Chapter 5: The Man Who Knew Too Much
I didn't answer Adrian Cole immediately.
I stood beside my car, watching people cross the hospital parking lot while his question hung between us.
He wanted to discuss the presentation I'd missed.
The presentation that had cost me my job.
The presentation that had been intended for a subsidiary of the company controlled by the woman I'd helped that morning.
And now one of its senior executives was calling me personally.
"How did you get my number?"" I asked.
"Mrs. Hawthorne's office provided it.""
That answer should have reassured me.
Instead, it raised another question.
"Does she know you're calling?""
A brief pause followed.
"She knows we're reviewing the circumstances surrounding this morning's meeting.""
It wasn't the same as saying yes.
I leaned against my car.
"What exactly do you want from me?""
"I'd like to hear your account of the missed presentation. Our team has received conflicting information.""
I frowned.
"Conflicting information? I was late. I explained why. My employer fired me.""
"That is not entirely what I've been told.""
My stomach tightened.
"What have you been told?""
"That you failed to attend a critical client meeting without notifying anyone.""
"I called emergency services when an elderly woman collapsed in front of me. I arrived at the office as quickly as I could.""
"Did you inform your employer that you would be late?""
"No. I was helping someone who couldn't breathe. I didn't have time to call Gavin.""
"Mr. Gavin?""
"Gavin Mercer. He's the director of the agency.""
Adrian was silent for a moment.
Then he said, "I see.""
I disliked the way he said it.
As if he were fitting a piece into a puzzle I couldn't see.
"Mr. Cole, if you want an explanation for why I missed the meeting, I've given you one. I don't know what else I can tell you.""
"Perhaps you could tell me about the presentation itself.""
I glanced toward the hospital entrance.
"I spent weeks preparing it. The campaign strategy, the market research, the budget, the delivery schedule. Everything was ready.""
"And you developed the proposal personally?""
"I led the team that developed it.""
"Was there anything unusual about the final version?""
I thought about the previous evening.
Gavin had called me shortly before eleven and demanded several changes to the financial projections.
He'd insisted that certain figures be adjusted to make the projected results more attractive.
At the time, I'd assumed he wanted a stronger presentation.
Now, after seeing Margaret's documents, I wasn't so sure.
"There were some last-minute revisions," I said.
"What kind of revisions?""
"Changes to the projected return on investment and the campaign timeline.""
"Who requested those changes?""
"Gavin.""
"Did you agree with them?""
I hesitated.
"Some of them were reasonable. Others seemed optimistic.""
"Optimistic in what way?""
"The proposed results depended on a delivery schedule that I didn't believe we could guarantee.""
Adrian said nothing.
I continued.
"I recommended a more conservative forecast, but Gavin wanted the larger numbers.""
"Did you put your name on the final presentation?""
"Yes.""
"Even though you disagreed with parts of it?""
I closed my eyes.
"I thought the assumptions could be supported if the project received the resources we'd discussed.""
"That isn't quite the same thing.""
"No," I admitted.
"It isn't.""
Another pause.
Then Adrian said, "I'd like to see your original working files.""
I straightened.
"Why?""
"Because we need to understand how the proposal changed between the initial draft and the final version.""
I stared at the parking lot.
I had no reason to distrust him, but I had even less reason to trust someone I had never met who was asking me to provide internal company records.
"I don't have access to the agency's systems anymore.""
"Do you have copies of your own work?""
"I have some personal notes and drafts, but I won't share confidential company information without understanding the purpose and having the proper authorization.""
For the first time, Adrian sounded almost amused.
"That's a sensible answer.""
"I'm trying to be sensible.""
"I appreciate that.""
He paused again.
"Would you be willing to meet with me tomorrow morning?""
I looked at my car.
My personal belongings were still sitting on the passenger seat.
I had a family to support, a job to find, and no idea what I was supposed to tell Emily about the woman who seemed to have stepped out of nowhere and into the center of my life.
"Where?""
"Hawthorne Global's headquarters.""
I almost laughed.
"You want me to come to your headquarters?""
"Yes.""
"To discuss a presentation I wasn't allowed to give?""
"To discuss the circumstances surrounding it.""
I rubbed my forehead.
"Mr. Cole, I don't work for you.""
"Not currently.""
The words were delivered so casually that I almost missed their significance.
"What does that mean?""
"It means Mrs. Hawthorne has taken an interest in your situation.""
"She doesn't know me.""
"She knows enough to ask questions.""
I thought of the papers in Margaret's room.
The irregular dates.
The suspicious project approvals.
The list of canceled accounts.
"What kind of questions?""
"Questions about how our communications projects are managed, and why certain accounts have experienced unusual problems.""
I felt a chill run down my spine.
"Are you suggesting my agency is connected to those problems?""
"I'm suggesting we should examine the facts before drawing conclusions.""
I had heard enough.
"I'll think about it.""
"Of course. I'll send you the meeting details.""
The call ended.
I stood beside the car for several minutes, trying to decide whether the conversation had been an opportunity or a warning.
Then I got in and drove home.
Emily was waiting in the kitchen when I arrived.
She had taken the day off from her usual routine, and the girls were at school.
The moment I walked through the door, she came toward me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders.
I held her tightly.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then she stepped back and studied my face.
"How was she?""
"Stable. Tired, but stable.""
"And?""
