Chapter 4 - THE SIGNATURE THAT PUT ME IN THE WRONG CAR
"That's your signature?"
Adele's question sounded almost like an accusation.
I stared at the document.
"Yes."
Maria stepped away from my wheelchair.
For a moment, I understood exactly what she was thinking.
Her husband had died trying to expose something connected to my organization.
Now she was standing beside a man whose signature had allowed the dangerous vehicle into the garage.
"Maria," I said, "I didn't order anyone to hurt Tomas."
She looked at me.
"Did you know him?"
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it.
I remembered his name from Gordon's investigation.
The dishonest mechanic.
The desperate employee.
The man supposedly paid to sabotage my brakes.
But before that?
Nothing.
And that realization ashamed me.
Tomas Reyes had worked around my vehicles for nearly six years. He'd probably passed me in the garage dozens of times.
I hadn't known his face.
Yet I'd been willing to believe he was a murderer.
"No," I admitted. "I didn't know him."
Maria's eyes filled.
"He knew you."
I looked up.
"He used to tell me you treated your cars better than yourself. He said you were strict, but always paid your mechanics on time."
She touched the old winter coat.
"He said you once paid for an employee's mother's surgery without telling anybody."
I remembered that.
It had been Gordon's suggestion.
Or so I'd believed.
"After Tomas was accused," Maria continued, "I waited for someone from your office to ask me what happened. Nobody came."
I felt something heavier than shame.
Responsibility.
Adele interrupted gently.
"Daniel, we need to understand this authorization."
She pointed to the document's identification number.
"It's from a security policy introduced four years ago. You signed a standing waiver. Someone attached that signature to a later vehicle-transfer order."
I looked closer.
The upper half was printed on newer paper.
The signature section came from an older carbon-copy form.
Someone had physically assembled the authorization from two different documents.
That explained why my signature was genuine.
But it raised another question.
Who had access to my old security files?
Gordon.
My executive office.
And a small number of senior associates.
Including Charles Beaumont.
I examined the photographs Tomas had hidden.
The first showed my original armored SUV inside the Harrison garage.
The second showed a replacement SUV arriving on a flatbed.
The third showed a white delivery truck parked beside it.
Its side carried the words:
BEAUMONT OUTREACH SERVICES.
Charles Beaumont operated a transportation company.
He also funded medical outreach programs.
Including deliveries for Mercy Children's Hospital.
I turned the photograph over.
Tomas had written:
Wednesday, 6:18 p.m. They said this truck was bringing donated equipment. Why did it go into the security garage?
Adele examined the truck.
"Hospital deliveries had access to the service entrance. Gordon approved an exception that month."
Another piece of the puzzle moved into place.
Gordon had authorized the delivery route.
Charles controlled the truck.
My signature had opened the garage.
And Tomas had been killed before he could tell anyone.
I looked at Maria.
"Did your husband ever mention Charles Beaumont?"
She hesitated.
"Once."
"What did he say?"
"He told me a rich man had offered him enough money to move us somewhere beautiful."
"For what?"
"He wouldn't tell me. But he came home angry and said some things weren't worth any amount of money."
I glanced at Adele.
"Find out who drove that truck."
She nodded.
Then her phone vibrated with a security notification.
She read it and frowned.
"What?"
"Someone tried accessing the garage's archived security system thirty minutes ago."
"Who?"
"The login belongs to Gordon."
I wasn't surprised.
Until she continued.
"The request came from inside your mansion."
I stared at her.
"Gordon left."
"His car left," Adele corrected. "That doesn't mean he did."
My phone buzzed with a message from Mrs. Ellis.
I opened it.
Mr. Harrison, Lily is awake. She's asking for her mother. Also, Mr. Beaumont has requested that Maria's employment be terminated immediately.
I read the message twice.
Charles had no authority to fire my employees.
Why would he interfere with a housekeeper he'd supposedly never met?
Then another message arrived.
This one included a photograph from the mansion's security monitor.
Charles Beaumont stood outside the guest hallway.
Beside him was Eleanor Whitfield.
And Eleanor was holding Lily's blue music box.
I looked at Maria.
"We're going home."
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Because someone had finally understood what that little girl was carrying.
And they were trying to take it away.
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