Chapter 6 - Box 317Union Station was under police surveillance before noon.
Not because he wanted to.
Because Detective Morgan insisted.
“Whoever sent that photograph had surveillance on your building,” she said. “Your penthouse is compromised.”
“Then increase security.”
“We already did.”
“I’m not sending him somewhere he doesn’t know.”
Rachel lowered her voice.
“Nathan, this isn’t about comfort anymore.”
Eli was listening from the hallway.
Nathan noticed.
“Where do you suggest?”
“A secure residence outside the city.”
Nathan’s company owned a lakeside property ninety minutes north.
Few people knew about it.
Within hours, Nathan, Eli, two officers, and Nathan’s longtime driver George arrived at the house.
The winter lake stretched gray beneath a low sky.
Eli looked around.
“You own this?”
Nathan nodded.
“Technically.”
“You don’t live here?”
“No.”
“Why have a house you don’t use?”
Nathan smiled.
“Rich people do stupid things.”
Eli almost smiled back.
The warmth didn’t last.
That evening, the police obtained formal charges against Vanessa for attempted murder and conspiracy.
Mark faced fraud and conspiracy charges, though his attorneys fought every allegation.
Dana Mercer remained missing.
Then Nathan received a call from his board chairman.
“We have a crisis.”
Nathan stepped into the library.
“What happened?”
“Financial reporters got documents about the fraud.”
“That’s good.”
“No, Nathan. They’re saying you knew.”
Nathan went still.
“What?”
“Someone released forged emails making it look like you authorized offshore transfers.”
Nathan closed his eyes.
Mark had prepared a second attack.
If killing Nathan failed, destroy him publicly.
By morning, Nathan’s face was everywhere.
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Nathan watched television in silence.
Eli sat beside him.
“They’re lying.”
Nathan glanced over.
“Yes.”
“Then tell people.”
“It’s not always that simple.”
“Why?”
“Because people often believe the first story they hear.”
Eli frowned.
“That’s stupid.”
Nathan smiled sadly.
“It is.”
His company’s stock began collapsing.
Banks suspended loans.
Three board members demanded Nathan temporarily step down.
By noon, Nathan had lost hundreds of millions in market value.
But he cared less about the money than he expected.
He cared that Mark might still win.
At 3:00 p.m., Rachel called.
“We found Dana Mercer.”
Nathan straightened.
“Where?”
“Dead.”
He closed his eyes.
“What happened?”
“Car accident.”
“You believe that?”
“No.”
Rachel continued.
“Her brake line had been cut.”
Nathan looked toward Eli.
The boy was throwing stones onto the frozen shore.
“Someone’s cleaning up witnesses.”
“That’s our theory.”
“Which means Eli—”
“Is still in danger.”
That night, Nathan checked every door twice.
At midnight, he heard glass breaking downstairs.
He grabbed the emergency phone on the nightstand.
“Security?”
No answer.
Then the lights went out.
Nathan’s heart hammered.
He crossed the hall.
“Eli?”
No response.
He opened the guest room.
Empty.
“Eli!”
Nathan ran downstairs.
Cold wind blew through the broken kitchen door.
One of the security officers lay unconscious near the pantry.
Nathan grabbed a fireplace poker.
Footsteps sounded upstairs.
Then Eli screamed.
Nathan raced toward the staircase.
A masked man was dragging Eli through the upper hallway.
“LET HIM GO!”
The attacker turned.
Nathan charged.
They collided against the railing.
The man swung.
Nathan blocked the punch and drove his shoulder into him.
Eli crawled away.
“Run!”
The attacker pulled a knife.
Nathan froze.
The blade flashed.
Then George appeared at the top of the stairs holding a shotgun.
“Drop it.”
The attacker hesitated.
Police sirens sounded outside.
He bolted toward a bedroom window and jumped onto the porch roof.
Officers chased him into the trees.
Nathan grabbed Eli.
“Are you hurt?”
Eli shook violently.
“He kept asking where it was.”
“Where what was?”
“The second copy.”
Nathan frowned.
“Second copy of what?”
“The flash drive.”
Nathan stared.
“Is there another one?”
Eli hesitated.
“My mom made two.”
Nathan’s heart began pounding.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said he asked you.”
“She never told me.”
Then Eli suddenly remembered something.
“She gave me a key.”
“What kind?”
“A little brass key. She sewed it inside my old jacket.”
“Where’s the jacket?”
Eli’s face fell.
“At the shelter.”
Nathan immediately called Rachel.
By sunrise, they were driving back toward Chicago under police escort.
The shelter manager remembered Eli.
She also remembered the jacket.
Unfortunately, it had been donated months earlier.
“Where?”
“To a thrift warehouse on West Fulton.”
Nathan and Rachel exchanged looks.
They reached the warehouse at 9:20 a.m.
The front door was open.
Too open.
Inside, hundreds of donation boxes had been overturned.
Clothing covered the floor.
Someone had arrived first.
Rachel drew her weapon.
“Stay behind me.”
They searched aisle after aisle.
No attacker.
No key.
Then Eli spotted something.
“My jacket.”
It lay beneath a broken shelf.
He picked it up.
The lining had been cut open.
Nathan’s stomach dropped.
“They got the key.”
Eli turned the jacket over.
Then froze.
“What?”
He reached inside a tiny hidden seam Sarah had sewn near the collar.
Something small fell into his hand.
Not the key.
A tightly folded piece of paper.
Eli opened it.
Sarah’s handwriting.
Eli, if anything happens to me, the key opens Box 317 at Union Station. Trust Nathan Cole. He doesn’t know what Mark has done.
Nathan stared at the note.
Sarah had written his name.
Before Nathan had ever met her son.
Before Eli had saved his life.
Nathan whispered, “She knew I was innocent.”
May you like
Rachel looked toward the exit.
“And whoever took the key now knows exactly where the evidence is.”
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