Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN IN THE LIBRARY
Four security officers crossed the ballroom toward the east corridor.
Nobody tried to stop them.
Preston did.
“Wait.”
Every head turned.
He immediately realized his mistake.
Dad looked at him.
“Why?”
Preston forced a laugh.
“That wing is private.”
My father’s expression did not change.
“This entire estate is private.”
“I mean the Harrington Foundation stored confidential donor files there.”
“No, it didn’t.”
Preston swallowed.
Dad continued.
“The east library was locked before tonight’s event.”
That surprised me.
I looked at him.
“You knew?”
“I knew no guest had permission to enter it.”
Marcus spoke into his radio.
“Team Two, proceed.”
Preston moved again.
Two officers blocked him.
His voice rose.
“You can’t search rooms without a warrant.”
Dad glanced at him.
“I don’t need a warrant to open a room in my own house.”
The crowd began following at a distance.
Curiosity had replaced panic.
I went with my father.
The east corridor was quieter than the ballroom.
Portraits of old Arden relatives covered the walls.
Preston’s family had covered some of them with decorative banners for the gala.
That detail suddenly irritated me more than it should have.
At the end of the corridor stood two dark oak doors.
Security officers tried the handles.
Locked.
Marcus looked at Dad.
“Electronic access was overridden manually.”
“Open it.”
One officer entered a master code.
Nothing.
Another removed a narrow panel beside the door.
Twenty seconds later, the lock clicked.
The doors opened.
A woman stumbled out.
She was barefoot.
Her silver evening gown was torn at the shoulder.
Mascara stained her cheeks.
She looked around wildly until her eyes found Preston.
Then she stepped backward.
“No.”
Preston’s face turned gray.
The woman pointed at him with a shaking hand.
“Keep him away from me.”
Dad immediately removed his tuxedo jacket and handed it to her.
“What’s your name?”
“Rachel.”
Her breathing was shallow.
“Rachel Monroe.”
I recognized the name.
Rachel was an investigative reporter for the Chicago Ledger.
She had written several stories about political donations connected to the Harrington Foundation.
Two months earlier, her investigation had suddenly stopped.
Her editor claimed she had taken personal leave.
Rachel looked at me.
Then at the bruise beneath my eye.
“He hit you too?”
I nodded.
She closed her eyes.
“Oh, God.”
Preston finally found his voice.
“She’s unstable.”
Rachel flinched.
“She broke into that room.”
“I invited her.”
Everyone turned toward Dad.
Rachel did too.
Dad looked at her gently.
“You contacted my office three weeks ago.”
She stared at him.
Then slowly nodded.
My father continued.
“You said you had evidence involving illegal charitable transfers.”
Preston’s father had still not appeared.
That suddenly bothered me.
Senator Malcolm Harrington had been smiling for cameras less than twenty minutes earlier.
Now he was nowhere in sight.
I turned toward Marcus.
“Where is Senator Harrington?”
Marcus touched his earpiece.
His expression tightened.
“We’re looking.”
Preston interrupted.
“This is insane.”
Rachel laughed once.
It was a frightened sound.
“Tell them about the ledger.”
Preston’s jaw clenched.
“What ledger?”
“The one you took from me.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Rachel looked toward the library.
“My purse.”
One officer retrieved it.
Rachel opened it with trembling hands.
Empty.
Her face collapsed.
“No.”
She searched again.
Then again.
“It was there.”
“What?” I asked.
“A flash drive.”
Preston smiled.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
But I saw it.
So did my father.
Rachel looked at me.
“The Harrington Foundation has been moving charity money through shell corporations for years.”
The whispers behind us grew louder.
She continued.
“Millions.”
Preston shook his head.
“She’s lying.”
Rachel turned on him.
“I copied everything.”
“From where?”
She stopped.
Preston smiled.
“You see?”
Then my father spoke.
“From Arden Trust Bank.”
Preston’s smile vanished.
Dad looked at me.
“That is why I came tonight.”
My stomach tightened.
“You knew the Harrington Foundation was stealing?”
“I suspected.”
“How much?”
Dad looked at Rachel.
Rachel answered.
“Seventy-four million dollars.”
Several people gasped.
Preston backed away.
Dad’s voice became colder.
“And that is only what she found.”
Police sirens began sounding beyond the estate gates.
Relief should have followed.
Instead, Marcus suddenly lifted a hand to his earpiece.
His face changed.
“Sir.”
Dad looked at him.
“What now?”
Marcus stared toward the security monitors in the corridor.
“One vehicle is moving near the service road.”
“So stop it.”
“We can’t.”
“Why?”
Marcus looked at me.
Then back at Dad.
“Because whoever is driving it used your executive access code.”
My father went still.
Only three living people had that code.
Dad.
Me.
May you like
And my older brother, Nathan.
Nathan had died six years ago.
