Chapter 7 - The House on Bay Street
I called 911 from thirty thousand feet.
It was one of the most helpless moments of my life.
The dispatcher contacted local police while the flight crew spoke with air traffic control.
I kept calling my mother.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Margaret sat beside me with both hands pressed against her mouth.
Twenty-three minutes later, Dana called.
“Police found your mother.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
“Is she hurt?”
“She’s okay.”
I closed my eyes.
My entire body weakened at once.
“What happened?”
“A man approached her outside your house.”
“Who?”
“He said he was a process server.”
“Was he?”
“No.”
“Police arrived while he was still there.”
“Did they arrest him?”
“He ran.”
I stared through the airplane window.
“Did they catch him?”
“Not yet.”
“What about the house?”
“Someone entered through the back door.”
The safe.
“Dana.”
“I know.”
“Tell me they didn’t open it.”
“They tried.”
My stomach tightened.
“The police found tools upstairs.”
“But the safe?”
“Still locked.”
I breathed again.
The security token was safe.
For now.
Dana continued.
“There’s something strange.”
“What?”
“The intruder ignored jewelry.”
“Of course.”
“They also ignored cash.”
“They wanted the token.”
“That’s my assumption.”
I looked at Margaret.
“Ask police to preserve every fingerprint.”
“Already done.”
“And change the locks.”
“Done.”
“Move the safe.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere Walter can’t predict.”
Dana paused.
“Ashlynn, you need personal security.”
“I know.”
“I mean professional security.”
“I know.”
She softened slightly.
“You don’t have to keep saying you know.”
“Yes, I do.”
Because every time I said it, I was reminding myself that denial was over.
I knew what Gregory was.
I knew what Walter was.
I knew my company had been compromised.
I knew my family had been pulled into it.
And I knew the woman sitting beside me had lived under the same kind of threat for decades.
When we landed in Miami, federal investigators were waiting.
The first agent introduced herself as Special Agent Lena Ortiz.
Financial Crimes Division.
The second was Agent Marcus Bell.
Cyber Investigations.
Neither wasted time.
We moved into a private airport conference room.
Agent Bell opened a laptop.
“Ms. Mercer, we believe the export from your company was interrupted before the highest-level encryption vault was opened.”
I nodded.
“The second key is physical.”
“Where is it?”
“It was in my home safe.”
“Was?”
“Police are relocating it.”
Agent Ortiz leaned forward.
“We need to ask about your clients.”
“I cannot disclose privileged information casually.”
“We understand.”
“My lawyer needs to be present.”
“She is on her way.”
Ortiz nodded.
Then she slid a photograph across the table.
It showed Calvin Reese entering a parking garage.
The timestamp was six hours earlier.
A second image showed him meeting a man beside a black SUV.
I recognized the man immediately.
Walter Hartman.
My chest tightened.
“How long have you been watching Walter?”
Ortiz exchanged a glance with Bell.
“That is complicated.”
“Try me.”
“Walter Hartman’s companies have been associated with several unusual securities transactions.”
“How unusual?”
“Profitable positions placed shortly before confidential corporate announcements.”
My skin prickled.
“Insider trading.”
“We’re investigating.”
“And you think he wanted my files.”
“We think your files may explain how he intended to obtain future information.”
I looked at Margaret.
She had gone completely white.
Agent Ortiz noticed.
“Mrs. Hartman, are you all right?”
Margaret nodded mechanically.
Then she whispered, “I know where he keeps the other records.”
Everyone turned toward her.
“What records?” Ortiz asked.
Margaret looked terrified.
“He has a private office beneath our home.”
I had visited the Hartman mansion twice.
I had never seen a basement office.
Margaret continued.
“Walter calls it the archive.”
“What’s inside?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“What have you seen?”
“Ledgers.”
“Phones.”
“Computers.”
“Folders with names.”
Agent Bell leaned closer.
“Whose names?”
Margaret swallowed.
“Judges.”
“Executives.”
“Attorneys.”
“Politicians.”
The room became very quiet.
I stared at my mother-in-law.
“What exactly has Walter been doing?”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“For thirty years?”
May you like
She opened them again.
“Whatever he had to do to make sure nobody could ever tell him no.”
