Chapter 5 - THE LOCKED ROOM
Vincent led Ruiz upstairs.
His study door stood half an inch open.
He had locked it before breakfast.
“Don’t touch anything,” Ruiz said.
On the desk sat a blue folder Vincent had never seen.
Beside it lay an envelope bearing Maria’s name.
Inside the folder were bank transfers, scanned signatures, and a printed email.
Vincent read the first line over Ruiz’s shoulder.
CARTER HAS BECOME A PROBLEM. TAKE CARE OF IT BEFORE SHE GOES OUTSIDE THE FAMILY.
His name appeared at the bottom.
His email address at the top.
“I didn’t write that.”
Ruiz glanced at him.
“People say that.”
“I know.”
That answer seemed to surprise her.
She photographed the desk.
The envelope contained ten thousand dollars and a handwritten note.
FINAL PAYMENT.
Maria would have entered the room with a cleaning cloth and a key Celia had provided.
The bottle would have been in her pocket.
The money would have been within reach.
Whatever happened next, somebody had prepared a story.
Vincent had spent years believing preparation made him safe.
He had never considered how carefully somebody else might prepare.
Nora arrived as Ruiz finished securing the room.
She had represented Vincent’s companies for eight years and had never once called him by a nickname.
“Start from the beginning,” she said.
He did.
When he finished, she looked at the folder.
“You need to stop talking without counsel present.”
“I need Maria protected.”
“You can need both.”
Downstairs, police were taking Celia’s statement.
Adrian had asked to leave.
Ruiz had told him she wanted to speak again first.
Nora lowered her voice.
“Who has authority over your private accounts?”
“Adrian handles operations.”
“Who can access your email?”
“My assistant. Adrian, for emergencies.”
“And your signature?”
Vincent looked at the desk drawer.
For years, he had signed approval pages in batches.
Property purchases. Vendor changes. Transfers.
His father had done business that way.
Adrian had kept doing it.
Nora followed his gaze.
“Oh, Vincent.”
A technician called Ruiz into the hallway.
She listened, then returned.
“We found another container in the desk.”
It was a second white bottle.
Same size. Same plain label.
Ruiz didn’t tell him what was inside.
She didn’t need to.
His housekeeper had one.
His study had one.
Someone had arranged for both stories to lead back to him.
Then his phone lit up with a message from an unknown number.
May you like
LET HER TAKE THE BLAME.
OR YOUR FATHER’S FILES COME OUT NEXT.
