Chapter 2: The Friend Who Sold Me Out
At 9:47 p.m., I received a phone call from Michael Grant.
I answered without taking my eyes off Richard.
"James," Michael said, his voice unusually calm.
"Where are you?""
"At the Grand Meridian Hotel.""
A brief silence followed.
"Is Vanessa there?""
I looked at her.
"Why would you ask that?""
"Because I just received an email from someone at the hotel. Apparently, there's been a misunderstanding involving the charity account.""
I slowly walked away from the crowd.
"What kind of misunderstanding?""
"Somebody has been moving money around. I think Richard's company may be involved.""
I stopped walking.
"You think?""
"James, listen. Don't make any accusations tonight. We need to review everything internally before involving outsiders.""
"Michael, somebody downloaded confidential bank statements using your credentials.""
Silence.
Then a sharp breath.
"That's impossible.""
"That's what I thought.""
"Could be a system error.""
"Could be.""
I watched Richard whisper something to Vanessa.
Then Michael said something that made my blood run cold.
"James, whatever you do, don't let the police take Vanessa's phone.""
I tightened my grip on mine.
"Why?""
"Because there may be confidential information on it. Information that could damage the company.""
I stared across the driveway.
"How do you know what's on her phone?""
Michael didn't answer immediately.
Then he said, "I have to go.""
The call ended.
I stood beneath the hotel lights, listening to the distant traffic.
Something was very wrong.
Ten years earlier, when Vanessa divorced me, I had owned one failing repair shop and a secondhand pickup truck.
Michael had stayed.
While I worked fourteen-hour days, he negotiated with suppliers, organized the accounts, and convinced me not to give up.
When our first dealership opened, he was the first person I gave a key to.
I had even offered him twenty percent of the company.
He refused.
He told me friendship was worth more than money.
Apparently, I had believed him for far too long.
"Mr. Carter?""
A woman's voice interrupted my thoughts.
A young woman in a black hotel uniform approached, carrying a small envelope.
"I'm sorry to bother you. The security director asked me to deliver this.""
"What's inside?""
"Something from the parking garage.""
I opened it.
A photograph showed Vanessa standing beside my Rolls-Royce, holding a small black device.
The image was timestamped 8:56 p.m.
I examined it carefully.
"Do you know what that is?""
The woman shook her head.
"No, sir. But there's something else.""
She handed me another photograph.
This one showed Richard standing beside my car earlier that afternoon.
He wasn't looking at the vehicle.
He was looking directly at the security camera.
And he was holding a second device.
I looked toward Daniel.
"Bring your security director here.""
Within minutes, a tall man named Robert Hayes arrived.
"Mr. Carter, we've checked the garage footage. The devices appear to be wireless tracking transmitters.""
"Why would someone attach tracking devices to my car?""
Robert glanced toward Richard.
"We believe they were trying to monitor your movements.""
"Since when?""
"Possibly several weeks. We found another device attached to the underside of your previous vehicle during a routine inspection.""
I felt a chill run down my spine.
My previous vehicle was a black SUV I had sold to a dealership six weeks earlier.
Someone had been following me.
But why?
I turned toward Vanessa.
"Did you know about the tracking devices?""
She began shaking her head.
"James, I swear I didn't know what they were.""
Richard stepped forward.
"Enough. We're leaving.""
Daniel blocked the entrance.
"Sir, the hotel has requested that nobody disturb the investigation.""
Richard laughed bitterly.
"Are you threatening me?""
"No. I'm asking you not to interfere.""
Richard pointed at me.
"This man is using his money to intimidate everyone here. He thinks because he owns a few dealerships, he can ruin people's lives.""
I slipped my phone into my jacket.
"Richard, I haven't ruined anything yet.""
His expression changed.
I walked toward Vanessa.
"One question. Why did you agree to frame me?""
Her eyes filled with tears.
"I didn't know the money was stolen.""
"That's not what I asked.""
She looked at Richard.
He gave her a warning glance.
Then she whispered, "He told me you were going to destroy his company.""
"Why?""
"Because you were investigating a financial deal involving Whitmore Consulting.""
I frowned.
"I've never investigated your company.""
Richard immediately interrupted.
"She's confused. She's been under tremendous stress.""
Vanessa pulled her arm away from him.
"No! You told me James had discovered everything!""
Richard's face hardened.
"Vanessa, shut up.""
She flinched.
I took a step closer.
"Discovered what?""
Her lips trembled.
"Richard said you had found the missing payments from the hospital contracts. He said if you went public, he would lose everything.""
I stared at him.
"What hospital contracts?""
Richard said nothing.
Vanessa continued.
"He said Michael had already taken care of the problem. He said all we needed was one document proving you were stealing money yourself.""
I felt the room tilt slightly.
"Michael told you that?""
She nodded.
"Yes.""
I looked at Richard.
Then at Vanessa.
And suddenly, the fraudulent charity transfer made a terrible kind of sense.
The $280,000 wasn't the beginning of the scheme.
It was a small piece of something much larger.
I turned toward Daniel.
"Call the police. Preserve every recording, every email, and every transaction record. Nobody leaves until the officers arrive.""
Vanessa grabbed my sleeve.
"James, please don't.""
I looked down at her hand.
"Let go.""
She lowered her voice.
"If the police see what's on Richard's phone, they'll arrest me too.""
I studied her face.
"What exactly is on his phone?""
She looked toward Richard.
Then she whispered five words.
"The recording of your daughter.""
My entire body went cold.
"What did you just say?""
Vanessa began sobbing.
"James, he has a recording of Emily. And he told me that if I didn't help him frame you, he would...""
She couldn't finish.
I pulled out my phone.
My daughter Emily was twenty-four years old. She worked as a financial analyst in Nashville and had nothing to do with my business.
I called her.
No answer.
I tried again.
Straight to voicemail.
Then a text appeared on my screen.
May you like
It was from an unknown number.
*STOP ASKING QUESTIONS ABOUT WHITMORE. YOUR DAUGHTER ISN'T AS SAFE AS YOU THINK.*
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