Chapter 6
The police took my phone.
I hated that.
It was not just a phone to me.
It was navigation, messages, schoolwork, books, maps, voice commands, emergency contacts.
Detective Lena Ortiz promised I would get it back.
Then Dad handed me a new one before she finished the sentence.
I almost laughed.
“You just carry spare phones?”
He answered, “Today I do.”
We were moved from Westbrook to a private conference room at my father’s Boston office.
Dad’s security director, Marcus Hale, joined us.
So did Grandpa.
Nobody seemed happy about that.
Detective Ortiz sat across from him.
“Start with Elias Reed.”
Grandpa rubbed his hands together.
“Elias was Meridian’s chief engineer.”
“When?”
“From the beginning.”
“What did he work on?”
“A navigation system for visually impaired users.”
I leaned forward.
“What kind?”
“Indoor positioning. Wearable sensors. Audio guidance. It could map unfamiliar buildings in real time.”
My chest tightened.
“That sounds like the system Westbrook claimed to install.”
“Yes.”
Dad asked, “Why have I never heard his name?”
Grandpa answered, “Because after Meridian collapsed, he disappeared.”
Detective Ortiz said, “People don’t disappear.”
“This man did.”
“Dead?”
“I don’t know.”
Dad sounded disgusted.
“You never checked?”
“I checked for years.”
Grandpa turned toward me.
“Elias was brilliant. Difficult. Paranoid. But brilliant.”
“Why did Meridian collapse?”
He hesitated.
Then he said, “Because someone stole the technology.”
Dad went still.
Grandpa continued.
“Six months before launch, our primary investor pulled funding. Within two weeks, design files appeared inside a competitor’s patent application.”
“Who was the investor?” Ortiz asked.
Grandpa answered.
“Bellamy Capital.”
Richard.
Of course.
Dad said, “You partnered with him after warning me never to trust him?”
“I warned you because I learned the lesson too late.”
Detective Ortiz asked, “Did you sue?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“We settled.”
Dad laughed harshly.
“Of course you did.”
Grandpa ignored him.
“Elias refused to settle. He said Bellamy had bribed someone inside Meridian.”
“Who?”
“He never proved it.”
“What happened next?”
“He started sending me files.”
“What files?”
“Payments. Vendor records. Corporate registrations.”
I felt a chill.
“Like Westbrook.”
“Yes.”
Grandpa’s voice became quieter.
“He believed Bellamy had built a network of shell companies. Not just to steal technology. To move money.”
Detective Ortiz asked, “Money from where?”
“Schools. Hospitals. charities. Technology grants.”
Dad said, “How big?”
“I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t want to know.”
Grandpa flinched.
“Maybe.”
“What happened to Elias?”
“The last time I saw him, he came to my house in the middle of the night.”
I listened closely.
“He was terrified. He said somebody had followed him from Cambridge.”
“What did he give you?”
“A flash drive.”
Detective Ortiz leaned forward.
“Do you still have it?”
Grandpa stayed silent.
Dad said, “Arthur.”
“Yes.”
The room erupted.
Detective Ortiz stood.
“You have evidence connected to possible financial crimes and a missing man?”
“I didn’t know whether he was missing.”
“You just said he disappeared!”
“He called once after that.”
“When?”
“About three months later.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing useful.”
“Try me.”
Grandpa swallowed.
“He said, ‘The lighthouse is safer in darkness.’ Then the call ended.”
I frowned.
“That sounds like a code.”
Dad asked, “What was on the flash drive?”
“I never opened it.”
Nobody believed him.
I didn’t.
“You’re lying,” I said.
Grandpa went quiet.
I continued.
“You breathe differently when you lie.”
Dad almost laughed despite himself.
Grandpa muttered, “Wonderful.”
“What was on it?”
“Encrypted files.”
“You opened it.”
“I tried.”
“Couldn’t?”
“No.”
“Where is it?”
He hesitated.
Then said, “At the Cape house.”
Dad cursed.
The Cape house.
My grandparents had owned a large home on Cape Cod since before I was born.
I had not been there since Dad stopped speaking to Grandpa.
