Chapter 7: The Missing Recording
The message disappeared before I could respond.
Not because I deleted it.
Because the sender had used an encrypted application that erased itself.
Aaron studied my phone.
“This was planned.””
“No kidding.””
“No,” he said.
“I mean specifically planned. They wanted you to see it at this exact moment.””
Lena looked nervous.
“Why?””
“Because someone wants the investigation moving in a certain direction.””
I looked at the flash drive.
“Toward Daniel.””
Aaron nodded.
“Maybe.””
That answer frustrated me.
“Maybe?””
“Yes.””
“You just watched him admit he wanted control of my company.””
“I watched someone who looks like Daniel Pike say something incriminating.””
“That’s him.””
“Yes. But we still ask why the evidence appeared now.””
Omar leaned back.
“So you think someone is setting Daniel up?””
“I think someone is controlling the information flow.””
That was worse.
Because it meant every discovery could be another trap.
The next morning, we moved everything to the restaurant office.
Not because we trusted the building.
Because we trusted it more than the private dining room.
The Candy Wall incident had become public.
Guests had recorded the fight.
Employees had whispered.
By noon, the internet had created three different versions of what happened.
Version one:
I was an aggressive owner who attacked Vanessa after being embarrassed.
Version two:
Vanessa staged the entire thing to distract from financial wrongdoing.
Version three:
Everyone involved was corrupt.
The internet loved version three.
It required the least effort.
I stood in the empty dining room, looking at the tables.
The restaurant was closed for the investigation.
Every hour cost money.
Every employee sent home was a reminder.
Aaron walked in carrying a file.
“We found something.””
I turned.
“What?””
“The original lease archive.””
“Where?””
“Not where we expected.””
He placed the file down.
“Your former assistant’s storage account.””
My stomach tightened.
“My former assistant?””
“Rachel Moore.””
I knew the name.
She had worked with me two years earlier.
She left suddenly.
No explanation.
“I thought she moved overseas.””
“So did everyone.””
Aaron opened the file.
“She didn’t.””
Inside was a record of access.
Rachel had downloaded restaurant documents three days before leaving.
“Why?””
“That’s what we need to find out.””
Lena entered quietly.
“I found her.””
We looked at her.
“How?””
“She left a forwarding contact with payroll.””
Aaron raised an eyebrow.
“You had that?””
“I was operations director.””
Fair.
Lena handed me a note.
A phone number.
And one sentence.
*Rachel says she knows who changed the signature.*
We called.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
Then a message appeared.
Unknown number.
Not mine.
Lena’s.
She read it aloud.
“Stop looking.””
Nobody spoke.
Another message arrived.
*You don’t understand what you’re opening.*
Aaron looked at me.
“That’s not a threat.””
“It sounds like one.””
“No.””
He pointed at the phone.
“It’s fear.””
I frowned.
“What?””
“Whoever is sending these messages doesn’t want us to stop because they’re confident.””
He looked at the screen.
“They want us to stop because they’re afraid of what we’ll find.””
For the first time in days, I felt something other than anger.
Hope.
Small.
Fragile.
But real.
Then Rachel finally answered.
A woman’s voice.
Tired.
Whispering.
“Marcus?””
“Yes.””
A long pause.
“I’ve been waiting for you.””
“Where are you?””
“I can’t tell you.””
“Rachel, we need answers.””
“I know.””
Her voice shook.
“But if I tell you the truth, you’ll understand why Vanessa wasn’t the person you should have been watching.””
I looked at Aaron.
“Who was?””
Rachel went silent.
Then she said:
“The person who signed your contracts.””
My heart stopped.
“Me?””
“No.””
A pause.
May you like
“Someone who had your authority.””
The call ended.
