Chapter 3 - The Missing Twenty-Three Minutes
Security footage from the east hallway had been erased.
Not all of it.
Exactly twenty-three minutes.
The same number that kept appearing around Evelyn’s death.
Her monitor had stopped transmitting twenty-three minutes before she collapsed.
Now twenty-three minutes of hallway footage had vanished.
Nathaniel did not believe in coincidences.
Neither did I anymore.
The Reed estate had its own security command room in the basement.
Nathaniel took me there the next morning.
The head of security, Marcus Vale, had worked for the family for nine years.
He was the kind of man who stood still enough to make everyone else feel noisy.
Nathaniel placed the threatening note on the desk.
“Who entered the east hallway after midnight?”
Marcus pulled logs.
Three people.
Nathaniel.
Me.
Julian.
My stomach tightened.
“Julian went upstairs?”
“At 12:18,” Marcus said.
“Why?”
“He told the night officer he left his phone in the blue salon.”
Nathaniel looked at me.
The blue salon was nowhere near the study.
“Where is the footage?” Nathaniel asked.
Marcus’s face tightened.
“Deleted at administrator level.”
“Who has access?”
“You. Me. Julian.”
Nathaniel’s eyes went cold.
Marcus raised both hands.
“I didn’t delete it.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You didn’t need to.”
The tension in the room sharpened.
Marcus printed the system log.
Administrator token used at 12:31 a.m.
Nathaniel’s token.
He stared at the page.
“I was in the study with Clara.”
Marcus nodded slowly.
“Then someone cloned your credentials.”
Nathaniel gave him a humorless smile.
“That’s becoming a theme.”
The problem was bigger than Julian.
Someone had forged Nathaniel’s foundation authorization, intercepted his mail, and now used his security token.
Power built around one man had become easy to imitate because everyone expected his name to end questions.
That afternoon, we met Dr. Park at her private office downtown.
Nathaniel brought no entourage.
Only Marcus waited outside.
Dr. Park was in her sixties, elegant and exhausted by the memory she was being asked to reopen.
She handed Nathaniel copies of the letters she had sent after Evelyn died.
The first was clinical.
The second more urgent.
The third contained one sentence underlined twice:
I believe Mrs. Reed’s monitor was deliberately reset by someone with authorized service access.
Nathaniel held the page like it could burn him.
“What happened after you sent this?”
“A Reed Biomedical attorney called.”
“Name?”
“Thomas Greer.”
Nathaniel’s expression hardened.
Thomas Greer was Reed Biomedical’s longtime general counsel.
“Alive?” I asked.
Nathaniel nodded.
“Retired last year.”
Dr. Park continued.
“He told me the device had already been destroyed under biohazard protocol.”
“Was that normal?”
“No.”
“Did you believe him?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you go to police?”
“I had no device. No proof. The medical examiner had already ruled natural death.”
She looked at Nathaniel.
“And frankly, Mr. Reed, your company’s attorneys made it clear they considered further questions defamatory.”
Nathaniel looked ashamed.
“I didn’t know.”
“I believe you now.”
That word mattered.
Now.
Not then.
Dr. Park gave us one more document.
A technician access report.
The reset code belonged to a service engineer named Owen Marr.
Nathaniel immediately knew the name.
“He worked executive events.”
“Where is he now?”
Dr. Park shook her head.
“I tried to locate him. He left Reed Biomedical three days after Evelyn died.”
Nathaniel called human resources.
Owen’s employee file was sealed under legal privilege.
Of course.
We went directly to Reed Biomedical.
The headquarters tower overlooked the Chicago River.
People stood straighter when Nathaniel entered.
Doors opened.
Assistants abandoned conversations.
I had always known he was rich.
Inside that building, I understood he was powerful.
He hated it that day.
Because every person who obeyed him was another person who might have obeyed someone pretending to speak for him.
Thomas Greer’s old files were archived on the thirty-fourth floor.
A compliance officer resisted releasing them.
Nathaniel looked at him.
“My wife died wearing one of our devices.”
The man stopped arguing.
We found Owen’s exit agreement.
He had received a payment.
Two million dollars.
Official reason: confidential intellectual property settlement.
Authorized by Julian Reed.
I felt the room tilt.
Nathaniel whispered, “There it is.”
But the next page complicated everything.
Secondary approval:
Thomas Greer.
And a handwritten note:
Per N.R. verbal direction.
Nathaniel stared at his initials.
“That never happened.”
I believed him.
Not because I had known him long.
Because the lie was becoming obvious.
Someone had built a paper trail using Nathaniel’s authority as camouflage.
We tracked Owen to Wisconsin.
He owned a small boat-repair business outside Kenosha.
Nathaniel wanted to send Marcus.
I said no.
“You think he’ll talk to security from the company that paid him?”
Nathaniel looked annoyed.
“What do you suggest?”
“Two people who look less threatening.”
He looked at himself.
Then at me.
“I don’t look threatening.”
I stared.
He sighed.
“Fine.”
We drove north.
Owen Marr was fifty, sunburned, and terrified the second Nathaniel gave his name.
“I signed an agreement.”
Nathaniel said, “I don’t care about the agreement.”
“I do.”
“My wife died.”
Owen’s eyes dropped.
Nathaniel’s voice lowered.
“Did you reset her monitor?”
“No.”
“Was your code used?”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
Owen looked toward the shop door.
“No.”
Nathaniel stepped closer.
I touched his sleeve.
He stopped.
I spoke instead.
“Mr. Marr, I have a three-year-old daughter.”
He looked at me.
“There was a note in our house last night threatening the children.”
His face changed.
“Please. We need the truth before someone else gets hurt.”
Owen sat down.
He covered his face.
“I gave Julian my technician badge.”
Nathaniel went still.
“Why?”
“He said Mrs. Reed’s monitor kept sending false alerts during the gala. He said you wanted it reset so the event wouldn’t be disrupted.”
“That was a lie.”
“I know that now.”
“When did you know?”
“The next morning.”
“After she died.”
“Yes.”
Owen’s voice cracked.
“I went to Thomas Greer. He told me to keep quiet. He said the reset could not have caused her arrhythmia.”
“Could it?”
“No. The reset didn’t hurt her. But it erased the alerts.”
“What alerts?”
Owen looked up.
“Her heart rate was already climbing before the reset.”
Nathaniel swallowed.
“If the alerts had remained active?”
“Medical staff might have intervened earlier.”
Silence.
Then Owen said something worse.
“Julian wasn’t alone when he took my badge.”
“Who was with him?”
Owen hesitated.
“A woman.”
Nathaniel’s face tightened.
“Who?”
“I only saw her from behind.”
“Describe her.”
“Tall. Blonde. White evening gown.”
Nathaniel stopped breathing.
I knew from the framed gala photographs in the mansion that one woman matched that description.
May you like
Vivian Reed.
Nathaniel’s younger sister.