Detective Ortiz asked, “Is anyone there now?”
“No.”
Marcus, Dad’s security director, spoke.
“We need local law enforcement to secure the property.”
Grandpa said, “No.”
Everyone turned.
Ortiz asked, “Excuse me?”
“If people are watching us, police arriving at the house tells them we know where the drive is.”
Dad said, “They already texted my daughter.”
“Exactly.”
Grandpa stood.
“They’re watching.”
My father’s voice hardened.
“Then Hannah goes home.”
I snapped, “No.”
“Yes.”
“Dad.”
“No debate.”
“There is definitely a debate.”
“Hannah, someone threatened you.”
“They threatened me because I asked a question.”
“That does not improve the situation.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“You are sixteen.”
“And blind?”
“I did not say that.”
“You were thinking it.”
“No. I was thinking you are my child.”
That stopped me.
He continued.
“You can be furious with me. You can hate how I handled this. But I will not let someone use you as leverage.”
My anger weakened.
Just a little.
Detective Ortiz said, “Your father is right about one thing.”
I turned toward her.
“We have an active threat. You should be somewhere secure.”
“Fine.”
Dad exhaled.
“But I want updates.”
“Yes.”
“Real updates.”
“Yes.”
“No hiding information.”
He paused.
“Yes.”
I pointed toward Grandpa.
“And he doesn’t disappear again.”
Grandpa sounded surprised.
“You want me around?”
“I want answers.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No.”
I stood.
“But it’s a start.”
We returned home under heavier security than I had ever seen.
For the first few hours, nothing happened.
Mom made pasta.
Dad took calls.
Grandpa sat in the library.
I stayed in my room pretending to study.
At seven thirty, Ethan called.
“How is witness protection?”
“I’m not in witness protection.”
“You have four security guards outside your house.”
“Five.”
“Seriously?”
“One is pretending to trim a hedge.”
Ethan laughed.
I smiled.
Then he went quiet.
“What?”
“I found something.”
My pulse jumped.
“About Elias?”
“Sort of.”
“What did you do?”
“Don’t get mad.”
“That sentence guarantees I’m going to get mad.”
“I searched the old school newspaper archive.”
“Why?”
“Because Westbrook had technology partnerships five years ago.”
I sat straighter.
“And?”
“There’s an article about a pilot accessibility program.”
My heart started pounding.
“What company?”
“Meridian.”
I stood.
“What?”
“Not your grandfather’s company exactly. It says Meridian Adaptive Solutions.”
I walked toward the door.
“Send it.”
“I already did.”
My new phone announced the incoming file.
I used voice controls to open it.
The article was dated five years earlier.
Long before I attended Westbrook.
A student reporter had written about a demonstration of indoor navigation technology for visually impaired visitors.
One name appeared near the end.
I asked the screen reader to repeat it.
“Project consultant, Elias Reed.”
My skin prickled.
“He was at Westbrook.”
“Apparently.”
“Five years ago.”
“Yeah.”
I opened my bedroom door.
“Dad!”
No answer.
“Dad!”
I moved quickly toward the stairs.
My cane hit the first step.
Mom called from below.
“What’s wrong?”
“Where’s Dad?”
“Library.”
I hurried down.
Halfway there, I heard glass break.
Then a heavy thud.
Someone shouted.
Mom screamed my father’s name.
I ran toward the library.
Marcus grabbed me before I reached the doorway.
“Stay back!”
“What happened?”
“Stay back!”
I heard Dad shouting.
“Arthur!”
My blood froze.
“Grandpa?”
No answer.
Then coughing.
A chair scraped.
I pushed against Marcus.
“Let me through!”
He didn’t.
Dad yelled, “Call an ambulance!”
Mom was crying.
I heard Grandpa’s voice faintly.
“Daniel…”
Then he said something else.
Too weak for me to catch.
Dad leaned close to him.
“What?”
Grandpa repeated it.
This time I heard.
“The lighthouse.”
Sirens began in the distance.
Grandpa coughed again.
Then he whispered, “He was here.”
Dad said, “Who?”
Grandpa answered.
May you like
“Elias.”
And then he lost consciousness.
