Chapter 3 - The Man Who Was Supposed to Be Gone
By sunrise, Raymond's missing $3.4 million had stopped being an accounting problem.
It had become a message.
Lark sat alone by the library windows while Vancouver emerged from darkness beyond the glass.
Her father's file remained open on her lap.
Caleb Denning had been present inside Saxton Group for eleven months.
Long enough to understand its internal systems.
Long enough to discover something.
Then his contract ended.
Four months later, he disappeared.
Lark had spent years assuming the disappearance came from debt.
Shame.
Fear.
Maybe cowardice.
She had constructed a version of her father that allowed her to stay angry.
Anger was manageable.
This was not.
Raymond approached carrying two cups.
Lark eyed the one he placed beside her.
“Coffee.”
“You don't have to look suspicious.”
“You don't take pills because you don't trust what other people prepare.”
Raymond paused.
“How do you know that?”
“Eleanor mentioned it.”
“That woman will eventually be the death of my privacy.”
Lark didn't touch the coffee.
Raymond noticed.
“I made yours myself.”
“That doesn't make it reassuring.”
Almost-smile again.
It disappeared quickly.
“You should go home.”
“So should you.”
“I live here.”
“Then technically you have nowhere to go.”
He sat opposite her.
For several moments they said nothing.
“You really didn't know he had a daughter?” Lark asked.
“No.”
“Did you trust him?”
Raymond considered.
“I respected him.”
“Different thing.”
“For me, not much.”
That answer told her more about Raymond than he probably intended.
“Why was he writing notes about you?”
“Caleb believed our systems had been altered.”
“By whom?”
“He never proved it.”
“But he suspected someone.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Raymond's gaze moved toward the door.
Lark followed it.
Julian Mercer stood at the other end of the room.
He had just entered.
And from the look on his face, he knew they had been discussing something he didn't want discussed.
“Mr. Saxton,” Julian said.
“The forensic team is ready.”
Raymond remained seated.
“Give us ten minutes.”
Julian looked at Lark.
“She's staying?”
Raymond's response came instantly.
“Yes.”
Julian's expression tightened before professional politeness returned.
“Of course.”
When he left, Lark lowered her voice.
“You don't trust him.”
“I don't trust anyone today.”
“Comforting.”
Raymond leaned forward.
“Your father's report specifically mentioned a permissions layer added during the system migration.”
“Who approved it?”
“That signature page is missing.”
Lark's attention sharpened.
“Missing physically or digitally?”
“Both.”
“That doesn't happen accidentally.”
“No.”
“Who had access?”
“Seven people.”
“Eleanor?”
“Yes.”
“Julian?”
“Yes.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
Lark studied him.
“You could have done it.”
Raymond nodded.
“Yes.”
She hadn't expected him to admit that.
“You're not going to argue?”
“What would be the point?”
“I don't know. Powerful men usually enjoy explaining why rules don't apply to them.”
“I enjoy useful things.”
“That's debatable.”
Again that almost-smile.
Then Raymond became serious.
“If Caleb discovered this eight years ago, the current theft may be related.”
“Why wait?”
“Maybe they didn't.”
Lark went still.
Raymond slid another document toward her.
An accounting summary.
Small irregularities appeared years before the current eighteen-month period.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
“Someone may have tested the system first,” he said.
Lark scanned the entries.
“They started small.”
“Yes.”
“And stopped.”
“For years.”
“Why?”
“That is the question.”
Lark looked toward the folder bearing her father's name.
Then the answer came to her.
“Because my father noticed.”
Raymond said nothing.
“They stopped because he noticed.”
“Possible.”
“And after he disappeared, they waited until everyone stopped looking.”
Raymond's jaw tightened.
Lark felt sick.
Her father hadn't vanished because he was running from debt.
Maybe he had been running from something else.
At eleven that morning, Beaumont Capital Recovery called her.
Lark stared at the screen.
Raymond stood across the room.
“Don't answer.”
“They'll know something is wrong.”
“They already know you're here.”
“Then not answering confirms it.”
Raymond's eyes narrowed.
Lark accepted the call.
“Hello?”
A male voice.
Polite.
Calm.
“Ms. Denning.”
“Mr. Beaumont.”
Raymond moved closer.
Lark activated speakerphone without announcing it.
“We noticed your payment hasn't arrived.”
“It isn't due until Friday.”
“Of course.”
A pause.
“We also understand your employment situation may have changed.”
Lark looked directly at Raymond.
“My employment is fine.”
“Good.”
Another pause.
“Your father would have wanted you to maintain stability.”
Every muscle in Lark's body tightened.
“You didn't know my father.”
Silence.
Then the man said something that erased the air from the room.
“I knew Caleb quite well.”
Raymond stepped closer to the phone.
Lark raised a hand.
Don't.
She forced her voice steady.
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“Doing what?”
“That is not a conversation for the telephone.”
“Then let's meet.”
Raymond shook his head.
Lark ignored him.
Beaumont chuckled softly.
“You're more like him than I expected.”
Lark's fingers tightened around the phone.
“What does that mean?”
“He also asked questions after he should have stopped.”
Raymond's expression hardened.
Still no threat.
No raised voice.
Only recognition.
“Where is my father?”
Long silence.
Then Beaumont answered.
“I don't know.”
Lark closed her eyes.
“But I know he was alive three years after you were told he disappeared.”
Her eyes snapped open.
Raymond froze.
“What?”
“Your father contacted me.”
“When?”
“Three years after his disappearance.”
“Why?”
Another pause.
“To make sure the debt remained attached to you.”
Lark felt something inside her break.
“My father put the debt on me?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“He wanted someone watching you.”
Raymond mouthed a single word.
Tracking.
Lark understood.
The debt had never only been debt.
It had been a leash.
A way to keep her address.
Her employer.
Her bank.
Her movements.
For years.
“Why?”
she whispered.
Beaumont's voice became quieter.
“Because Caleb believed the moment nobody was watching you would be the moment somebody else found you first.”
The call disconnected.
Lark stared at the phone.
Raymond said nothing for several seconds.
Then another sound came from the table.
A notification.
Eleanor had received an email.
She opened it.
Her face changed.
“Raymond.”
“What?”
She turned the laptop.
An anonymous message had arrived in the Saxton Group's secure internal inbox.
One attachment.
A photograph.
Lark saw it first.
A man standing outside a train station.
Older.
Thinner.
Gray in his beard.
But unmistakable.
Her father.
The timestamp was from nine days ago.
May you like
Beneath the photograph was one sentence.
STOP LOOKING AT THE MONEY IF YOU WANT CALEB DENNING TO STAY ALIVE.
