Chapter 2 - THE MAN I CALLED BROTHER
Daniel Reeve had been there when I had nothing.
That was what made betrayal so difficult to recognize.
Enemies announce themselves eventually.
Friends are allowed inside.
Daniel had been my college roommate for one semester before both of us dropped out.
I left because I couldn't afford tuition.
Daniel left because he said classrooms moved too slowly.
We spent the next year sleeping on opposite sides of a two-bedroom apartment with a broken air conditioner and cockroaches that apparently had better credit than we did.
When I started Sloane Infrastructure, it wasn't called Sloane Infrastructure.
It was two men, a rented pickup truck, a secondhand concrete mixer, and a stack of unpaid invoices.
Daniel handled the numbers.
I handled everything else.
When banks rejected me, Daniel convinced an uncle to lend us twenty thousand dollars.
When our first major client delayed payment and I couldn't make payroll, Daniel sold his motorcycle.
I had once told Claire that if Daniel ever needed a kidney, I would give him one without asking why.
Now Detective Ortiz was telling me his phone number had sent a message connected to the poisoning of my wife.
“Call him,” I said.
Ortiz shook her head.
“No.”
“I can get him here.”
“And warn him.”
“He won't know I know.”
“He's known you nearly twenty years.”
“So?”
“So you think you're going to fool him while your wife is in intensive care?”
She was right.
I hated that she was right.
“Then what do we do?”
“We find Vanessa first.”
“She was in the garage.”
“She was.”
“What happened?”
“She was found beside her car.”
My stomach dropped.
“Is she hurt?”
“No.”
“Then where is she?”
“Being interviewed.”
“You said she might be running from Daniel.”
“I said nothing of the kind.”
“You showed me the message.”
“I showed you evidence.”
The detective's patience was beginning to thin.
“You are emotionally involved in every part of this case, Mr. Sloane. That makes you useful for context and dangerous for conclusions.”
“Claire said Vanessa didn't do it.”
“She said two words after nearly dying.”
“She knows Vanessa.”
“And apparently she knows Daniel.”
The name felt poisonous in my mouth.
Detective Ortiz led me toward a private waiting room.
“Sit.”
“I don't want to sit.”
“Then stand.”
She closed the door.
“There's something else.”
I laughed once without humor.
“Of course there is.”
“We searched the box.”
“And?”
“Most of the products appear legitimate.”
“Most?”
“The silver container doesn't match the rest of the packaging.”
“What does that mean?”
“No manufacturer markings. No batch label. Nothing.”
“Homemade?”
“Possibly.”
“Vanessa brought it.”
“She says she didn't.”
I stared at her.
“She opened the box in front of me.”
“She claims the silver container was already inside.”
“And who ordered the package?”
“According to her, your wife.”
“Claire wouldn't order something through Vanessa.”
“Why not?”
“Because Claire shops online like a normal person.”
Ortiz almost smiled.
“Billionaires do that?”
“My wife does.”
I remembered Claire sitting in bed two months earlier ordering baby blankets and complaining about shipping charges.
Yes.
She absolutely would have ordered it herself.
She wouldn't call Vanessa for a wellness package.
“Vanessa's lying.”
“About something.”
“What did she tell you?”
Ortiz didn't answer.
“Detective.”
She studied me.
Then opened the door.
“Come with me.”
Vanessa was sitting in another room.
Her makeup had been wiped away beneath one eye.
She looked less polished now.
More human.
More frightened.
The second she saw me, she stood.
“Mason.”
Detective Ortiz remained between us.
Vanessa's hands were shaking.
“I didn't poison Claire.”
“Then why did you leave?”
“I didn't leave.”
“Your phone was in the garage.”
“Because someone told me to go there.”
“Daniel?”
Her eyes widened.
So she hadn't known we'd seen the message.
“Mason, listen to me.”
“Was it Daniel?”
She looked at Ortiz.
The detective said nothing.
Vanessa lowered her voice.
“Yes.”
That answer hurt more than I expected.
“Why?”
“He told me he needed to speak privately.”
“About what?”
“He didn't say.”
“And you just went?”
“He's the CFO of the company.”
“He's also my best friend.”
“I know.”
“Did Daniel tell you to bring that box?”
“No.”
“Did Daniel put the silver container inside?”
“I don't know.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
Vanessa looked toward the ceiling.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then tears filled her eyes.
“I've been moving money for him.”
The room became silent.
“What?”
“Not personally.”
“Vanessa.”
“I processed documents.”
“What documents?”
“Vendor authorizations.”
I took a step toward her.
“How much?”
“I don't know.”
“Don't lie to me.”
“Millions.”
