emily.
Instead, she began pacing.
“Grant told Natalie seventy-two hours.”
“Yes.”
“We’re almost there.”
“Yes.”
“And Victor is suddenly on leave.”
“Yes.”
“What if the seventy-two hours weren’t about records?”
I looked at her.
“What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know.”
That was the problem.
At 9:15 p.m., my doorbell rang.
I checked the camera.
No person.
Only a cardboard box on the porch.
I did not open the door.
I called police.
Officers arrived and inspected the package.
Inside was nothing dangerous.
Only Emily’s wedding album.
Every photograph had been removed except one.
A picture from the wedding ceremony.
Emily and Grant at the altar.
On the back someone had written:
You should have stayed.
Emily stared at it.
Then she did something Grant would never have expected.
She didn’t cry.
She didn’t panic.
She photographed it.
Placed it inside an evidence bag provided by the officer.
Then she looked at me.
“I’m done letting his pressure make my decisions.”
That sentence mattered.
Because control had been Grant’s strongest weapon.
May you like
And for the first time, it was beginning to stop working.
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