Chapter 3 - The Traitor's Trap
By 8:00 p.m., night had fallen over Boston. Rain began to mix with the snow outside, slanting against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the executive floor.
Inside the grand conference room, Roman had assembled his four top executives: Malcolm Reed, Laya Morgan, the Chief Financial Officer Arthur Sterling, and the head of public relations, Sofia Vance.
Victor Chun and his legal team sat on one side of the long table, watching the proceedings like hawks.
I sat in the corner of the room on a leather chair, holding Elsie on my lap. Roman had insisted I remain in the room. He wanted the child who saw the truth to sit right beside the men who dealt in lies.
Roman stood at the head of the table. The master contract lay open in front of him.
"Twelve hours ago," Roman began, his deep voice filling the room with an ominous calm, "a one-billion-dollar partnership was nearly destroyed because page forty-seven of this document was replaced with a fraudulent addendum."
Malcolm Reed adjusted his tie, his expression full of smooth, professional sympathy. "It's an absolute disgrace, Roman. I've already instructed our internal security team to audit every printer on the floor. Whoever did this—whether a low-level clerk or an outside hacker—will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."
"A low-level clerk didn't do this, Malcolm," Roman said softly.
Malcolm blinked. "What do you mean?"
Roman reached into his pocket and placed the silver button on the glass table. It slid smoothly across the surface, stopping right in front of Malcolm’s water glass.
Malcolm stared at the button. His face didn't change, but his right hand twitched slightly against his napkin.
"That button," Roman continued, "was found outside the restricted stationery vault yesterday afternoon. It belongs to a bespoke suit tailor in London. A tailor you visit twice a year, Malcolm."
Laya Morgan turned her head sharply to stare at Malcolm. "Malcolm?"
Malcolm let out a soft, amused laugh, shaking his head as if dealing with a foolish child. "Roman, surely you aren't suggesting that a misplaced button from a suit I wore three weeks ago is evidence of corporate treason? I drop buttons all the time. Housekeeping finds them everywhere."
"Housekeeping didn't find this three weeks ago, Malcolm," I spoke up, my voice clear and firm, surprising even myself.
Everyone in the room turned to look at me.
"I swept that service corridor yesterday at two o'clock," I said, holding Elsie close to my chest. "The floor was completely clear. That button was dropped between three and four o'clock yesterday afternoon—right after the stationery vault was opened."
Malcolm’s eyes snapped toward me, cold and filled with sudden, piercing hatred. "You're a maid. You clean toilets for twelve dollars an hour. Are you seriously suggesting the board take the word of a minimum-wage servant and her toddler over a Chief Strategy Officer who has brought two billion dollars to this firm?"
Before I could answer, Roman slammed his heavy fist onto the table!
CRACK!
The glass water cups rattled violently. The room went dead silent.
"You will speak to her with respect, Malcolm," Roman growled, his eyes flashing with a terrifying, lethal rage. "That 'maid' has more integrity in her smallest finger than you have shown in twelve years of service!"
Malcolm swallowed hard, stepping back slightly, his arrogance cracking under Roman’s fury.
"Dante," Roman commanded without breaking eye contact with Malcolm. "Bring in the secondary log."
Dante stepped into the room holding a thick, dark leather folder. He placed it in front of Roman.
"When you used your administrative override code at 3:22 a.m. last night to access my primary vault," Roman said coldly, "you thought you wiped the digital camera logs. But you forgot one thing, Malcolm."
Malcolm’s breath hitched. "What?"
"The Belmont Grand is my hotel," Roman said softly. "And fifteen years ago, I installed an analog backup security system wired directly into my personal private server in the basement. A system that doesn't run on network software. A system that cannot be wiped with an infrared pulse."
Roman opened the folder, pulling out three glossy, black-and-white photographs.
He tossed them onto the table.
May you like
The photographs clearly showed Malcolm Reed standing inside the vault at 3:24 a.m., holding a pair of white cotton gloves, carefully removing page forty-seven from the Bellini Trust binder and replacing it with a folded sheet of paper from his coat pocket.
Malcolm stared at the photos. The blood completely drained from his face, leaving him pale as a ghost.
