Chapter 7: The Man in the Cameras
The police arrived at Rossi Design Group within twelve minutes.
By then, Brandon was gone.
But he had left something behind.
His access badge.
It was lying on the floor outside my office.
I stared at it through the glass doors while an officer photographed everything.
Dad stood beside me.
“Why would he leave that?””
“To make us think he was careless,” Dad said.
“Or because he was.””
Dad looked at me.
“Brandon isn't careless.””
I remembered the look on his face outside the courthouse.
That flicker in his eyes.
That wasn't panic.
It was calculation.
Detective Harris, a broad-shouldered woman with silver-streaked hair, approached us.
“Ms. Rossi?””
“Yes.””
“I need to ask you a few questions.””
“Of course.””
She glanced at Dad.
“Mr. Rossi?””
“Dominic.””
“You're her father?””
“Yes.””
“And you were a federal investigator?””
“For thirty-one years.””
Detective Harris raised an eyebrow.
“That explains why you've already preserved the evidence.””
Dad shrugged.
“Old habits.””
She looked back at me.
“Does Brandon Hayes have keys to your office?””
“No.””
“Building access?””
“He did until today.””
“Computer credentials?””
“He shouldn't.””
“Shouldn't isn't the same as doesn't.””
I looked away.
“I understand.””
Detective Harris lowered her voice.
“Ms. Rossi, we're treating this as potential corporate fraud and unauthorized access. Don't contact your ex-husband.””
“I wasn't planning to.””
“Good.””
She handed me a card.
“If he contacts you, record everything.””
My phone buzzed.
All three of us looked down.
Unknown number.
A message appeared.
*You don't understand what you're doing.*
Another followed.
*Talk to your father before he destroys everything.*
Dad read it over my shoulder.
“Don't answer.””
A third message arrived.
*You think the money belongs to you?*
My heart pounded.
Dad took my phone.
“He's scared.””
I stared at him.
“He sounds threatening.””
“He's scared because he knows we're looking in the right place.””
Detective Harris nodded.
“Save every message.””
Then she walked away.
I turned to Dad.
“What does he mean, the money doesn't belong to me?””
Dad didn't answer immediately.
He looked through the glass wall toward my office.
“There's something you don't know about your company.””
“What?””
“Your mother.””
My chest tightened.
“Mom?””
“She invested in Rossi Design Group before you took over.””
“I know she gave me the business.””
“No.””
He turned toward me.
“She didn't give you the business.””
I waited.
“She built it.””
The hallway seemed to tilt.
“My mother?””
“Your mother started the firm with me. I was handling federal investigations. She was designing restaurants and hotels. The company grew slowly.””
Dad's voice softened.
“After she died, I put everything into a trust for you.””
I stared at him.
“Then why did I think Mom left me the company?””
“Because that's what I wanted you to believe.””
“Why?””
“Because your mother was investigating someone.””
My mouth went dry.
“Who?””
Dad looked at the police officers moving through the building.
“Your mother suspected someone was using the firm to move money.””
I shook my head.
“That's impossible. She died eleven years ago.””
“Yes.””
“And Brandon wasn't even working for me then.””
“No.””
“Then how could he be involved?””
Dad looked at me.
“He wasn't involved then.””
He paused.
“He was recruited later.””
My stomach twisted.
“By whom?””
Dad's phone rang.
He answered.
“Dominic.””
The voice on the other end spoke rapidly.
Dad's expression changed.
“What?””
He stepped away.
I watched him.
Two minutes later, he returned.
“The bank found another account.””
“What kind?””
“Investment account.””
“Mine?””
“No.””
He handed me his phone.
The screen showed an account statement.
The owner name was:
*Isabella Rossi Family Trust.*
I stared at it.
“That's Mom.””
“Yes.””
“But you said she didn't leave me the company.””
“I said she didn't give it to you.””
I looked up.
“What aren't you telling me?””
Dad's eyes were wet.
“For eleven years, I've been protecting an asset your mother left behind.””
“What asset?””
He swallowed.
“Evidence.””
My phone buzzed again.
This time it was a photograph.
A picture of a handwritten ledger.
At the top was my mother's handwriting.
*If anything happens to me, trust Dominic.*
Underneath were six names.
The first five meant nothing.
The sixth did.
*Brandon Hayes.*
I looked at Dad.
“He knew about this.””
May you like
Dad nodded.
“And now,” he said, “he knows we found it.””
