Chapter 2 - The Man in the Red Tie
Ethan moved before the call ended.
He took Lily’s hand with one hand and caught my elbow with the other. “Security office. Now.”
I stumbled once in my worn heels, then matched his pace through the station crowd.
The supervisor met us behind a coded door with two monitors frozen on black screens.
“They wiped the cloud copy,” he said. “But one local buffer hasn’t synced yet.”
He dragged a timeline backward.
At 7:38, Lily appeared beside a woman in a gray wool coat. Rachel, her aunt. Lily held the unicorn backpack against her stomach.
At 7:41, a man bumped Rachel hard enough to spin her sideways. A second person spilled coffee across her coat.
Rachel turned toward the restroom sign.
Lily was separated in less than nine seconds.
“That wasn’t random,” I said.
Ethan did not answer.
The supervisor changed camera angles.
A man stood beside a newspaper kiosk wearing a dark suit and a red tie. A blue Whitmore badge hung from his belt.
He never touched Lily.
He just watched.
Every fifteen or twenty seconds, he checked his watch.
Ethan leaned closer to the screen. “Eric Sloan.”
“Who is he?” I asked.
“Corporate security. Senior director.”
The man on-screen watched Rachel disappear into the restroom corridor. Then he looked directly toward the camera.
He smiled once.
The image froze.
The supervisor cursed under his breath. “That’s where the local buffer ends.”
Lily squeezed my fingers. I hadn’t realized she had taken my hand.
“He was there,” she whispered.
Ethan crouched beside her. “Did he talk to you?”
She shook her head. “He told another man, ‘We only need thirty minutes.’”
Ethan stood so fast his shoulder hit the desk.
He called his executive assistant.
“What happened at the board meeting?”
The voice on the other end answered too carefully.
“Ethan, where are you?”
“Answer me.”
“They convened at eight-thirty.”
“Without me?”
“The bylaws allowed an emergency chair because you didn’t answer.”
Ethan’s jaw flexed. “Who chaired?”
The supervisor and I both watched him.
His assistant exhaled.
“Graham Mercer.”
Ethan closed his eyes for half a second.
I had heard the name before. Anyone who followed Chicago finance had. Graham Mercer had been at Whitmore Capital almost as long as the Whitmore family itself.
“What vote?” Ethan asked.
“The Redbridge acquisition.”
“Did it pass?”
“Not yet. Graham called a recess because two directors challenged his authority.”
Ethan opened his eyes.
“Keep them in the room.”
He ended the call.
“Was Lily separated so you’d miss a meeting?” I asked.
“Maybe.”
“That sounds insane.”
“It would be insane if the deal were only what it looks like on paper.”
His phone buzzed again.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
One photograph.
It showed Rachel outside the station, walking toward a black SUV.
The timestamp was eight minutes old.
Under it were six words:
SHE LEFT WITH US VOLUNTARILY.
Lily saw the image over his arm.
Her face tightened.
“That’s not Aunt Rachel,” she said.
I looked closer.
The coat was Rachel’s.
May you like
The hair was not.
