Chapter 7 - THE MAN NATHANIEL CIRCLED
Nobody spoke.
Edmund looked at the frozen screen.
His own name.
Circled in red.
Sylvester’s hand moved toward the desk.
Not toward a weapon.
Toward the security console.
Edmund noticed.
“Don't.”
Sylvester stopped.
I moved instinctively toward the door.
Edmund saw that too.
“Claire.”
“Stay where you are.”
My voice shook.
He did.
That frightened me even more.
Sylvester turned slowly.
“How long have you known?”
Edmund’s brow tightened.
“Known what?”
“That Nathaniel suspected you.”
“I didn't.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
Sylvester stared at the man who had apparently been part of his life for decades.
Edmund’s voice remained controlled.
“I joined your father’s security team when you were seventeen.”
“I know exactly when you joined.”
“I carried you out of a burning boat in Saint-Tropez.”
“I remember.”
“I buried your father with you.”
Sylvester’s face went cold.
“And Nathaniel thought you were leaking information.”
“Apparently.”
The word apparently sounded dangerous.
I looked between them.
“Why would Nathaniel circle his name?”
Edmund answered before Sylvester.
“Because I met with Graham Cross.”
Sylvester's expression changed.
“When?”
“Four years ago.”
“Why?”
“Your father sent me.”
“My father was dead four years ago.”
“Before he died.”
Sylvester stared.
Edmund sighed.
“He gave me a standing instruction.”
“What instruction?”
“If relations with Cross Continental deteriorated, determine whether Graham was attempting a hostile acquisition.”
“You never told me.”
“I wasn't required to.”
“You work for me.”
“I worked for your father first.”
The air tightened.
I understood enough to know this wasn't merely business.
It was loyalty.
Legacy.
Secrets inherited from dead men.
Sylvester took a step toward him.
“Did you leak Nathaniel’s information?”
“No.”
“Did you tell Graham about the Geneva account?”
“No.”
“Did you know about Claire?”
“Not until you assigned me to monitor her three months ago.”
“Lucas?”
“Same.”
“Did you photograph him?”
Edmund’s face flashed with anger.
“No.”
“Did you know Eleanor was outside tonight?”
“No.”
“Did you know someone copied my seal?”
“No.”
Each answer came faster.
Stronger.
Then Sylvester asked.
“Did you know someone had breached my archive before tonight?”
Edmund hesitated.
One second.
Two.
Sylvester’s face hardened.
“You did.”
“Not breached.”
“What?”
“Audit logs showed irregular access.”
“When?”
“Six weeks ago.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
“I was investigating.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Nathaniel was right about one thing.”
Edmund looked toward the screen.
“Someone inside Vale has been leaking information.”
Silence.
Sylvester’s anger changed direction.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“You suspected me?” I asked.
Edmund looked at me.
“No.”
“Sylvester?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
He looked toward the hallway.
“Everyone else.”
That was not reassuring.
Edmund explained.
Six weeks earlier, security logs showed someone accessing archived correspondence under an expired credential.
The credential belonged to Sylvester’s father.
Dead seven years.
Someone had cloned it.
The access lasted ninety-two seconds.
Nothing appeared missing.
Edmund quietly installed secondary monitoring.
Three weeks later, someone searched for Cross-related records.
He traced the login to an internal executive terminal.
“Whose?” Sylvester asked.
Edmund hesitated.
“Your sister’s.”
I had never heard Sylvester mention a sister.
His face went blank.
“Marianne?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“Paris.”
“You're sure?”
“That is where her official security itinerary places her.”
“Official?”
Edmund looked toward me.
“I stopped trusting official records.”
Sylvester grabbed his phone.
“Call her.”
Edmund shook his head.
“No.”
Sylvester glared.
“If she's involved—”
“If she's involved, calling warns her.”
“And if she isn't?”
“Then somebody wants you to think she is.”
That made sense.
Sylvester hated it.
So did I.
I turned back to Nathaniel’s frozen video.
“Why Edmund?”
“What?” Sylvester asked.
“Why circle him?”
Edmund answered.
“Because Nathaniel saw me meet Graham.”
“Did he know why?”
“Probably not.”
“When was this?”
“Four years and eight months ago.”
“Before I met Nathaniel.”
“Yes.”
I thought.
