Chapter 4 - THE SECURITY TEAM WAS COMPROMISED
Paul Jenner did not answer his phone.
His wife did.
She said he had left for work at five that morning and never come home.
He was supposed to be off.
Reed’s face hardened as soon as he heard.
“You knew?”
“No.”
“You didn’t notice one of your guards was missing?”
“He wasn’t scheduled.”
“Claire was photographed on his rotation.”
“I know.”
“Evan is using his credit card.”
“I know.”
The words came out angry.
At himself.
At the situation.
I did not care.
Detective Ortiz ordered officers to Paul’s house.
No sign of violence.
Laptop missing.
Gun safe open.
Passport gone.
One overnight bag missing.
His wife insisted he had never mentioned Evan.
Reed disagreed.
“They trained together.”
My head snapped toward him.
“When?”
“Evan’s first month.”
“Were they friends?”
“I don’t know.”
“You run security.”
“I run sixty-two people across eight states.”
“You run the people assigned to my family.”
His expression hardened.
“I know.”
There are moments when money makes you believe you bought certainty.
I had spent millions on security over the years.
Systems.
People.
Background checks.
Risk assessments.
Armored vehicles.
Residential surveillance.
And two men inside that structure might have helped someone reach my pregnant wife.
It was almost funny.
I built bridges strong enough to carry thousands of vehicles a day.
I had never seriously inspected the human bridge between my family and danger.
I assumed Reed had.
Reed assumed procedures had.
Procedures assumed people followed procedures.
Claire paid for everyone’s assumptions.
Detective Ortiz approached me.
“We’re freezing your private security team out of anything involving hospital access.”
Reed did not protest.
“Good.”
She looked surprised.
He continued.
“I’ll give you personnel files, schedules, internal messages, vehicle logs, everything.”
“Voluntarily?”
“Yes.”
“Lawyers may advise otherwise.”
Reed looked at me.
“My job was protecting Claire.”
His jaw tightened.
“If my team was used against her, I want to know.”
I believed him.
Again, not completely.
But more.
Vanessa sat with my mother several chairs away.
I watched them.
My mother had never particularly liked Vanessa either.
She said Vanessa wore ambition like perfume.
Now Vanessa was holding a paper cup while my mother cried into a tissue.
Helpful.
Claire’s warning again.
My father came over.
“You need to sleep.”
“No.”
“You have been awake almost twenty-four hours.”
“So has Claire.”
“She is unconscious.”
I looked at him.
He winced.
“That came out wrong.”
“I know.”
My father was sixty-eight.
Still wore work boots whenever he could get away with it.
Even after I bought him a house.
Even after the garage became a hobby instead of survival.
He touched my shoulder.
“Son.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“No.”
“If Claire wakes up and you collapse, that helps nobody.”
I almost laughed.
Everyone kept being helpful.
Then my father said:
“You want to know who looks wrong to me?”
That got my attention.
“Who?”
“Your sister.”
My stomach tightened.
“Nicole?”
“She’s been too quiet.”
“That’s not evidence.”
“No.”
He looked toward the end of the hallway.
Nicole sat alone.
My sister was thirty-eight.
Divorced.
Funny.
Chaotic.
Loyal enough that she once threw a drink on a magazine reporter for calling me arrogant.
Claire loved her.
They talked almost every day.
“Why would Nicole hurt Claire?”
“I’m not saying she did.”
“Then?”
“I’m saying she has not looked surprised since Adrian said poison.”
I stared.
That was different.
“Did you notice before?”
“I noticed after.”
I walked toward my sister.
She saw me coming.
“Mase.”
“When did you know?”
Her face changed.
There.
Instantly.
“Knew what?”
“Don’t.”
She stood.
“What are you talking about?”
“Dad says you weren’t surprised.”
She looked toward him.
“Seriously?”
“Nicole.”
Her eyes filled.
Then she whispered:
“I knew Claire was afraid.”
My chest tightened.
“Of Evan?”
“No.”
“Julian?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“She didn’t know.”
I stared.
“What did she tell you?”
Nicole looked guilty.
“Three weeks ago she called me.”
“And?”
“She said she thought someone had been inside your house.”
Every part of me went cold.
“What?”
“Nothing was missing.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“She begged me not to.”
Of course.
Another secret for my protection.
“What made her think someone was inside?”
“Her desk.”
“Which desk?”
“The one in your bedroom.”
Claire kept a small writing desk beside the window.
“Things were moved.”
“What things?”
“Pregnancy journal. A drawer. One photograph.”
“Which photograph?”
Nicole swallowed.
“Your wedding picture.”
My mouth went dry.
“What happened to it?”
“Turned face down.”
I stared.
That was not burglary.
That was a message.
“And you said nothing.”
“She thought you were under enough pressure.”
“I was running a company.”
“You were closing the Atlanta transit acquisition and threatening to walk away from Singapore.”
“I would have walked away from both for her.”
“I know that.”
“Then why didn’t she?”
Nicole’s face broke.
“Because she remembered the last time.”
“What last time?”
She looked at Vanessa.
Then back at me.
“The woman at the gala.”
I frowned.
“What woman?”
“Three years ago. Someone sent Claire anonymous messages claiming you were sleeping with an investor.”
I had never heard about that.
Nicole nodded at my face.
“Exactly.”
“Who?”
“They were fake.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“Claire handled it.”
“How?”
“She confronted the woman. The woman showed her the messages she received too. Somebody was trying to create a scandal.”
“And Claire never told me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it stopped.”
Or she believed it did.
I felt sick.
The campaign against our marriage had been running for years.
Small tests.
