Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO WOULD NOT BE MISSED
Lana did not sleep much after Vincent told her why he had chosen her.
A person with few attachments.
Someone who would not be easily missed.
The words followed her upstairs, through the silent hall, into the bedroom that was warmer than any room in her father’s house had ever been.
She locked the door.
That part still mattered.
Then she sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the brass key in her palm.
For five weeks, Vincent had treated her better than Richard had treated her in twenty-three years.
That should have made the arrangement feel less ugly.
It did not.
Kindness did not rewrite the fact that somebody had purchased her father’s debt and taken her as repayment.
Maybe that was what made the house so confusing.
Cruelty would have been easier.
Cruelty gave you clean lines.
Vincent kept making the lines blurry.
At 6:12 the next morning, Lana was already in the glass accounting annex.
She had slept maybe three hours.
The storm had passed.
Low fog clung to the valley below the windows.
She opened Carmine Vitiello’s payroll trail again.
Not because Vincent asked.
Because the numbers bothered her.
Carmine had skimmed approximately twelve thousand dollars per month.
Too small.
That was the problem.
A man with access to dock payroll worth millions had risked everything for less than the price of one of Vincent’s cars.
Either Carmine was stupid—
Or the skimming had not been the real theft.
Lana opened the Delaware shell.
Morrow Field Services LLC.
Registered eighteen months ago.
No employees.
No physical office.
She traced incoming transfers.
Payroll deductions.
Dock overtime.
Vehicle reimbursements.
Nothing large.
Then she switched from incoming to outgoing.
The money did not stay.
It moved every Friday into a second company.
Barrow Logistics Consulting.
Then a third.
North Lake Risk Management.
She frowned.
Arthur, the dead accountant, had built the accounts.
Or somebody using his credentials had.
Lana searched transaction metadata.
One strange thing appeared.
Arthur’s user ID had approved a transfer six weeks after his death.
She sat very still.
Then checked again.
Same result.
ARTHUR-B04.
Authenticated.
Two-factor verification.
Approved.
Six weeks after the man was buried.
Lana printed nothing.
Not yet.
She checked system logs.
The login had originated inside the estate.
Not the annex.
Not Vincent’s office.
The north administrative wing.
Lana had never been there.
At 7:03, Vincent entered carrying coffee.
He looked as though he had slept even less than she had.
His knuckles were bandaged.
He placed a mug beside her.
“You’re early.”
“So are you.”
“It’s my house.”
“Tragic advantage.”
His mouth moved slightly.
Then he saw her expression.
“What?”
Lana turned the center monitor toward him.
“Arthur approved this.”
Vincent read the date.
His face changed.
“He was dead.”
“Yes.”
“Could his credentials have remained active?”
“They did.”
“That is sloppy.”
“It is worse than sloppy.”
She opened the access log.
“Somebody authenticated physically from the north wing.”
Vincent’s eyes hardened.
“Which terminal?”
“N-14.”
He said nothing.
Lana watched him.
“You know it.”
“Yes.”
“Whose?”
“My uncle’s.”
There it was.
Family.
Of course.
“What’s his name?”
“Sebastian Gallow.”
Lana knew the name vaguely.
Gallow Foundation.
Museum boards.
Hospital wings.
The sort of man photographed cutting ribbons beside mayors.
She leaned back.
“Your charitable uncle is using a dead accountant’s credentials?”
“I didn’t say he was using them.”
“You said the terminal is his.”
“Yes.”
“Same neighborhood.”
Vincent looked at her.
“Do not accuse Sebastian based on one access log.”
“I didn’t.”
“You were about to.”
“I was about to say your dead accountant is doing excellent work from beyond the grave.”
That almost got a smile.
Almost.
Vincent pulled a chair beside her.
“Show me everything.”
She did.
Carmine’s skimming.
The Delaware shell.
The downstream companies.
The postmortem login.
Then she showed him something she had found twenty minutes earlier.
A payment from North Lake Risk Management to a gambling account.
Richard Carter.
Vincent stopped breathing.
Lana’s hands went cold again even though she had already seen it.
“Why is my father here?”
Vincent leaned closer.
The payment was only nine thousand dollars.
Four months before Richard’s debt exploded.
Description:
PROMOTIONAL CREDIT — GREYHOUND PRIVATE BOOK.
