Chapter 2 - The Eleven Missing Files
Claire refused to sleep.
Adrian’s loft had three guest rooms, each more expensive-looking than Claire’s entire apartment, but she sat on the edge of a cream-colored sofa near the windows and stared at Chicago until midnight.
Somewhere out there was Winston.
Somewhere out there was her apartment with its broken door.
And somewhere inside Northbridge Freight Solutions was a person who had apparently stolen her credentials and downloaded records belonging to a criminal organization.
Claire still struggled with that final part.
Adrian Vale stood near the fireplace speaking quietly with Ray.
Claire watched him.
Everything about Adrian suggested control.
His voice never needed to become loud.
His employees responded before he finished instructions.
He carried himself like someone accustomed to people moving when he entered a room.
Claire hated that she was depending on him.
“Any news about my cat?”
Adrian turned.
“No.”
“You said someone was looking.”
“They are.”
“Who?”
“Several people.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the answer you’re getting.”
Claire stood.
“You don’t get to decide what information I deserve.”
Adrian studied her.
“I generally do.”
“Well, congratulations. You’ve met an exception.”
Ray suddenly became fascinated with his phone.
Adrian walked toward Claire.
“You should rest.”
“You should release me.”
“You’re free to walk through that door.”
Claire glanced toward it.
Adrian continued.
“But whoever searched your apartment may be waiting for you.”
“That sounds conveniently terrifying.”
“It’s meant to.”
Claire stared at him.
“You want something from me.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“The eleven files.”
“I told you, I didn’t download them.”
“But you can access them.”
Claire shook her head.
“Not remotely. Restricted archive access requires an internal terminal.”
“Then tomorrow we go to Northbridge.”
Claire almost laughed.
“You think I’m walking into work with you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“You’re walking in alone.”
Claire stopped.
Adrian explained.
“You’ll behave normally. Find the eleven files. Determine what was downloaded and who used your credentials.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you can go home.”
That answer surprised her.
Adrian picked up her phone and placed it on the table.
“Your choice.”
Claire looked at him suspiciously.
“You’d actually let me leave?”
“Yes.”
She grabbed the phone.
Adrian said quietly, “Before you decide, call your apartment.”
Claire frowned.
“My apartment doesn’t answer phones.”
“Call your neighbor.”
Claire’s stomach tightened.
She called Mrs. Alvarez across the hall.
The woman answered after three rings.
“Claire?”
Relief flooded through her.
“Mrs. Alvarez, are you okay?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m safe. Is Winston there?”
“Yes, honey. He came scratching at my door.”
Claire nearly cried.
“Thank God.”
“But Claire…”
“What?”
“Men came looking for you.”
Claire froze.
“What men?”
“I don’t know. Two of them. They asked when you’d be home.”
“When?”
“Maybe an hour ago.”
Claire slowly looked at Adrian.
Mrs. Alvarez continued.
“They weren’t police.”
Claire’s grip tightened around the phone.
“What did you tell them?”
“That I hadn’t seen you.”
“Good.”
“Honey, what’s happening?”
“I don’t know.”
That was the most truthful answer Claire could give.
She promised to call again.
When the conversation ended, Adrian was still watching her.
Claire put the phone down.
“I’ll go to Northbridge.”
The next morning, Claire entered the office at 8:13.
Everything looked normal.
That made it worse.
Employees carried coffee.
Printers hummed.
Someone complained about the Bears.
Martin Keane stood beside the conference room laughing with two managers.
Then he saw Claire.
For half a second, his smile disappeared.
Claire noticed.
“Claire!”
Martin approached.
“Thought you were working from home.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Everything okay?”
“Fine.”
He studied her.
“You look tired.”
“My cat kept me awake.”
That part was technically true.
Martin smiled.
“Cats.”
Claire forced herself to smile back.
Then she walked to her desk.
Adrian’s voice echoed in her memory.
Don’t search immediately.
Behave normally.
Claire hated taking instructions from him.
Unfortunately, he was right.
She answered emails.
Processed invoices.
Attended the 9:00 accounting meeting.
At 10:17, Martin left for an executive meeting.
Claire moved.
She entered the restricted archive.
Her credentials worked.
She searched Lakeshore Maritime Holdings.
Eleven files.
Claire opened the first.
Routine invoices.
Second.
Insurance settlements.
Third.
Customs records.
Then the fourth file opened.
Claire stopped breathing.
It contained hundreds of transactions routed through Northbridge vendors.
She recognized the pattern immediately.
Someone had been laundering money.
Millions.
Maybe hundreds of millions.
Claire opened file five.
Names appeared.
Judges.
Business executives.
Politicians.
Police officers.
Then she saw Adrian Vale.
