Chapter 8 - Northstar
Nolan had saved Dad’s voicemail for nine years.
He played it only once a year.
On the anniversary.
I had never asked to hear it.
Until now.
Dad sounded tired.
“Nolan, if anything happens before I get home, remember Northstar.”
A pause.
“Don’t trust the obvious account.”
“Take care of your sister.”
Then nothing.
I listened twice.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought Northstar was an investment.”
“And you never found it?”
“No.”
“What did you do after Dad died?”
“Everything.”
Nolan looked away.
“I searched his companies.”
“Computers.”
“Bank records.”
“Storage units.”
“Nothing.”
“And then?”
“I decided grief had made me assign meaning to something random.”
“It wasn’t random.”
“No.”
We spent hours reviewing Dad’s files.
Nothing named Northstar.
Then I remembered the velvet box from his safe.
Inside was a compass.
Old brass.
Dad used to carry it when he took us hiking.
I opened the lid.
A tiny star was engraved beneath the needle.
Nolan stared.
“Northstar.”
We examined the compass.
Marcus discovered the base could be unscrewed.
Inside was a narrow strip of paper.
Twenty-four characters.
An encryption key.
Nolan’s face changed.
“Dad hid the key in plain sight.”
“To what?”
“We need the account.”
Then I remembered the letter.
DON’T TRUST THE OBVIOUS ACCOUNT.
Maybe Northstar was not the account name.
Maybe it was the key.
We searched old Whitmore records.
A server address appeared repeatedly in 2017.
Polaris Archive.
North Star.
Nolan smiled grimly.
“Dad was annoyingly clever.”
The key worked.
The archive opened.
Thousands of files.
Financial records.
Contracts.
Audio.
Photographs.
Political donations.
Bribes.
Shell companies.
Meridian was only one branch.
Richard Hale had built an entire network by siphoning money through businesses connected to Whitmore Holdings.
Dad had discovered it.
Instead of immediately going public, he had collected evidence.
Enough to send people to prison.
Enough to collapse companies.
Enough to explain why Richard had been terrified.
Nolan leaned back.
“Dad built a dead-man archive.”
I opened a folder labeled RH.
Inside were communications between Richard, Thomas Voss, Martin Kessler, and others.
One email dated four days before Dad’s death said:
BENNETT MEETING MUST NOT OCCUR.
Another:
KESSLER HAS HANDLED TRANSPORT.
My hands shook.
Nolan stopped me.
“That’s enough.”
“No.”
“Emily.”
“No.”
I kept reading.
I needed the truth.
One message from Thomas Voss:
If Bennett dies before disclosure, Northstar location may die with him.
Richard:
Then we recover it through the children.
The children.
Us.
A response from Voss.
The son will become difficult.
The daughter will become accessible.
I stared at those words.
Nolan stood behind me.
For nine years, people we didn’t know had been discussing which of us was easier to manipulate.
They chose me.
Not because I was stupid.
Because I was nineteen.
Because I was grieving.
Because I wanted connection.
And years later, Derek arrived.
Handsome.
Patient.
Funny.
Exactly what I needed.
Designed.
I whispered.
“They built him for me.”
Nolan replied quietly.
“They underestimated you.”
I almost laughed.
“I nearly married him.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Not yet.”
His wording caught me.
I looked up.
“What?”
“We have eleven days.”
“You think the wedding stays on?”
“For now.”
I stared at him.
“You cannot be serious.”
“If Derek believes you still trust him, Richard keeps moving.”
“Toward what?”
“Northstar.”
“He doesn’t know we found it.”
“Exactly.”
My heart accelerated.
“You want me to continue planning my wedding.”
“I want Richard to believe his plan is working.”
“With Derek?”
“You won’t marry him.”
“I know that.”
“But he doesn’t.”
I walked away from the desk.
The idea was horrifying.
It was also perfect.
“What happens at the wedding?”
“We choose that later.”
“No.”
I turned.
“If I do this, I choose.”
Nolan studied me.
“Fine.”
“I’m not bait.”
“Agreed.”
“I’m not the little sister you position behind security while men solve things.”
“Agreed.”
“And when this ends, I decide what happens to Derek.”
Nolan hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Agreed.”
My phone rang.
Derek again.
He was supposed to return that evening.
I answered.
“Hey.”
“Surprise.”
His voice sounded cheerful.
“We caught an earlier flight.”
My pulse spiked.
“You’re back?”
“Almost.”
“We land in ninety minutes.”
We.
He corrected himself.
“I mean, my team and I.”
I closed my eyes.
“Can’t wait.”
“Me neither.”
He lowered his voice.
“Emily?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
For the first time, I wondered whether part of him believed it.
That almost made it worse.
After we hung up, Nolan’s laptop beeped.
An alert from Northstar.
Someone had attempted to access the archive.
Ten minutes ago.
From Cabo San Lucas.
Nolan looked at me.
“Richard knows Northstar is active.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
Another alert appeared.
Chicago.
Then another.
My blood went cold.
The access location was my townhouse.
Thomas Voss was inside again.
May you like
And this time, he was not alone.
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