Lana looked at Vincent.
“Somebody gave him money to gamble.”
He did not answer.
She continued.
“Not loaned. Gave.”
“That happens.”
“Why?”
“To create action. Hook a customer.”
“My father did not need help becoming addicted.”
“No.”
“Then why him?”
Vincent’s face hardened.
Lana searched more.
Two months later:
R. CARTER LOSS OFFSET — 11,500.
Someone had quietly covered a portion of Richard’s losses.
Then increased his betting limit.
Then extended private credit.
The pattern became obvious.
Keep him gambling.
Keep him solvent just long enough to become deeply insolvent.
Lana felt sick.
“He was cultivated.”
Vincent said nothing.
“You bought the debt after this.”
“Yes.”
“From who?”
“Several books.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“Who brought the package to you?”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“Sebastian.”
Silence.
Lana looked back at the screen.
Her life changed shape.
Richard had not simply gambled himself into eighty-four thousand dollars of debt.
Someone inside Vincent’s family had fed the addiction.
Kept him afloat.
Let him sink.
Then brought the debt to Vincent.
And Richard had offered Lana.
She laughed once.
The sound was ugly.
“What?”
Vincent asked.
“I wasn’t collateral.”
He looked at her.
“I was recruitment.”
The room went silent.
Vincent stood.
“No.”
“You investigated me before buying the debt.”
“Yes.”
“Because Sebastian gave you Richard’s file.”
“Yes.”
“He knew where I worked.”
“Yes.”
“He knew I did accounting.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“He knew I had been covering that branch manager’s theft.”
Vincent went still.
That was the piece.
“How did you know that?”
She asked.
He answered carefully.
“The background report.”
“Who prepared it?”
Silence.
Lana already knew.
“Sebastian.”
Vincent stood very still.
The elegant system surrounding them suddenly looked like a cage designed long before Lana entered it.
Someone had chosen her.
Not Vincent.
Before him.
Why?
Vincent picked up his phone.
“Frank.”
Lana stood.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“What?”
“Do not drag Sebastian into a basement because a spreadsheet makes you angry.”
His expression cooled.
“I was going to ask Frank where my uncle is.”
“Same tone.”
Vincent stared at her.
She stared back.
His voice became controlled.
“You found evidence that my uncle may have manipulated your father’s debt to place you here.”
“Yes.”
“That means I need to secure him.”
“It means you need to find out why.”
“I can do both.”
“I know.”
That was what frightened her.
Vincent lowered the phone.
“What do you want?”
The question surprised her.
“What?”
“You are involved.”
“No kidding.”
“Then tell me.”
Lana looked at the numbers.
For most of her life, men decided what happened next.
Richard lost money.
Collectors arrived.
Managers stole.
Vincent bought debt.
Even kindness had come as instruction.
Sleep.
Eat.
Work.
Stay.
Five years.
Now he was asking.
“What do I want?”
“Yes.”
She thought.
“I want Sebastian not to know we found this.”
Vincent’s eyes sharpened.
“Why?”
“Because if he put me here, he expects me to find something.”
That landed.
Lana pointed toward the postmortem login.
“Maybe Carmine was bait.”
“Explain.”
“Twelve thousand a month is loud enough for me to catch after five weeks and small enough not to matter to your overall books.”
Vincent looked at the monitor.
“He wanted you to uncover it.”
“Maybe.”
“To make me punish Carmine.”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
She thought of Carmine going toward the basement.
Then supposedly retiring to Florida.
“Is Carmine alive?”
Vincent’s eyes moved to her.
“Yes.”
Relief hit unexpectedly.
“You didn't kill him.”
“No.”
“What did you do?”
“Broke two fingers.”
Lana stared.
“That was not the comforting answer you thought.”
“I wasn’t trying to comfort you.”
“At least you're consistent.”
He almost smiled.
Then turned serious.
“Carmine admitted taking the money.”
“Did he say why?”
“He said he owed someone.”
“Who?”
“He refused.”
Lana looked at the screen.
“Maybe because the answer is Sebastian.”
Vincent paced once.
His left leg stiffened slightly.
Lana noticed.
She always noticed.
He caught her looking.
“What?”
“Your leg.”
“Old injury.”
“Hurts?”
“Sometimes.”
“Storm?”