I put my laptop bag on the table.
"And she's Margaret Hawthorne.""
Emily blinked.
"As in Hawthorne Global?""
I nodded.
She stared at me.
"Chris, are you serious?""
"Completely.""
She sat down slowly.
I told her about the conversation in the hospital, the documents, and the unexplained problems within the company's communications division.
I also told her about Adrian Cole's phone call.
When I finished, Emily leaned back in her chair.
"This is unbelievable.""
"Tell me about it.""
"What do you think she wants from you?""
"I honestly don't know.""
"Could she be offering you a job?""
"Maybe. But she hasn't offered me anything.""
Emily studied me.
"And you want to go to the meeting?""
I looked at the photograph of our daughters sticking out of my wallet.
Part of me wanted to forget the entire day.
I wanted to search for another job, rebuild my routine, and never hear Gavin's name again.
But another part of me couldn't stop thinking about the documents Margaret had shown me.
Those records didn't look like simple administrative errors.
And if someone was deliberately misrepresenting the results of major business projects, innocent employees might be losing their jobs because of it.
People might be getting blamed for failures they hadn't caused.
I knew what that felt like.
"I think I should hear what they have to say," I replied.
Emily reached across the table and took my hand.
"Then go.""
"What if it's a mistake? What if I'm getting pulled into something I don't understand?""
"Then you ask questions.""
"What if they expect me to fix something I can't fix?""
"Then you tell them the truth.""
She squeezed my hand.
"Chris, you spent years doing everything your boss asked because you thought that was how you protected our family. Maybe this is your chance to decide what kind of work you actually want to do.""
I looked at her.
"What if I fail?""
"Then we'll deal with it together.""
Her confidence gave me enough courage to agree to the meeting.
The next morning, I arrived at Hawthorne Global headquarters fifteen minutes early.
The building rose above the surrounding streets, its glass exterior reflecting the pale morning sky.
I wore my best suit, carried a notebook, and brought only the documents I could legitimately share.
At the reception desk, I gave my name.
The receptionist checked her screen and smiled.
"Mr. Christopher? Mr. Cole is expecting you.""
She handed me a visitor badge.
A few moments later, a man in a charcoal suit approached.
He was tall, perhaps in his early fifties, with neatly combed dark hair and a watch that looked more expensive than my car.
"Christopher?""
"Yes.""
"Adrian Cole.""
We shook hands.
His grip was firm, his smile polite.
He led me through a series of glass corridors into a conference room overlooking the city.
Several people were already seated around the table.
A woman with a tablet.
A man from the legal department.
Another executive whose name I didn't recognize.
And at the far end of the room sat Margaret Hawthorne.
She was no longer wearing a hospital gown.
Her gray hair was neatly styled, and she wore a simple cream-colored jacket over a dark blouse.
She looked tired, but her eyes were sharp.
When I entered, she smiled.
"Good morning, Christopher.""
"Good morning.""
Adrian gestured toward an empty chair.
"Please sit.""
I took my seat and placed my notebook on the table.
Adrian began by explaining that the company was reviewing several troubled communications contracts.
He presented a summary of missed deadlines, disputed invoices, and performance reports that didn't match the information supplied by clients.
I recognized several patterns from the documents Margaret had shown me.
Then he brought up the presentation from my former agency.
The projected return on investment was significantly higher than the figure I'd originally recommended.
The delivery schedule had been shortened.
And several performance assumptions had been changed.
I leaned toward the screen.
"That isn't how I originally calculated it.""
Adrian turned toward me.
"You're certain?""
"Yes. The original forecast was more conservative.""
"Can you explain the difference?""
I walked them through the calculations.
The initial proposal had been based on achievable audience growth, realistic conversion rates, and a delivery schedule that accounted for production delays.
The final version assumed faster implementation and substantially better results.
Those improvements weren't impossible, but they required resources and approvals that hadn't been secured.
"Who authorized the final figures?"" the legal representative asked.
"Gavin Mercer.""
"Did you raise concerns?""
"Yes.""
"What happened?""
"He told me the client wanted ambition, not excuses.""
The room fell silent.
Margaret watched me carefully.
"Did you believe the proposal was misleading?""
I considered my answer.
"I believed it was too optimistic. I didn't know whether it was intentionally misleading.""
"That's an important distinction," she said.
Adrian changed the screen.
A new document appeared.
It contained an email chain between several employees at my former agency and someone within Hawthorne Global.
My eyes moved down the page.
Then stopped.
One name appeared repeatedly in the correspondence.
Gavin Mercer.
I felt my stomach tighten.
Adrian pointed toward a particular message.
"This email was sent three weeks ago. It appears to confirm a change in the proposed delivery schedule.""
I read the message twice.
The wording was carefully vague.
But one sentence stood out.
The revised projections should satisfy the review team, provided the original assumptions remain out of the final submission.
I looked up.
"Who wrote this?""
Adrian didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he glanced toward the legal representative, who nodded once.
Then Adrian turned back to me.
"The message came from an account associated with your former employer.""
"Whose account?""
He enlarged the sender details.
I recognized the address.
It belonged to Gavin.
But the recipient's name was someone I had never expected to see connected to my former boss.
May you like
Someone inside Hawthorne Global.
And as I leaned closer to the screen, I realized that the suspicious changes to my presentation might have been only one part of a much larger scheme.
