Chapter 8 - DAD’S SECOND MESSAGE
Esme opened her box three days later.
Nobody pressured her.
That mattered.
Inside was a handwritten letter and a USB drive.
Dad began with us.
Not the murder.
Not the company.
Us.
He wrote about our wheelchairs.
Not tragically.
He reminded us of the summer we discovered we could race down the east hallway faster than he could run.
He apologized for one thing:
I spent too long trying to fix every inaccessible place instead of asking which places you actually wanted to enter.
Esme stopped reading.
“That sounds like Mom.”
Mom did not argue.
Then Dad's letter changed.
If I die before you are old enough to understand the company, adults may try to turn you into a reason for decisions they already wanted to make. Do not let anyone use protecting you as proof that they were right.
I looked at Mom.
She looked away.
The USB contained financial records.
Dad had been investigating vendor payments.
Forty-two million dollars moved through legitimate-looking consulting contracts over six years.
Some work was real.
Some apparently wasn't.
The money did not go directly to Victor.
That would have been too easy.
It moved through intermediaries.
One name appeared repeatedly:
Nolan Briggs.
Head of corporate security.
The man who supervised security at our house the night Dad died.
I remembered Nolan.
Tall.
Quiet.
Always wore an earpiece even at Thanksgiving.
After Dad’s death, he stayed with the company for fourteen months.
Then resigned.
According to Mom, health reasons.
According to payroll records, he received a substantial separation payment.
“Why?” I asked.
Mom looked genuinely confused.
“I didn't approve that.”
Victor had.
Board-chair authority during the emergency restructuring after Dad’s death.
Detective Chen located Nolan in Arizona.
He agreed to speak through an attorney.
Then canceled.
The next day he requested immunity before answering questions.
That did not prove murder.
It proved fear.
Meanwhile, Dad's USB contained one final audio note.
No names.
Just:
If something happens to me, do not assume the person who benefits most pulled the trigger. Look for the person who was afraid of what I was about to make public.
Esme whispered:
“That's Victor.”
I wasn't sure.
People benefit from death in obvious ways.
Fear is harder to measure.
Then Detective Chen received old building-access logs from a backup server Voss Biotech had forgotten existed.
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The night Dad died, Nolan Briggs's badge entered our mansion's service garage at 8:41.
His original statement had placed him forty miles away.
