Chapter 8
Police reached Carter Development headquarters before Grant could leave.
But they did not find him.
They found his access card inside the twenty-second-floor records room.
The server cabinet was open.
Two drives were missing.
My stomach sank when Detective Bennett called.
“The backups?”
“Possibly.”
“You said police secured the building.”
“He entered through a service access route before the building lockdown was complete.”
“How did he get out?”
“We’re reviewing footage.”
I closed my eyes.
Grant knew our headquarters better than anyone except me.
The service elevators.
Mechanical floors.
Private garage.
Old executive stairwell Dad had insisted on keeping during renovations.
He had spent his entire adult life inside that building.
It was his maze.
By evening, the police had found the route.
Grant had changed clothes in a maintenance room.
Put on a contractor’s jacket.
Walked through the loading dock.
Then disappeared into Midtown foot traffic.
But he made one mistake.
He left the stolen drives behind in a trash bin two blocks away.
One was damaged.
The other survived.
And it contained more than home security footage.
Much more.
Daniel called me after the forensic team began reviewing company data.
“Ethan.”
His voice sounded different.
“What?”
“You need to sit down.”
I looked at Lily sleeping in my arms.
“I’m sitting.”
“There’s a folder on the recovered drive.”
“What folder?”
“It’s named E.C.”
“My initials?”
“I think so.”
“What’s in it?”
“Copies of your travel schedules going back eighteen months.”
I stared ahead.
“Anything else?”
“Medical information.”
“What medical information?”
“Your annual physical. Allergy records. Medication list.”
My blood ran cold.
“That was in human resources.”
“Yes.”
“Grant accessed my medical files?”
“Looks like it.”
“How?”
“Executive override.”
I stood carefully and placed Lily in her crib.
Then walked into the hallway.
“What else?”
“Photographs of your cars.”
I said nothing.
“Building entry logs.”
Nothing.
“Restaurant reservations.”
Nothing.
“Your running route in Central Park.”
My stomach twisted.
“He was planning.”
“I think so.”
“How long?”
“Some files are eighteen months old.”
Before Lily was born.
Before the trust changed.
Before, according to Vanessa, everything changed.
That meant Grant’s resentment had started earlier.
Maybe the trust didn’t create the plan.
Maybe it changed it.
I called Detective Bennett.
She already knew.
“This is evidence of surveillance,” she said.
“Of me.”
“Yes.”
“And you still think we shouldn’t speculate?”
“I think we should build a case that survives court.”
I respected her answer even while it frustrated me.
Then Daniel called again.
“There’s another folder.”
I almost didn’t want to ask.
“What?”
“Maria.”
I froze.
“What about her?”
“Employment records. Background check. Immigration documents.”
My chest tightened.
“Why would Grant have that?”
“I don’t know.”
Maria was downstairs with my mother.
I went to her.
“Did Grant ever ask you questions about your paperwork?”
She looked confused.
“No.”
“Did Vanessa?”
Her expression changed.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“A month ago.”
“What did she ask?”
“She asked whether my work documents were current.”
“Why?”
“She said the company was reviewing household employees.”
I looked at my mother.
She shook her head.
“I ordered no review.”
Maria’s eyes widened.
“She told me if something happened, I could be deported.”
I felt fury rise again.
“Were your documents valid?”
“Yes. Everything is legal.”
“That isn’t the point.”
Maria nodded.
“She wanted me afraid.”
Exactly.
Grant and Vanessa had researched her vulnerabilities.
Not just mine.
Maria had been the witness standing between them and Lily.
They wanted her silent.
Maria whispered, “The day I called your office, Grant already knew I was scared.”
I looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
“He said, ‘You have a lot to lose, Maria.’”
My jaw tightened.
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“I was ashamed.”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I thought maybe he could make trouble for my family.”
She wiped her eyes.
“I have children too.”
That sentence hit me hard.
Grant had weaponized a mother’s fear against another child.
I said, “You’re safe here.”
Maria looked at Lily’s nursery.
“So is she.”
“For now.”
My mother flinched at the words.
I didn’t mean to hurt her.
But I still didn’t trust the house completely.
At 8:43 p.m., a detective arrived with news.
Grant had contacted someone.
My father’s former attorney.
A retired man named Harold Winslow.
“Why would he call Harold?” my mother asked.
I knew.
“The original family trust.”
My father created it thirty years ago.
Harold drafted it.
Before Dad died, he divided certain family assets between Grant and me.
Carter Development voting control went to me.
Grant received real estate holdings and investments.
He had always insisted I got the better half.
Financially, he was wrong.
Emotionally, he never believed it.
Detective Bennett said, “Winslow says Grant asked whether the trust could be challenged.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“On what grounds?”
“That your father lacked capacity when he finalized the succession documents.”
I laughed.
“Dad was running board meetings until six weeks before he died.”
“I know.”
My mother went pale.
“Grant has been saying that for years.”
I looked at her.
“You knew?”
“He complained.”
“And nobody told me?”
“It seemed like jealousy.”
“It was jealousy.”
Then the detective added, “Grant also asked Winslow something else.”
“What?”
“Whether a convicted heir automatically loses inheritance rights.”
I stared at him.
“Whose conviction?”
“He didn’t say.”
My mother whispered, “Ethan.”
I turned.
Her face was terrified.
“What?”
“He may not be trying to kill you anymore.”
“What are you saying?”
“If he can make you look guilty of something…”
My attorney finished the thought.
“He could challenge your control.”
I felt cold.
“Guilty of what?”
Nobody had an answer.
Then my phone rang.
A number I knew.
My company security director.
“Ethan, we have an issue.”
“What issue?”
“A woman just came to the lobby asking for you.”
“I’m not there.”
“I know.”
“Who is she?”
“She says her name is Olivia Mercer.”
Vanessa’s cousin.
The shell company owner.
I straightened.
“What does she want?”
“She says she has information about Grant.”
“Call the police.”
“Already did.”
“What information?”
“She brought a laptop.”
My pulse jumped.
“And?”
“She says Grant gave it to her six months ago.”
“Why?”
“She claims she was supposed to hold it in case anything happened to him.”
I looked at Detective Bennett.
The security director continued.
“She says she opened it tonight.”
“And?”
There was a pause.
“Ethan, there are videos.”
My stomach dropped.
“What kind?”
“Videos of you.”
“Doing what?”
He hesitated.
“Things that look very bad.”
My skin went cold.
“What things?”
“One appears to show you hitting Vanessa.”
I stared at the wall.
“I have never hit Vanessa.”
“I know.”
“Then what is it?”
“I think it’s fake.”
Deepfake.
Edited footage.
Grant had been preparing evidence against me.
Not just to steal.
Not just to kill.
To destroy me in any outcome.
If Boston worked, I died.
If it failed, he had another plan.
Make me look violent.
Take my daughter.
Challenge my position.
Control the narrative.
I asked, “How many videos?”
“Seven.”
Detective Bennett was already calling her team.
Then the security director said, “There’s one more problem.”
“What?”
“Olivia says Grant is coming for the laptop.”
“Where is she now?”
“In my office.”
“Lock the floor.”
“I did.”
“Police?”
“Six minutes out.”
I looked at Detective Bennett.
She was already moving.
Then the line went silent.
“Hello?”
No answer.
“Mark?”
A sound.
Something falling.
Then a woman screamed in the background.
The call disconnected.
I stared at the phone.
Detective Bennett shouted into her radio.
My mother grabbed my arm.
“What happened?”
May you like
I looked at her.
“He got there first.”