Not Adrian Vale.
ADRIANO VALENTI.
Claire stared.
A birth certificate had been scanned into the file.
Adriano Matteo Valenti.
Born in Sicily.
A second document showed his father.
Marco Valenti.
Then another.
A newspaper clipping about Marco Valenti’s death in Chicago twenty-four years earlier.
Claire’s skin prickled.
Why would Northbridge possess this?
She opened the sixth file.
Her heart nearly stopped.
There was a photograph.
Martin Keane.
Much younger.
Standing beside Marco Valenti.
Claire whispered, “What?”
Footsteps sounded outside.
She quickly minimized the file.
The archive door opened.
Martin entered.
Claire turned.
He smiled.
“Working hard?”
“Always.”
His eyes moved toward her monitor.
“What are you doing in the archive?”
“Quarterly reconciliation.”
“Which account?”
Claire’s mind raced.
“Garrison Industrial.”
Martin nodded.
Then his gaze dropped to Claire’s employee badge.
“You found that, huh?”
Claire went still.
“Found what?”
“Your badge. You said Wednesday you misplaced it.”
Claire forced a laugh.
“Yeah.”
Martin smiled.
“Good.”
He walked away.
Claire waited until the door closed.
Then immediately copied the eleven filenames onto paper.
She couldn't remove the records electronically without triggering another audit trail.
At lunch, she walked three blocks to a crowded café.
Adrian was waiting in the back of a black sedan.
Claire climbed inside.
“What did you find?”
“Your real name.”
For the first time since meeting him, Adrian looked genuinely surprised.
Claire stared at him.
“Adriano Valenti.”
His jaw tightened.
“Where did you see that?”
“File four.”
“What else?”
“Your father.”
Silence.
“Marco Valenti.”
Adrian looked toward the rain-covered window.
Claire continued.
“Martin knew him.”
Adrian turned back.
“How do you know?”
“There’s a photograph.”
Ray, sitting in front, looked over his shoulder.
Claire handed them the filenames.
“There’s more. Transactions, political names, police names. Somebody built an archive documenting decades of payments.”
Adrian studied the paper.
Then Claire remembered something.
“File eleven.”
“What about it?”
“I didn’t have time to open it.”
“Why?”
“Martin came in.”
Adrian looked at her.
“Did he suspect anything?”
“I don’t know.”
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Martin.
CLAIRE, COME TO MY OFFICE WHEN YOU RETURN.
Claire showed Adrian.
“I have to go back.”
“No.”
“You told me to behave normally.”
“That was before Keane became suspicious.”
“If I disappear now, he’ll know.”
Adrian looked furious because he knew she was right.
Claire opened the car door.
“Claire.”
She stopped.
Adrian’s voice was quieter.
“If anything feels wrong, leave.”
Claire glanced back.
“That sounded almost caring.”
“Don’t misunderstand it.”
She smiled faintly.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Twenty minutes later, Claire entered Martin’s office.
He closed the door.
“Sit.”
Claire sat.
Martin remained standing.
“You accessed Lakeshore Maritime this morning.”
Her blood went cold.
There was no point lying.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“An old reconciliation issue.”
Martin studied her.
Then he smiled.
“Claire, you’ve always been a terrible liar.”
She said nothing.
Martin walked around the desk.
“Did someone contact you last night?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Martin leaned against the desk.
“You’re a good accountant.”
“Thank you.”
“You notice patterns.”
Claire’s pulse quickened.
“That’s the job.”
“Sometimes noticing patterns can be dangerous.”
Claire stared at him.
Martin sighed.
“I wish Eddie had grabbed Madison Carver.”
Claire stopped breathing.
Martin smiled sadly.
And suddenly Claire understood.
He knew.
He knew about the kidnapping.
“Who are you?” Claire whispered.
Martin’s smile disappeared.
“Someone trying to prevent a war.”
He opened a drawer.
Claire tensed.
But he removed only a flash drive.
He placed it on the desk.
“File eleven.”
Claire stared at it.
“What’s on it?”
“The reason Adrian Vale was supposed to kidnap Madison Carver.”
Claire looked up.
Martin leaned closer.
“And the reason he can never learn who ordered it.”
Then the office door opened behind Claire.
A woman entered.
Claire recognized her immediately from newspapers and television.
Madison Carver.
The senator’s daughter.
The woman Claire had been mistaken for.
But Madison wasn’t frightened.
She looked directly at Martin.
Then at Claire.
And smiled.
“You really did grab the wrong woman.”
Claire’s blood ran cold.
May you like
Because Madison Carver wasn’t Adrian Vale’s intended victim.
She was the person who had arranged the kidnapping in the first place.
