Chapter 4: The Key to My Private Office
“Ask your husband why he has a second key to your private office.””
I read the sentence again, hoping the words would rearrange themselves into something less disturbing.
They didn't.
For seven years, Daniel had been the person I trusted most in the world. He had held my hand when my father died, helped me negotiate my first major hotel acquisition, and stood beside me when we launched the Bennett Children's Foundation.
I'd never questioned his access to my business.
Until now.
“Margaret,” I said, turning my laptop toward her, “I need to know who sent this email.””
My attorney studied the message without touching the keyboard.
“Don't forward it through your normal company account. Whoever sent it may have access to your communications.””
Peter Shaw, the forensic accountant, looked up from his paperwork.
“There's another issue. If someone has been using your credentials, we need to distinguish between your actual approvals and documents created in your name.””
“How long will that take?””
“To do it properly? Several days. Perhaps longer if the records have been altered.””
I glanced at the clock.
It was nearly midnight, and my gala had turned into an investigation into the possible theft of money meant for sick children.
“Start tonight,” I said.
Margaret nodded.
“I'll arrange an independent cybersecurity specialist. In the meantime, don't confront Daniel about the key.””
I wanted to argue.
Instead, I remembered the way his expression had changed when I'd shown him the donation receipt.
He hadn't looked confused.
He'd looked afraid.
“There's something else,” I said.
“I want to see my private office.””
My office was on the hotel's executive floor, behind two security-controlled doors. It contained confidential contracts, acquisition documents, and a locked cabinet holding the original records of the foundation.
Only three people were supposed to have access: me, my executive assistant, and the head of hotel security.
Daniel had a key to our house.
He did not have a key to that office.
At least, he wasn't supposed to.
Margaret insisted on accompanying me. Thomas Harrison met us outside the executive corridor, carrying a master access log.
“Miss Bennett,” he said, “I've already asked security to preserve the electronic entry records. No one will alter them.””
“Good. Did anyone enter my office tonight?””
“Not according to the preliminary log.””
He hesitated.
“But there's an unusual entry from last Tuesday.””
“What kind of entry?””
“Your office door was opened using a physical override key. The electronic system recorded the door opening, but it didn't identify the person who used the key.””
I stopped walking.
“Who authorized the override?””
“No one. At least, no authorization appears in the system.””
Margaret's expression hardened.
“Then why was it used?””
Thomas looked uncomfortable.
“That's what we're trying to determine.””
He unlocked the outer door.
My office smelled faintly of leather, paper, and the lavender cleaner our housekeeping team used on the executive floor. My desk was immaculate. The framed photograph of my father stood beside the window. His old fountain pen rested in its glass case.
Everything looked normal.
Too normal.
I approached the locked cabinet and checked the seal I'd placed across its edge earlier that week.
The seal was intact.
“Nothing's been taken from here,” I said.
Margaret examined the cabinet.
“Maybe someone didn't need to steal anything. They might have copied documents.””
I turned toward my desk.
The bottom drawer contained a small velvet box holding my father's original office key. It had been given to me after his death, along with a handwritten note.
I opened the drawer.
The box was there.
The key was not.
My stomach tightened.
“Margaret.””
She came around the desk.
I showed her the empty velvet box.
“Are you certain you left the key here?”” she asked.
“Absolutely. I haven't used it since I inherited the office.””
Thomas checked the desk and surrounding drawers.
Then he looked at me.
“Miss Bennett, could the key have been moved during cleaning?””
“No. Housekeeping isn't permitted to open this drawer.””
He wrote something in his notebook.
“I'll review the staff access records.””
I stood beside the window, staring down at the Atlanta skyline. Somewhere below us, hotel employees were finishing their shifts, washing glasses and folding tablecloths.
They'd go home exhausted, hoping their paychecks would cover rent and groceries.
Meanwhile, someone might have been stealing money intended for children who couldn't afford medical care.
I pressed my palms against the windowsill.
“Whoever did this thought they could hide behind my name,” I said.
“I want every document, every access log, and every payment traced.””
Margaret placed a hand on my shoulder.
“We will. But we need to be methodical.””
Thomas cleared his throat.
“There may be another lead. Your executive assistant, Caroline Reed, requested access to the office last Tuesday afternoon.””
I turned.
“Caroline?””
“She said she needed a contract file for you.””
“Did she enter?””
“The log says she did. But the override entry happened forty minutes later.””
Margaret exchanged a look with me.
Caroline had worked for me for five years. She knew my schedule, my passwords policy, and the locations of nearly every confidential file in the building.
I'd trusted her enough to leave her in charge during business trips.
“Where is she now?”” I asked.
“At home, according to the schedule.””
“Don't call her yet. Preserve the records first.””
Thomas nodded and stepped into the corridor to contact security.
As Margaret and I prepared to leave, I noticed a small envelope tucked beneath my desk calendar.
It hadn't been there when I'd arrived earlier that evening.
My name was written across the front in block letters.
I opened it carefully.
Inside was a photograph of Daniel standing outside my private office.
The date stamp showed last Tuesday.
He was holding a silver key.
Beside him stood Caroline.
But the photograph's most disturbing detail wasn't the key.
It was the man standing in the shadows behind them.
Stephen Cole.
Daniel's former college roommate.
The consultant who owned the company that had received hundreds of thousands of dollars from my foundation.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written six words.
*Caroline knows who really gives orders.*
I looked up at Margaret.
Before either of us could speak, my phone rang.
Caroline's name appeared on the screen.
I answered.
“Caroline?””
Her voice trembled.
“Olivia, please tell me you're alone.””
“I'm with Margaret. What's wrong?””
I heard a door slam on her end of the call.
Then she whispered, “I know about the money. And I know what Daniel did.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Then tell me.””
Caroline took a shaky breath.
“I can't explain over the phone. Someone has been following me since I left work.””
A muffled sound interrupted her.
Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
May you like
“Olivia, if anything happens to me, don't trust the person who—”
The call disconnected.
