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Thomas fit défiler.
“There’s another login.”
“Where?”
“Prague.”
“When?”
“2:14 a.m.”
Daniel stared.
“That’s impossible.”
Thomas looked at him.
“Why?”
“I was in London.”
I slowly turned toward Daniel.
“You were in London?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what you told me.”
“It was true.”
Thomas frowned.
“Then someone duplicated the session.”
“Using my credentials.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Thomas scrolled again.
“There’s a recovery profile.”
“What does it show?”
He opened it.
The profile name was hidden.
But the initials were visible.
R.P.B.
Daniel stepped backward.
“That’s my father’s.”
“You’re saying he had a recovery profile on the company network?” Thomas asked.
“He built the original system.”
“When did he set it up?”
Daniel didn’t answer.
Thomas checked the metadata.
“Eleven years ago.”
Silence.
I looked at Daniel.
“Before he died.”
“Yes.”
“So your dead father had a secret recovery account that stayed active until after his death.”
Daniel nodded slowly.
Thomas stared at the screen.
“And someone used it six years ago.”
“What was accessed?” I asked.
Thomas opened another file.
A directory appeared.
TRUST
MERIDIAN
VICTOR
MICHAEL
CLAIRE
I stared at the last folder.
“Open it.”
Daniel immediately said, “No.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because whatever is in there was never meant to be seen.”
“Which means that’s exactly what we need.”
Thomas opened it.
There was one audio file.
No video.
No documents.
Just audio.
Recorded October 17, 2020.
Thomas pressed play.
Static filled the room.
Then my own voice came through.
“You said Daniel would be here.”
I covered my mouth.
Daniel stared at the speakers.
Michael answered.
“He was supposed to come.”
My voice again.
“Then why isn’t he?”
“He changed the plan.”
“Why?”
“He thinks the transfer is happening tonight.”
“What transfer?”
“You don’t need to know.”
A pause.
Then Michael spoke again.
“Claire, listen to me. Your husband isn’t the person you think he is.”
I closed my eyes.
The memory came rushing back.
The red umbrella.
The key.
The smell of coffee.
Michael sitting across from me.
This wasn’t a dream.
It happened.
I remembered another voice.
Not Daniel.
A woman.
“You don’t have much time.”
Elena.
I opened my eyes.
Thomas looked stunned.
The recording continued.
Michael lowered his voice.
“If Daniel asks you where you got the key, lie.”
I remembered asking:
“Why?”
Michael answered:
“Because he isn’t the one we’re afraid of.”
The audio crackled.
Then came a sound.
A door opening.
Someone entered.
Michael said, “You’re early.”
A man’s voice answered.
My entire body went cold.
I knew that voice.
Not from my memory.
From years of hearing recordings of Daniel’s father at company events.
Richard Bennett.
“Give me the drive.”
I stared at Daniel.
He was frozen.
His father’s voice continued.
“You promised me Claire would never see the files.”
Michael answered:
“She already has.”
A chair scraped.
Then my voice:
“Wait. What files?”
Silence.
Then a sharp sound.
Something hit the floor.
The recording ended.
Nobody moved.
I looked at Daniel.
“You were there.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“You knew.”
“No.”
“You knew your father met Michael that night.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then why are you looking like that?”
Daniel looked at the floor.
Because he had recognized the voice too.
Thomas spoke quietly.
“Your father was alive when this recording was made.”
Daniel didn’t respond.
“Daniel.”
He finally whispered, “That’s not possible.”
I stepped closer.
“You said your father died eleven years ago.”
“He did.”
“Then who is the man in that recording?”
Daniel looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
Thomas pointed toward the audio waveform.
“There’s a second track.”
He isolated it.
A faint clicking sound emerged beneath the voices.
Then a sequence of numbers.
He replayed it.
“Four… one… zero… seven.”
I looked at him.
“1407.”
Thomas nodded.
Then the terminal screen suddenly changed.
A warning appeared.
ARCHIVE PURGE INITIATED.
Thomas swore.
“Someone’s deleting everything.”
“Stop it,” Daniel said.
“I’m trying.”
Files began disappearing from the screen.
Michael.
Victor.
Claire.
Trust.
One by one.
Then another folder appeared at the bottom.
Thomas froze.
“This one isn’t being deleted.”
“What is it?” I asked.
He clicked it.
A single PDF opened.
The title made Daniel step away from the screen.
LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT — RICHARD P. BENNETT
Thomas stared at the date.
“This was notarized yesterday.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“That can’t be.”
The first page loaded.
Richard’s signature.
Current date.
Current seal.
And one handwritten instruction beneath it:
Upon my son’s attempt to access this file, deliver all Bennett Family Trust evidence to Claire Bennett.
Daniel stared at me.
“He wrote your name.”
I scrolled.
The next paragraph contained another sentence.
Daniel does not know the location of the original ledger. Claire does.
I frowned.
“I don’t.”
Thomas opened the final attachment.
It was a photograph.
A woman standing in front of a train station.
Elena.
Beside her stood Michael.
And beside Michael stood an older man.
I zoomed in.
The man’s face filled the screen.
Richard Bennett.
Alive.
He looked directly at the camera.
And beneath the photograph was a final line:
He is waiting for Claire in Prague.
Chapter 9: The Man Behind the Name
The photograph stayed on the screen.
Richard Bennett stood beneath the old station clock, one hand resting on Michael’s shoulder.
Alive.
Older.
Calm.
Smiling.
Not like a man who had been dead for eleven years.
Daniel took one step backward.
“No.”
Thomas turned toward him.
“You keep saying that.”
“This can’t be real.”
I looked at the date beneath the photograph.
Yesterday.
Not six years ago.
Not some manipulated archive.
Yesterday.
“Then we’re going to Prague,” I said.
Daniel looked at me.
“Claire, this could be a trap.”
“Probably.”
“We don’t know who sent it.”
“I know.”
“We don’t know whether Michael is alive.”
“The photograph says he is.”
“We don’t know whether my father is alive.”
I looked at him.
“The photograph says he is too.”
Daniel rubbed his face.