My body went cold.
“How many millions?”
She swallowed.
“More than forty.”
That number hit me like a punch.
Detective Ortiz watched me carefully.
“Mr. Sloane?”
I barely heard her.
Forty million dollars.
Claire's words from three weeks earlier returned.
Something doesn't add up.
“What vendors?”
Vanessa answered quietly.
“Mostly disaster-recovery subcontractors.”
The Sloane Foundation worked beside the company after hurricanes, floods, tornadoes.
We rebuilt homes.
Schools.
Community centers.
We used some of the same contractors.
Claire reviewed charitable spending.
She would have seen irregularities.
“Claire found it.”
Vanessa started crying.
“I think so.”
“You knew?”
“Not until last week.”
“What happened last week?”
“Daniel came into my office after everyone left. He asked whether Claire had requested copies of certain vendor records.”
“And?”
“I said yes.”
“What did he do?”
“He became angry.”
“Daniel doesn't become angry.”
“I know.”
That was true.
I had seen Daniel lose contracts, lawsuits, and millions of dollars without raising his voice.
Vanessa wiped her face.
“He asked exactly what she had requested.”
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth.”
“Which was?”
“Payment histories. Vendor ownership documents. Wire authorizations. Your digital approvals.”
I stared at her.
“My approvals?”
She nodded.
“I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“Some of the transfers were authorized with your credentials.”
“I didn't authorize forty million dollars.”
“I know that now.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Her face crumpled.
“Because Daniel told me you did.”
I looked away.
For seven years Vanessa had controlled access to my schedule, files, and private correspondence.
If Daniel wanted to hide transactions, he couldn't have chosen a better person to manipulate.
But something still didn't fit.
“The box.”
Vanessa shook her head.
“I picked it up downstairs because the receptionist said it had Claire's name on it.”
“Who delivered it?”
“I don't know.”
“You opened it.”
“Yes.”
“You poured the drink.”
“Because there was a card.”
“What card?”
She looked at Detective Ortiz.
“I already told you.”
The detective nodded.
Vanessa continued.
“It said, ‘For after delivery. You earned this. Love, M.’”
My heart stopped.
“M?”
Vanessa nodded.
“She thought it was from you.”
Of course she did.
Mason.
I felt suddenly sick.
“Where's the card?”
“I left it in the box.”
Detective Ortiz's phone rang.
She answered.
“Ortiz.”
Her expression changed.
“When?”
She looked at me.
“Secure it.”
She ended the call.
“What?”
“The card isn't there.”
Vanessa stood.
“It was.”
“It wasn't found.”
“Someone removed it.”
Ortiz looked toward the hallway.
Only family and staff had been near the room.
And Daniel hadn't come to the hospital.
At least, not that I knew of.
“Where is Daniel right now?” I asked.
Vanessa looked at me.
“He was coming here.”
“What?”
“He texted me before telling me to go to the garage.”
She reached toward the evidence bag holding her phone.
Ortiz stopped her.
“What did he say?”
Vanessa's voice dropped.
“He said he needed to clean up the mess.”
Every protective instinct in my body exploded at once.
I pushed past the detective.
“Mason!”
I ran toward the nursery.
Three babies.
My babies.
If Claire had discovered Daniel's theft, they might be evidence of nothing.
But they were leverage against me.
The maternity hallway seemed impossibly long.
Two officers were already near the nursery doors.
“Mr. Sloane!”
“Don't let anyone inside.”
“They're secure.”
“Daniel Reeve. If he comes anywhere near this floor—”
“We know.”
I stopped at the glass.
Three bassinets stood beneath warm lights.
Noah.
Lily.
Grace.
Each tiny wrist wore a hospital identification band.
My hands began shaking.
Claire had almost died bringing them into the world.
Now I didn't know who I could trust to stand within fifty feet of them.
A nurse approached.
“Mr. Sloane?”
“Yes?”
“There's something strange.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“What?”
“When the babies were admitted to the nursery, we scanned their identification bands.”
“And?”
“All three were correct.”
“Okay.”
“But about twenty minutes ago, the system flagged an attempted change.”
“What kind of change?”
The nurse looked deeply unsettled.
“Someone tried to authorize the transfer of your children to another facility.”
I stared at her.
“What facility?”
“Private neonatal transport.”
“They're healthy.”
“I know.”
“Who requested it?”
“We're checking.”
Then the nurse turned her tablet around.
The authorization appeared on the screen.
At the bottom was my electronic signature.
A perfect copy.
Just like the signatures attached to forty million dollars in stolen company funds.
Except this wasn't money.
May you like
These were my children.
And someone had just tried to take all three of them out of the hospital.
