Chapter 2 - THE SIX MISSING MINUTES
The backup camera survived.
Marcus did not know there was one.
Neither did Selene.
That was useful.
The primary office camera ran through the estate network.
The backup unit was independent.
Battery-powered.
Installed after a burglary attempt two years earlier.
At 7:09, Selene walked upstairs.
At 7:11, she stopped outside my office.
Looked behind her.
Removed my access card from her clutch.
Not found in the hallway.
Already inside her bag.
At 7:12, she entered.
At 7:18, she left.
Something small rested inside her right hand.
The Raven drive.
At 7:19, she entered a guest bathroom.
At 7:22, Marcus Bell entered the same bathroom.
He remained fifty-eight seconds.
Then returned downstairs.
My engagement dinner had included three kinds of betrayal.
The theft.
The lie.
And the insult of how easy they thought it would be.
Gabriel watched the footage beside me.
“What do you want?”
Old answer?
Bring Marcus back.
Lock the estate.
Take Selene somewhere private.
Make people explain.
I had built part of my reputation on answers obtained quickly.
That night, Lily’s face when Selene snapped at her stayed in my head.
“No confrontation.”
Gabriel looked at me.
“That wasn’t the answer I expected.”
“Good.”
“What about the drive?”
“It’s traceable.”
The real Raven files remained elsewhere.
The drive Selene stole was a working copy.
Encrypted.
Marked.
Any attempt to open it on a networked machine would generate a silent alert.
At 2:14 a.m., one came.
Machine:
BELL LEGAL CONSULTING.
Marcus's private home office.
Gabriel smiled.
“Got him.”
“No.”
“What?”
“We have proof he opened stolen data.”
“That sounds like got him.”
“I want to know why.”
The Raven investigation began because twenty-eight million dollars disappeared through a sequence of consulting invoices, waterfront acquisitions and offshore entities.
Marcus’s authorization appeared on enough of them to make me suspicious.
Not enough to convict him of anything.
Then our forensic accountant found something worse.
Several transfers were designed around future changes in Varela Holdings ownership.
Changes tied to my marriage.
The closer the wedding came, the more aggressively the money moved.
I had not told Selene.
Not because I already suspected her.
Because Marcus drafted the original marital trust.
Now I knew why.
At eight the next morning, Selene called.
Seventeen times.
I answered number eighteen.
“You humiliated me.”
Interesting opening.
“You stole from me.”
“I told you, I found the card.”
“I have video.”
Silence.
Good.
Then:
“You recorded me privately?”
“You entered my private office.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It is enough.”
Her breathing changed.
“Dominic, let me explain.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Not over the phone.”
“Correct.”
“Tonight?”
“No.”
“When?”
“When I ask.”
I ended the call.
Five minutes later, Marcus called.
I did not answer.
Instead I met Mara in the staff administration room.
She looked nervous.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yes.”
“Lily is at school.”
“Good.”
Her shoulders relaxed.
I noticed.
“You thought I wanted to question her again.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t.”
“Thank you.”
I placed a photograph of a document on the table.
One recovered from the drive access logs.
Mara stared.
“Why are you showing me?”
“You worked in document services before this job.”
She looked surprised.
“How do you know?”
“Employment file.”
“Of course.”
Before her husband died, Mara spent six years at a title-and-document authentication firm downtown.
She verified seals.
Signatures.
Pagination.
Execution packets.
Then childcare costs and grief knocked her life sideways.
She took estate work because it gave her predictable hours.
I pointed toward the photograph.
“What is wrong?”
Mara studied it.
Then frowned.
“The seal.”
“What?”
“This is supposed to be a Varela Holdings corporate seal?”
“Yes.”
“It isn't the same one on your current board filings.”
My attention sharpened.
“How can you tell?”
“The outer ring.”
She enlarged it.
“Your authentic seal uses twelve-point spacing between the company name and incorporation date.”
“This one uses eight.”
I stared.
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
Then:
“And page numbers were inserted later.”
“How?”
“Different baseline.”
She looked at me.
“What is this?”
“Draft voting agreement.”
Mara went pale.
“Yours?”
“Supposedly.”
The document transferred thirty-eight percent of my voting authority into a marital trust controlled jointly by Selene and an outside trustee.
Trustee:
Marcus Bell.
Mara looked at me.
“Were you going to sign this?”
“No.”
“Does Selene think you were?”
“I suspect she thinks she can make it look like I did.”
Mara closed the file.
“You need a lawyer.”
“I have too many.”
“A different lawyer.”
That almost made me smile.
Then she said:
“And you should stop letting Marcus draft anything.”
“I have.”
“When?”
“Eleven weeks ago.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You already suspected him.”
“Yes.”
“Then why keep him near you?”
“Because people reveal more when comfortable.”
Mara stared.
“That’s a disturbing sentence.”
“Effective.”
“Still disturbing.”
Fair.
Then her expression became serious.
“Mr. Varela.”
“Dominic.”
“I work for you.”
“For now.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means if this investigation touches you or Lily, you stop working here until it’s safe.”
She immediately shook her head.
“No.”
That was not the response I expected.
“You need the salary?”
“Yes.”
Honest.
“But that isn't why.”
“What then?”
“I am not teaching Lily that powerful people solve problems by removing us from the room.”
That stopped me.
Mara continued:
“If there is danger, tell me enough to make my own choice.”
I looked at her.
That was not how my world normally operated.
People received instructions.
Security handled danger.
Information followed hierarchy.
And somehow Marcus Bell had spent fourteen years thriving inside that exact system.
“Fine.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“You sound unhappy.”
“I dislike reasonable people.”
“I’m starting to notice.”
I almost smiled.
Then Gabriel called.
“Boss.”
“Yes?”
“The stolen drive was copied.”
“Where?”
“Two destinations.”
“Marcus?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
A pause.
“Selene.”
I looked toward Mara.
May you like
The conspiracy no longer required assumptions.
My fiancée had copied the evidence herself.
