Chapter Four — Victor’s Ledger
Daniel Kim gave his statement from a protected medical room.
He described entering the gala office at six fifteen that evening.
Grant stood beside the hidden server console.
Councilman Sloane was pouring whiskey.
Senator Ellis was holding a black folder.
They were arguing about Victor.
According to Daniel, the senator said, “If Victor releases the archive, every person in this room becomes a liability.”
Sloane answered, “Then Holloway needs to handle him.”
Grant became angry.
He told them he had already paid Victor twice.
Then the office door opened and Daniel was ordered out.
“Did you see a last name?” Agent Reyes asked.
Daniel thought for a moment.
“There was a label on the folder.”
“What did it say?”
“V. Mercer.”
The name struck me immediately.
Victor Mercer had been the chief financial officer of the Holloway Children’s Initiative.
He resigned six months earlier.
Three weeks later, his car was found abandoned near a river.
Police assumed he had disappeared voluntarily after embezzling funds.
Grant publicly called him a thief.
The newspapers repeated it.
No body was found.
I had requested Victor’s employment records while investigating the charity.
The files had been unusually clean.
Too clean.
“Victor copied the accounts,” I said.
Agent Reyes nodded.
“And disappeared before Grant could recover them.”
My father contacted Hawthorne intelligence analysts.
Within minutes, they found the old police report.
Victor’s wife had died years earlier.
No children.
No close relatives.
He owned a small cabin in West Virginia and an apartment downtown.
Both had been searched.
Nothing was found.
“Find every property connected to his mother,” I said.
Agent Reyes looked at me.
“Why his mother?”
“Because Grant would search what Victor owned. Not what he inherited indirectly or kept in someone else’s name.”
The search produced one result.
A storage unit registered to Victor’s late mother had remained active for eleven years.
The payments came from a prepaid account.
Federal agents were dispatched immediately.
While they traveled, the first guests were released from the ballroom.
Not the politicians.
Not Grant’s known associates.
Only those whose identities and statements had been verified.
Every phone was digitally copied under warrant when relevant.
Every vehicle was inspected.
By three in the morning, fewer than sixty people remained.
Grant was brought into an interview room.
I watched through one-way glass with Agent Reyes.
He sat at the table without a lawyer.
That surprised me.
Men like Grant rarely spoke without legal protection.
But arrogance often made powerful people believe they could control the conversation.
Agent Reyes entered.
“Do you know Victor Mercer?”
Grant leaned back.
“He stole from my foundation.”
“Did he copy your financial records?”
“He stole them.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your hidden server collected information on tonight’s guests.”
Grant smiled faintly.
“That server doesn’t belong to me.”
“Who does it belong to?”
“No idea.”
“Someone attempted to poison a witness tonight.”
That removed the smile.
Only for a second.
But enough.
“You know about it,” Agent Reyes said.
“I know nothing.”
“Then why are you afraid?”
“I’m not.”
“You looked afraid.”
“You see what you want to see.”
Agent Reyes placed a photograph of Victor on the table.
“Who was he threatening?”
Grant looked at the photograph.
Then toward the mirrored wall.
Toward me.
“He thought he was smarter than everyone.”
“What did he copy?”
“Ask him.”
“We will.”
That answer was too confident.
Grant believed Victor was dead.
Agent Reyes understood it too.
“What happened at the river?” she asked.
Grant’s expression hardened.
“I wasn’t there.”
“I didn’t ask whether you were.”
He stopped speaking.
An hour later, agents reached the storage unit.
Inside they found furniture, boxes of old clothing, and a rusted filing cabinet.
At first, there appeared to be nothing useful.
Then an agent noticed that the back wall was several inches shallower than the unit beside it.
Behind a removable panel, they discovered a waterproof case.
Inside were three encrypted drives.
A handwritten ledger.
And a video recording from Victor Mercer.
The video began with Victor sitting in a dim room.
He looked exhausted.
“My name is Victor Mercer,” he said. “If this recording is being watched, I am either missing or dead.”
The room around me became silent.
Victor continued.
“The Holloway Children’s Initiative is part of a larger operation known internally as the Circle.”
He held up a list of names.
Politicians.
Judges.
Executives.
Police officials.
Media owners.
Charity directors.
At the bottom of the page was a name I recognized.
Senator Margaret Ellis.
But Grant Holloway was not at the top.
A different name was.
Someone who had not attended the gala.
Someone my father had trusted for more than twenty years.
Charles Voss.
May you like
The vice chairman of Hawthorne International.
My father’s oldest friend.
