Chapter 9 - THE NAME CLAIRE NEVER WROTE DOWN
Charles refused to name the person immediately.
He wanted a deal.
Federal prosecutors refused to give him one.
So Charles started talking.
Not because he became honorable.
Because he became afraid.
“The scholarship theft started before me.”
He said.
“I expanded it.”
Elliot sat across from him.
“Who started it?”
Charles smiled.
“You think Reed?”
“No.”
“Evelyn?”
“No.”
“Then stop wasting my time.”
Charles leaned forward.
“The board treasurer.”
“Which one?”
Charles’s smile disappeared.
“The same man who was treasurer when Claire attended Ashbury.”
Elliot searched his memory.
“Arthur Bell?”
Charles laughed.
“Bell died twelve years ago.”
“Then who?”
“You know him.”
“I know a lot of people.”
“He attended Claire’s funeral.”
Elliot’s chest tightened.
Charles continued.
“He spoke to Lila.”
“Who?”
“Graham Pierce.”
The name landed.
Graham Pierce.
Chairman of Ashbury’s endowment committee.
Father of Elaine Pierce, dean of students.
Grandfather of Dylan Pierce.
And one of Elliot’s oldest business allies.
Graham had invested in Mercer Technologies twenty years earlier.
He had toasted Elliot at his wedding.
He had sent flowers every month while Claire was sick.
He stood beside Elliot at her grave.
“No.”
Elliot said.
Charles smiled bitterly.
“Exactly what Claire said at first.”
“What did Graham do?”
“He used scholarship funds as private liquidity.”
“Loans?”
“Technically.”
“Repaid?”
“Sometimes.”
“When markets went bad, he covered losses with new donations.”
“A Ponzi structure.”
“Small at first.”
“Then Claire discovered it.”
Elliot stared at him.
“And you?”
“I helped hide it.”
“Why?”
“Because Graham owned half the people I needed.”
Charles laughed without humor.
“And because I wanted money.”
“At least you finally said one true thing.”
Charles’s face hardened.
“You think Graham is scared of you?”
“He should be.”
“No.”
Charles leaned closer.
“He knows you.”
“He helped build you.”
“He knows how you react.”
“He knows you’ll protect Lila.”
“Which means?”
Charles stared at him.
“She is the leverage.”
Elliot stood.
The chair scraped backward.
“What did you say?”
Charles looked at the guard.
Then back at Elliot.
“Claire hid one piece of evidence Graham never found.”
“What evidence?”
“A recorded meeting.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who knows?”
Charles smiled.
“Lila might.”
Elliot’s blood went cold.
He called security.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
Then his phone rang.
Lila.
He answered instantly.
“Sweetheart.”
No response.
“Lila?”
A man’s voice came through.
Calm.
Older.
Familiar.
“Elliot.”
Elliot stopped breathing.
“Graham.”
“Please don’t make this dramatic.”
“Where is my daughter?”
“She is safe.”
Lila’s voice sounded in the background.
“Dad!”
Then silence.
Elliot’s hand tightened around the phone.
“If you touch her—”
“There he is.”
Graham sighed.
“The Elliot Claire warned me about.”
“Where is she?”
“You have something I need.”
“What?”
“The material Claire left.”
“You already stole the drive.”
“That was not everything.”
“What do you want?”
“The original recording.”
“I don’t have it.”
“But Lila knows where it is.”
Elliot’s heart stopped.
Then he understood.
Claire’s key.
Locker 214.
The letter.
Maybe another clue.
Graham continued.
“Bring me Claire’s metal box.”
“Where?”
“I’ll send instructions.”
“If Lila has one scratch—”
“Your wife said almost the same thing to me four years ago.”
Elliot froze.
Graham laughed softly.
“That got your attention.”
“What did you do to Claire?”
Silence.
Then Graham answered:
May you like
“Ask your daughter.”
The call ended.