His eyebrow moved.
“How do you know?”
“My mother had arthritis.”
He looked away.
Different exhaustion.
Not just sleep.
Pain too.
She filed that away.
Not because she owed him care.
Because she noticed things.
Numbers.
People, occasionally.
She returned to the screen.
“If Sebastian wanted me here, he needed you to think it was your idea.”
Vincent stopped pacing.
“Buying the debt.”
“Yes.”
“He gave me a file showing an unusually competent accountant tied to an unusually incompetent debtor.”
“And you bit.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Unfortunate phrasing.”
“Accurate.”
A knock sounded.
Frank entered.
He looked at Lana.
Then Vincent.
“The old man is here.”
Vincent went still.
“Sebastian?”
Frank nodded.
“In the breakfast room.”
Lana’s pulse accelerated.
“Why?”
Frank said, “Claims he wants to meet the new accountant.”
Silence.
Vincent looked at Lana.
“He has never asked about you before.”
“Then he knows I found something.”
“Possibly.”
“What are you going to do?”
Vincent looked toward the door.
Then back at her.
“What do you want me to do?”
She hated how much the question steadied her.
“Nothing unusual.”
His brow moved.
“Invite him in.”
“Here?”
“Yes.”
“This room contains the accounts.”
“I know.”
“Lana.”
“If he planted me, let him see me exactly where he wanted me.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“I do not like using you as bait.”
“Good.”
She looked at him.
“Neither do I.”
A pause.
“But this time I’m volunteering.”
Something changed in his face.
Not approval.
Respect.
“Fine.”
He turned to Frank.
“Bring him.”
Sebastian Gallow entered three minutes later.
He looked like wealth designed by committee.
Sixty-two.
Silver hair.
Navy suit.
No tie.
Warm smile.
He kissed Vincent’s cheek.
Then looked at Lana.
His eyes sharpened for less than a second.
There.
Recognition.
Too fast.
Too familiar.
“Miss Carter.”
Lana smiled.
“Mr. Gallow.”
“I’ve heard impressive things.”
“From whom?”
He laughed.
“Vincent.”
Vincent said nothing.
Sebastian walked into the annex.
Looked at the monitors.
The boxes.
Her reorganized ledgers.
Then at the printer.
“You’ve been busy.”
“Numbers were messy.”
“My late brother used to say Arthur’s filing system was a form of revenge.”
“Your brother?”
“Vincent’s father.”
Lana nodded.
Sebastian picked up a paper clip from the desk.
Rolled it between his fingers.
Too casual.
“What have you found?”
There it was.
Not how is the work.
What have you found.
Lana leaned back.
“Mostly mistakes.”
“Mostly?”
“One theft.”
Sebastian’s eyes changed.
“Carmine.”
Vincent looked at him.
“You knew?”
Sebastian smiled.
“Everyone knew Carmine gambled.”
Lana went still.
Richard gambled.
Carmine gambled.
Same vulnerability.
Sebastian continued.
“Vincent has always been too trusting with men who seem loyal.”
Vincent’s face cooled.
Lana watched Sebastian.
“What happens to Carmine?”
he asked.
Vincent answered.
“He retired.”
Sebastian smiled.
“Florida?”
Lana’s blood went cold.
She had not told anyone.
Vincent had not used that phrase outside the annex.
Sebastian knew.
Vincent noticed too.
For the first time, Sebastian realized he had made a mistake.
Tiny.
Enough.
He put the paper clip down.
“Well.”
He smiled at Lana.
“I hope you enjoy your five years here.”
Lana smiled back.
“Maybe I’ll finish early.”
His eyes hardened.
“Some debts take longer than expected.”
Then he left.
The door closed.
Silence.
Vincent stared after him.
Lana looked at the screen.
“Florida.”
“Yes.”
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
“So now what?”
Vincent’s face had gone cold.
But he did not reach for his phone.
He looked at her first.
“We keep reading.”
That night, Lana found another transaction.
Not Carmine.
Not Richard.
Arthur.
Three days before his fatal stroke, the dead accountant had transferred exactly one dollar to Lana’s old credit union account.
Not her personal account.
The branch itself.
Memo:
FOR L.C.
Lana Carter.
May you like
And underneath:
IF YOU ARE READING THIS, HE FOUND YOU.