Anonymous claims.
Photos.
Messages.
See how Claire reacted.
See what Mason reacted to.
Evan and Julian learning our patterns.
I looked at Vanessa.
She was watching us.
“How long has Julian hated me?”
“Five years,” she said.
Nicole stiffened.
Vanessa had heard enough.
I asked:
“Could he have started before Vale Strategic collapsed?”
“He knew the investigation was coming.”
“How?”
Vanessa looked ashamed.
“I told him.”
Silence.
“What?”
“I told him Sloane legal was reviewing procurement consultants.”
My jaw tightened.
“Why?”
“He was my brother.”
“And?”
“I warned him to clean up anything stupid before it became serious.”
I laughed without humor.
“You gave him a warning.”
“Yes.”
“Did he clean it up?”
“No.”
“He blamed me.”
“Yes.”
“Then spent years targeting Claire.”
“I didn’t know.”
I stared at her.
“How many times can everyone say that before it stops meaning anything?”
Vanessa flinched.
Nobody answered.
Ortiz returned with hospital camera stills.
“We found something.”
She showed us the corridor at 8:50.
Evan leaving Claire’s room.
At the end of the hall stood another person.
Hospital scrubs.
Mask.
Cap.
Impossible to identify.
Evan paused.
The person handed him something.
Small.
Then walked toward the staff elevator.
“Accomplice,” Ortiz said.
“Hospital employee?”
“Maybe. Or disguise.”
“Male or female?”
“Build suggests female, but not certain.”
I looked at the image.
Helpful.
Someone wearing medical clothing would be allowed everywhere.
“What did they hand him?”
“We don’t know.”
Reed enlarged the image without touching the evidence device.
“Looks like a capped syringe.”
Adrian, standing behind us, went still.
“If that’s what it is…”
“The poison?”
“Possibly.”
The poisoning required two roles.
Someone to bring the substance.
Someone to access Claire.
Maybe Evan administered it.
Maybe the person in scrubs did.
Ortiz asked Adrian:
“Who knew the IV type?”
“Anyone who saw her.”
“Could someone without medical training inject through the port?”
“Yes.”
“Safely?”
Adrian’s expression hardened.
“They weren’t trying to be safe.”
Another officer approached.
“We identified Paul Jenner’s car.”
“Where?”
“Hospital garage.”
My head snapped up.
“Paul was here too?”
“Entered at 7:11 p.m. Vehicle never left.”
“Where is he?”
“No idea.”
Ortiz looked at Reed.
“Was he assigned here?”
“No.”
Three compromised people potentially inside the hospital.
Evan.
Paul.
Unknown person in scrubs.
Then an officer found Paul’s body.
Not dead.
Unconscious.
He had been locked inside a maintenance room on the third floor.
Drugged.
His wallet was gone.
Badge gone.
Phone gone.
When he woke several hours later, he could barely speak.
But he gave them one sentence.
“Evan stole my card.”
Not partner.
Victim.
I stood beside his hospital bed while Ortiz questioned him.
Paul looked terrified.
“Why were you here?”
He swallowed.
“Claire called me.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
Paul looked at me.
“She called yesterday afternoon.”
“Why?”
“She said she thought someone had bypassed residential security.”
Claire had quietly gone around me.
Probably because she no longer trusted the system.
“What did she ask?”
“Check camera logs. Don’t tell Reed yet.”
Reed’s face changed.
Claire had suspected his team.
Not necessarily him.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“What did you find?”
Paul closed his eyes.
“A remote access session six weeks ago.”
The day Claire was photographed.
“From where?”
“Corporate network.”
Reed swore.
“Which account?”
Paul whispered:
“Vanessa Vale.”
Everyone turned toward her.
Vanessa staggered back.
“No.”
Paul continued.
“Her executive credentials accessed residential camera configuration for fourteen minutes.”
Vanessa shook her head.
“I never accessed it.”
Reed looked at her.
“Your credentials have cross-system privileges for emergency executive continuity.”
“I don’t know how to use your residential console.”
“Someone did.”
Vanessa stared at me.
“Julian.”
Possible.
“How would he get your credentials?”
She looked devastated.
“He lived with me for two weeks last year.”
“Why?”
“He was separating from his wife.”
“Laptop?”
“Yes.”
“Passwords?”
“Stored.”
Reed closed his eyes.
Julian had access.
Maybe months ago.
Maybe longer.
Paul said Claire asked him to trace the session.
He came to the hospital because he found something worse.
“What?”
“The access originated from inside Sloane headquarters.”
Not remotely from Julian.
Inside my company.
“What machine?”
Paul’s mouth trembled.
“Executive floor.”
“Whose office?”
He looked at Vanessa.
She whispered:
“No.”
Paul answered:
“Yours.”
My office.
Someone had accessed surveillance of my home from my own desk.
Then Paul said:
“Claire told me not to trust anyone who volunteered to fix it.”
The warning.
Person who acts the most helpful.
I asked:
“Who volunteered?”
Paul swallowed.
“Your chief technology officer.”
My stomach dropped.
“Daniel Mercer?”
“Yes.”
Daniel had been my friend for seventeen years.
College.
First investor introductions.
Built our entire technology backbone.
Uncle Daniel to Nicole’s kids.
One of the first people to visit Claire after she was admitted.
He had personally offered to “audit the home systems” after Claire noticed the desk had been disturbed.
Helpful.
Too helpful.
I turned toward Reed.
“Where is Daniel?”
His face went blank.
“He left the hospital at nine-fifteen.”
May you like
One minute after our third child was born.
Forty-eight minutes before Claire collapsed.
