Chapter 1 - The Packet on Arthur's Desk
Victoria set Lily’s empty water cup on the library table and followed Arthur into the adjoining study.
“Show me.”
Arthur shut the door behind them.
Outside, uniformed officers were still taking statements from gala guests.
Inside, he opened a brown envelope and spread six pages across the desk.
Consulting invoices.
Wire transfers.
Emails.
Two zoning officials Victoria recognized.
A shell company she did not.
Arthur tapped one invoice.
“Read the legal coordination line.”
Victoria leaned closer.
HARRINGTON & LOWE LLP.
Her law firm.
Her chest tightened.
“We never represented this company.”
“I assumed.”
“Who is the client?”
Arthur turned the page.
BROOKSTONE CIVIC CONSULTING.
Victoria searched the name on her phone.
No website.
No staff.
A Delaware registration.
The listed address belonged to a mail drop outside Wilmington.
She looked back at the invoices.
Every payment ended strangely.
$43,812.17.
$9,400.17.
$61,775.17.
Her thumb stopped.
Arthur noticed.
“What?”
Victoria pulled one page closer.
Then another.
Then a third.
All ended in seventeen cents.
Her heart started beating harder.
Daniel used to do that.
Whenever he reviewed complicated reimbursement chains, he added seventeen cents to internal test transfers.
He called it his fingerprint.
A ridiculous private joke.
“If I ever get murdered by spreadsheets,” he once told her, “follow the seventeen cents.”
She had laughed.
Now her fingers went cold.
Arthur watched her.
“Victoria?”
“My husband marked transactions this way.”
Arthur frowned.
“Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“He died three years ago.”
“I know.”
She hated how small her voice sounded.
Arthur opened the packet’s metadata.
The documents had been printed that morning.
But several source files were older.
Three years older.
One PDF carried a creation date from four months before Daniel died.
Victoria pulled out her phone.
She searched Daniel’s old cloud archive.
Most of it had been locked after probate.
She still had the password.
LILY0421.
Her daughter’s birthday.
The folder opened.
Tax returns.
Family photos.
Medical bills.
Then one encrypted directory.
VANCE.
Victoria stared.
Arthur leaned closer.
“You’ve never seen that?”
“No.”
She opened it.
Password request.
One hint.
SEVENTEEN.
Her fingers moved.
0017.
Wrong.
17cents.
Wrong.
Arthur said, “What did Daniel call you?”
Victoria tried:
VIC17.
The folder unlocked.
A spreadsheet appeared.
Payments.
Vance Textile.
Consulting retainers.
Property purchases.
And the same odd seventeen-cent endings.
Her throat tightened.
At the bottom, Daniel had typed one line.
IF HARBOR HOUSE EVER USES THIS LAND, CHECK WAREHOUSE THREE FIRST.
Arthur pulled a chair closer.
“Warehouse Three?”
“The old Vance site has five buildings.”
“Which one is Three?”
Victoria opened the demolition plan.
The first structure scheduled for removal.
Monday morning.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
No caller ID.
She answered.
Silence.
Then Daniel’s recorded voice.
“Vic, if you ever hear the name Harbor House after I’m gone, don’t trust Charles.”
Victoria stopped breathing.
Arthur went pale.
Charles Baird.
Arthur’s oldest friend.
The recording continued.
“And whatever you do, don’t let them dig beneath Warehouse Three without police present.”
The message ended.
For three seconds, neither moved.
Then Arthur’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His face changed.
“What?”
He put the call on speaker.
A contractor’s voice came through.
“Mr. Pendleton, we’ve got a problem at the Fall River site.”
Arthur stood.
“What kind?”
“The demolition crew says they got revised approval.”
Victoria’s stomach dropped.
“Revised for when?”
The man swallowed.
“Tonight.”
Arthur looked at her.
Victoria was already grabbing her coat.
Then the contractor added:
“They’ve already started tearing into Warehouse Three.”
May you like
CUT.
