Chapter 4 - The Man Who Followed My Wife"Victor, why were you following Corinne?"
"I was instructed to keep an eye on her."
"By whom?"
"Your business partner, Mr. Bell. But that's not the part you need to worry about."
Victor Hale had been with Keaton Development for seven years.
A former military police officer, he handled executive protection, construction-site security, and sensitive investigations.
I trusted him with access to my properties and the safety of my employees.
Until that night, I had believed his loyalty belonged to me.
We met in the parking lot of a twenty-four-hour diner off Harding Pike.
Victor arrived in a gray pickup, wearing a dark jacket and a baseball cap.
He looked tired.
"Who took that video?" I demanded.
"Probably someone working for the same people who sent it to you."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
I held up my phone.
"You were following my wife with a newborn baby."
Victor studied the screen.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Marcus told me there was a possible extortion threat against the family."
I stared at him.
"Extortion?"
"He said someone might use Mrs. Keaton and the baby to pressure you during the financing negotiations."
"Did you believe him?"
"At first."
"And now?"
Victor looked toward the restaurant windows.
"Three days ago, Marcus asked me to photograph every person Mrs. Keaton met. He wanted vehicle registrations, addresses, and copies of any documents she carried."
My jaw tightened.
"What did you do?"
"I refused to retrieve the documents. I reported the surveillance request to the company's outside security counsel and told Marcus I wouldn't continue."
"Then why were you at the clinic?"
"That footage is from before I stopped."
I looked down at the phone.
"So who's watching her now?"
Victor hesitated.
"Someone who doesn't mind doing what I refused."
He reached into his jacket and produced a sealed envelope.
"These are the surveillance instructions Marcus sent me."
I didn't take it.
"What am I supposed to do with that?"
"Give it to your attorney. I kept the originals and already provided copies to the investigators."
"You went to the police?"
"Yes."
I felt betrayed.
Then I remembered Corinne and Owen in the garage.
And I realized how completely I had lost the right to demand loyalty from anyone.
Victor placed the envelope on the hood of my car.
"Mr. Keaton, I'm going to tell you something you probably won't like."
"Go ahead."
"Your wife was frightened long before you left for Atlanta."
I looked at him.
"What makes you say that?"
"Because she asked me to check the locks on the nursery windows."
"When?"
"Two weeks before Owen was born."
My stomach dropped.
"Why?"
"She said someone had been inside the house while she was gone."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"Nothing was stolen. But a cabinet in your office had been opened, and a folder containing her trust records had been moved."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Mrs. Keaton asked me not to."
"Why?"
Victor's expression softened.
"She said she wasn't sure she could trust the person who was supposed to protect her."
Those words followed me all the way home.
I didn't sleep.
At 3:18 in the morning, I sat in my office and began opening the locked filing cabinets.
Corinne had warned me not to move anything until I read her letter.
I had read it.
Now I wanted answers.
In the bottom drawer, beneath construction contracts and insurance policies, I found a folder labeled RIVERGATE PHASE III.
Inside were financial projections I had never seen.
The project was supposed to transform a neglected industrial district into a luxury waterfront neighborhood.
Hotels.
Condominiums.
Retail development.
Public parks.
I had announced it at an investor conference two years earlier.
The financial statements showed projected sales of more than two hundred million dollars.
But beneath the projections were environmental reports.
Groundwater contamination.
Unstable soil.
Remediation costs far beyond our original estimates.
And a handwritten note.
Do not release final assessment until after closing.
The handwriting belonged to Marcus.
I kept reading.
One report estimated that significant additional remediation might cost forty-six million dollars.
Another showed that Marcus had authorized payments to an environmental consultant who had subsequently revised the risk classification.
My hands began to shake.
Had he been concealing problems from investors?
And how much had I chosen not to know?
I remembered every meeting where Marcus told me the problems were manageable.
Every document I signed without reading carefully.
Every time I dismissed Corinne when she questioned why our company needed another loan.
Then I found a smaller folder.
It contained an insurance application bearing my electronic signature.
The covered property was the Rivergate construction site.
The beneficiary was a holding company I didn't recognize.
And attached to the back was a photograph of an old brick warehouse.
A warehouse scheduled for demolition.
Written beneath the image were four words.
Clear the building Friday.
I checked the date.
Friday was tomorrow.
Then my phone rang.
Victor.
His voice sounded urgent.
"Mr. Keaton, I need you to listen."
"What happened?"
"Someone just used your security authorization to access the Rivergate warehouse."
"Who?"
"Two men."
"Do you recognize them?"
"No."
I looked at the photograph.
"Why are they there?"
May you like
Victor's next words made me forget how to breathe.
"Because according to the occupancy records, there are still fourteen families living inside."
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