Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN WHO DIED WAITING FOR MY CALL
Grant did something he had avoided for years.
He visited the home of someone his company had failed.
Rebecca Carter had rented a small duplex in North Charleston.
Maya came with him.
The place had been empty since Rebecca’s death.
Evelyn still had the key.
Inside, nothing had moved.
A faded couch.
Books stacked beneath a window.
A calendar frozen four months earlier.
Photographs of Maya covered one wall.
Baby Maya.
First day of kindergarten.
Missing front teeth.
Science fair.
Christmas.
Rebecca appeared in most photographs.
Thin toward the end.
But smiling.
Grant stopped before one picture.
Rebecca stood in a Sterling Harbor employee uniform.
Maya was beside her.
“How old were you?”
“Ten.”
“You visited?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did you like it?”
Maya shrugged.
“Mom did.”
That hurt.
“She was proud of working there?”
“She said hotels were like little cities.”
Grant smiled faintly.
“That sounds accurate.”
“She said if everyone did their job right, strangers could come inside tired and leave feeling better.”
Grant looked around the small apartment.
Rebecca had understood hospitality better than several executives earning ten times her salary.
Maya entered the bedroom.
“Come.”
Grant followed.
She pulled a cardboard box from beneath the bed.
“My mom told me if anything happened, don’t throw this away.”
Grant knelt.
Inside were notebooks.
USB drives.
Printed invoices.
Photographs.
Rebecca had built her own investigation.
“She kept working after they fired her.”
Maya nodded.
“Why?”
“She said stealing doesn’t become okay because they fire the person who noticed.”
Grant almost smiled.
Rebecca Carter.
He wished he had met her.
Then Maya handed him an envelope.
His name was written across it.
GRANT HOLLOWAY — PERSONAL.
“This one never got mailed.”
Grant opened it.
The letter began:
Mr. Holloway,
If you are reading this, then either I finally found a way to reach you or something happened to me before I could.
Grant sat down.
Rebecca explained the scheme.
Fake vendors.
Inflated invoices.
Maintenance contracts for work never performed.
Food deliveries billed at premium prices but substituted with cheaper products.
Employee overtime paid to nonexistent workers.
Money routed through shell companies.
But the final paragraph changed everything.
I believe someone inside Holloway Hospitality’s corporate leadership is involved. Thomas Mercer has repeatedly said he is protected “at the top.” I do not know who. I believe your scheduled property visits are being communicated to Charleston before your office announces them. Please do not trust your normal reporting chain until you identify the leak.
Grant stared at the words.
Rebecca had understood everything.
Months before him.
Maya sat on the bed.
“She was smart.”
“Yes.”
“She wanted to be an accountant.”
“She was an accountant.”
“No.”
Maya shook her head.
“She wanted the certification.”
CPA.
“She couldn’t afford the classes.”
Grant swallowed.
“What stopped her?”
“Me.”
He frowned.
Maya looked down.
“She said daycare cost too much when I was little.”
Grant’s chest tightened.
“She didn’t say you stopped her.”
“Yes, she did.”
“No.”
Maya looked at him.
“She chose you.”
“That’s different.”
Maya said nothing.
Grant realized nobody had ever told her that.
He looked again at Rebecca’s papers.
A life interrupted by money.
Illness.
Corruption.
And still she kept fighting.
His phone rang.
Danielle.
“We identified Mr. W.”
Grant stood.
“Who?”
“Not confirmed.”
“Danielle.”
“William Prescott.”
Grant stopped.
His chief operating officer.
William Prescott had worked with Grant for seventeen years.
He helped open six hotels.
Attended Grant’s father’s funeral.
Spent Thanksgiving at Grant’s house twice.
Grant trusted him with everything.
“How?”
“Shell companies connect to a trust controlled by Prescott’s brother-in-law.”
“Could be coincidence.”
“Maybe.”
“What else?”
“Travel records.”
Grant listened.
“Prescott was in Charleston eleven times in four years.”
“That’s normal.”
“Not these dates.”
She listed them.
Each visit occurred within seventy-two hours of suspicious vendor transfers.
Grant sat.
Maya watched him.
“Grant?”
He raised one finger.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
Danielle hesitated.
“Prescott approved Melissa’s promotion.”
Of course.
“And Mercer?”
“Prescott recommended him for general manager.”
The network suddenly had shape.
Grant stood.
“Don’t move.”
“What?”
“Don’t contact anyone.”
“Grant—”
“If Prescott is involved, he has access to corporate systems.”
“He already knows you’re auditing.”
“Yes.”
“Then we’re exposed.”
Grant looked toward Rebecca’s box.
“No.”
A plan formed.
“We let him think the evidence burned.”
Danielle became quiet.
“Go on.”
“We announce publicly that last night’s fire destroyed the archived Charleston financial records.”
“But it didn’t.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
“And then?”
“Watch what he does.”
Maya listened.
When Grant hung up, she asked:
“You’re lying?”
“To a thief.”
“Mom said lying is bad.”
“Your mother sounds inconveniently ethical.”
Maya almost smiled.
Then her expression changed.
“Will they come here?”
Grant looked around.
Rebecca’s apartment.
Evidence everywhere.
“Yes.”
He called security.
“Pack everything.”
Maya grabbed his sleeve.
“What?”
“Miss Holloway?”
He looked at her.
“You called me Grant five minutes ago.”
“I forgot.”
“What?”
“There’s one more thing.”
She went to the closet.
Reached behind a loose panel.
Pulled out a small black flash drive.
Grant stared.
“What’s that?”
“Mom said this was the important one.”
“What’s on it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Maya looked at him.
“She said it proves the stealing started before Mr. Mercer came to Charleston.”
Grant felt cold.
“How long before?”
“Years.”
His company had existed for twenty-three years.
If Rebecca was right, William Prescott might have been stealing from him for far longer than anyone imagined.
Then tires screeched outside.
Grant moved toward the window.
A black SUV stopped across the street.
Two men got out.
Neither looked like police.
Neither looked like neighbors.
One pointed toward Rebecca’s apartment.
Grant turned.
“Maya.”
She saw his face.
“What?”
“Back door.”
“Why?”
May you like
“Now.”
The front window shattered.
