Chapter 5 - The Man Everyone Feared Handed Me His Phone

At five in the morning, trust became a luxury none of us could afford.

Rachel sat near the fireplace with a towel pressed to her temple.

Hannah stood beside me.

Mason remained near the door.

No one looked comfortable.

“Explain,” I said.

Mason held Rachel’s gaze. “Which code?”

“Six digits. Temporary contractor access. Your company installed the building system last year.”

“I don’t install security systems.”

“One of your subsidiaries does.”

“That doesn’t mean I have your code.”

Rachel pulled out her phone.

She opened an alert from her apartment building.

ENTRY LOG: MASTER SERVICE CREDENTIAL 447201.

Mason’s expression sharpened.

“That code was deactivated eight months ago.”

“It opened my door tonight.”

“Then someone reactivated it.”

“Who can do that?”

“Three administrators.”

“Names?”

He took out his phone.

For the next two minutes he did something Ethan never had.

He showed us everything.

No performance.

No outrage.

He called his head of security on speaker at 5:07 a.m.

A groggy voice answered.

Mason gave the credential number.

Keyboard sounds followed.

“That code was re-enabled yesterday at 3:18 p.m.,” the man said.

“By whom?”

Pause.

“User account RLang.”

Mason’s jaw tightened.

“Russell Lang?”

“Yes.”

“Terminate his system access. Freeze his company credentials. Do not contact him.”

“Problem?”

“Yes.”

Mason ended the call.

“Who is Russell?” I asked.

“My regional facilities director.”

Rachel laughed without humor.

“So your employee entered my apartment.”

“Or his credentials did.”

“You really do love that distinction.”

“When facts matter, yes.”

I understood why people found Mason difficult.

I also understood why Ethan had been unable to talk circles around him.

“What connects Russell to Ethan?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Voss?”

Mason looked at me.

Then he unlocked his phone and handed it over.

“Search anything you want.”

I almost refused.

Instead I took it.

His messages were not dramatic.

Contracts.

Drivers.

Security reports.

A text from his mother reminding him about a cardiology appointment.

Several from Ethan.

I opened those.

The friendship looked older than I expected.

Jokes from years ago.

Photos from college.

Arguments about business.

Then the tone changed.

Nine months earlier:

Ethan: I need a bridge loan.

Mason: No.

Ethan: 90 days.

Mason: Last one took 11 months and three lawyers.

Ethan: I’m good for it.

Mason: That stopped being persuasive two loans ago.

Farther down:

Ethan: Voss offered better terms.

Mason: Don’t take money from Calvin Voss.

Ethan: Why?

Mason: Because he doesn’t lend. He acquires leverage.

Ethan: Dramatic.

Mason: Serious.

I looked up.

“Who is Calvin Voss?”

Mason took the phone back only after I offered it.

“A private lender. Distressed assets, special situations, political donors, aggressive collection tactics.”

“Illegal?”

“Sometimes.”

“You know that how?”

“Because my father did business with him.”

The answer changed the room.

“What kind of business?”

“Freight. Warehousing. Cash-heavy import companies. Twenty years ago.”

Rachel watched him carefully.

“And now?”

“Now I don’t.”

“People say otherwise,” she said.

“People say a lot.”

I thought of Ethan telling me Mason could bury anyone.

“What happened between your father and Voss?”

Mason looked toward the dark mountains beyond the window.

“My father liked businesses where contracts were optional and fear was efficient. I spent ten years removing his partners from my companies after he died.”

“That is why people are afraid of you?”

“Partly.”

“What is the other part?”

His mouth almost moved.

“Sometimes removing people requires making them understand the answer is final.”

Hannah muttered, “Comforting.”

He ignored it.

Rachel stood.

“If Russell Lang works for Voss, then he copied whatever I had at my apartment.”

“Was the drive there?”

“No.”

“Where is it?”

She hesitated.

Mason’s eyes narrowed.

“You brought it here.”

Rachel looked at me.

“I mailed it yesterday.”

“To whom?”

“To myself.”

Hannah blinked.

Rachel continued. “Hotel business center. Overnight envelope. I addressed it to me at the lodge under my middle name.”

“You planned to come here?”

“I planned to give Claire the drive if Ethan refused to stop.”

My stomach tightened.

“So where is it?”

“The front desk said the overnight deliveries arrive around six.”

Everyone looked at the clock.

5:24.

Mason called the desk.

No package.

The courier had not arrived.

We waited.

At 5:51, my father joined us in the suite. I told him enough to make his face age ten years.

At 6:08, the courier van pulled beneath the porte cochère.

Mason and I went downstairs together.

The lobby was nearly empty.

A housekeeper vacuumed near the dining room.

A night clerk sorted envelopes.

The courier carried in a plastic crate.

“Package for Margaret Elaine Mercer,” Rachel had told us.

The clerk searched.

Nothing.

The courier checked his scanner.

“Delivered.”

My heart started pounding.

“When?”

“Four minutes ago.”

“We were standing here.”

He frowned and turned the screen.

The delivery had been signed for.

M. Reed.

I looked at Mason.

He stared at the signature.

“That isn’t mine.”

The clerk went pale.

“I gave it to a gentleman at the side entrance. He said he was with Mr. Reed.”

“Description?” Mason asked.

“Tall. Gray coat. Maybe forty.”

Mason was already moving.

We followed him outside.

Rain had become mist.

At the edge of the lot, a dark sedan pulled away.

Mason memorized the plate aloud.

Then his phone rang.

His security chief.

Mason answered.

The man spoke quickly enough that I could hear only fragments.

Russell.

House empty.

Company car missing.

Then Mason went still.

“What?” I asked.

He ended the call.

“Russell Lang’s wife reported him missing last night.”

Rachel came through the doors behind us.

Mason looked at her.

“The man who reactivated your access code disappeared before anyone used it.”

A new thought struck me.

“Then maybe Russell isn’t the person we should be looking for.”

Mason nodded once.

“Exactly.”

My phone vibrated.

Unknown number again.

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One sentence.

If you want the drive back, come to your wedding ceremony alone.