“Maybe the circle wasn't an accusation.”
Sylvester looked at me.
“What else?”
“A warning.”
I walked toward the screen.
“Nathaniel said not to automatically trust people you've known forever.”
“Yes.”
“He never said Edmund betrayed him.”
Edmund watched me.
I continued.
“He showed a list and circled one name.”
“That could mean suspect.”
“Or contact.”
Sylvester frowned.
“What?”
“What if Nathaniel wanted us to talk to Edmund?”
Edmund went still.
I turned to him.
“Did Nathaniel ever contact you privately?”
He shook his head.
“Think.”
“I would remember.”
“Maybe not directly.”
He frowned.
Then suddenly looked toward Sylvester.
“What?”
Sylvester asked.
“Two months before Nathaniel died, I received a package.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“What package?”
“No sender.”
“Contents?”
“A chess piece.”
Sylvester’s face changed.
“What piece?”
“Black knight.”
I had no idea what that meant.
Sylvester did.
“Nathaniel.”
Edmund nodded.
“What?”
I demanded.
Sylvester leaned against the desk.
“In college, Nathaniel used chess pieces to identify contingency plans.”
I stared.
“Of course he did.”
“He thought digital communications were too easy to track.”
“What did black knight mean?”
“Indirect approach.”
“Meaning?”
“Don't contact the obvious person.”
My mind raced.
“So he contacted Edmund because he didn't want to contact you.”
“Maybe.”
“Did anything happen after the package?”
Edmund closed his eyes briefly.
“A phone call.”
“From Nathaniel?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“Thomas Keene.”
The former detective.
Graham’s current security director.
My stomach dropped.
“What did he want?”
“He asked whether Vale security had surveillance of a Cross warehouse in Baltimore.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why ask you?”
“I didn't know.”
“Now?”
Edmund looked toward Sylvester.
“Maybe Nathaniel told him I had something.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
I almost laughed from frustration.
Then Lucas screamed from the bedroom.
I ran.
Everything else disappeared.
I reached his room in seconds.
He was sitting upright.
Eyes wide.
Sweat on his forehead.
“Mom!”
I climbed onto the bed.
“I'm here.”
He wrapped both arms around me.
“Someone was in the window.”
My blood froze.
“What?”
Sylvester and Edmund appeared behind me.
Sylvester crossed to the curtains.
“Don't.”
Edmund caught his shoulder.
“I'll check.”
He approached from the side.
Pulled the curtain.
Nothing.
Only the dark lawn two stories below.
Sylvester activated the exterior camera feed.
No movement.
No intruder.
I stroked Lucas’s hair.
“Bad dream?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“What did you see?”
“A man.”
“What man?”
Lucas pointed toward the window.
“He waved.”
My heart pounded.
“What did he look like?”
Lucas swallowed.
“He had Grandpa hair.”
White.
I looked at Sylvester.
Graham.
Then Lucas said something worse.
“He said Daddy sent him.”
I stared.
“He spoke to you?”
Lucas nodded.
“Through the glass?”
Lucas shook his head.
“No.”
He lifted something from beneath his blanket.
A phone.
Not mine.
Not Sylvester’s.
A cheap black prepaid phone.
My entire body went numb.
“How did you get that?”
Lucas began to cry.
“It was under my pillow.”
The phone rang.
Everyone froze.
Unknown number.
Sylvester reached for it.
I stopped him.
“No.”
I took it.
Answered.
Said nothing.
A man breathed on the other end.
Then a familiar voice spoke.
I had heard it at Christmas dinners.
At Nathaniel’s funeral.
At exactly two family gatherings before Graham supposedly disappeared.
“Hello, Claire.”
My hand tightened.
Graham Cross.
“You've been difficult to reach.”
I looked at Sylvester.
He couldn't hear the voice.
But he saw my face.
I put the call on speaker.
Graham continued.
“You have something that belongs to my family.”
I found my voice.
“My son belongs to no one.”
Graham laughed softly.
“I wasn't talking about Lucas.”
The room went still.
“Then what?”
“The memory card.”
My blood turned cold.
He knew we had found it.
He knew where we were.
Inside Sylvester Vale’s most secure residence.
May you like
Graham spoke again.
“And now that you've watched Nathaniel’s little confession, you have exactly twelve hours to decide how much truth you can afford.”
