Chapter 7 - Rotterdam
Rotterdam was the first time someone tried to kill Clara.
At least, that was what Julian believed.
Eleven months earlier, Clara had flown to the Netherlands to investigate financial irregularities inside a shipping conglomerate.
The numbers pointed toward a network of shell entities used to disguise sanctioned transactions.
It should have been an ordinary forensic engagement.
Then Clara found the name Thomas Sterling buried inside a twenty-three-year-old acquisition record.
Not as an executive.
Not as an attorney.
As a confidential intermediary.
She barely had time to photograph the document before the fire alarm activated.
Twenty minutes later, a delivery van struck the taxi carrying Clara away from the building.
The driver died.
Clara survived with two broken ribs and fourteen stitches.
Julian appeared at the hospital six hours later.
She had never met him before.
He entered wearing a dark suit, closed the door, and asked one question.
“What did you find with your father’s name on it?”
That was how everything began.
Now, almost a year later, Margaret Sterling had just spoken the name of the city.
Clara called her mother directly.
Margaret rejected the call.
Again.
Rejected.
Clara sent a message.
How do you know about Rotterdam?
No answer.
Julian spoke through the penthouse system.
“Clara, stay where you are.”
She laughed bitterly.
“I’m in London. Where exactly do you think I’m going?”
“I mean don’t contact anyone else.”
“You think Mom is involved?”
“I think your mother knows information she should not know.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
“Say it.”
“Not yet.”
Clara hated his careful language.
It was the language of federal investigations.
The language of people who knew more than they could disclose.
“Julian.”
“Clara.”
“Stop protecting me from information that is already destroying my family.”
A pause.
Then his voice softened.
“I’m not protecting you from it.”
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to figure out whether your father was protecting you.”
She stared at the laptop.
“What?”
Julian did not answer.
A Marshal entered the office with a portable scanner.
They began examining the wall around the biometric unit.
Sienna stood several feet away under supervision.
Her arrogance had diminished.
“What’s Rotterdam?” she asked.
Clara ignored her.
“Clara.”
“No.”
“What happened in Rotterdam?”
“You don’t get to ask now.”
Sienna’s face tightened.
“I’m your sister.”
“And you broke into a federal residence looking for money because Mom told you Dad hid something.”
“That doesn’t mean I deserve secrets.”
Clara almost laughed.
“The irony is extraordinary.”
Sienna looked away.
The scanner beeped.
Everyone stopped.
The Marshal ran it across the wall again.
Another beep.
Julian stepped closer.
“What?”
“There’s a cavity behind the reinforced backing.”
Clara felt her stomach drop.
Sienna smiled.
“I told you.”
Julian glanced at her.
“That proves there’s empty space. Nothing else.”
The Marshal adjusted the scanner.
“No. There’s definitely an object.”
Clara gripped the desk.
“How big?”
“Approximately eighteen inches wide. Nine high.”
Sienna looked into the camera triumphantly.
“Family property.”
Julian ignored her.
“Can you access it without moving the secure unit?”
“Possibly from the adjacent wall.”
“What’s adjacent?”
Clara knew.
“My bedroom.”
Everyone looked toward the camera.
Clara swallowed.
“The closet wall.”
Julian nodded.
“Don’t disturb this side.”
They moved into the master suite.
Clara watched remotely as a Marshal removed a decorative panel inside her closet.
Behind it was drywall.
Behind the drywall, insulation.
Then a narrow steel plate.
Not new.
Old.
Rust stained the corners.
A small embossed symbol was visible near the center.
Clara leaned forward.
She knew that symbol.
Three intersecting circles.
It appeared on one of the folders recovered from her father’s storage unit.
Julian saw it too.
“Clara.”
“Yes.”
“Do you still have your father’s papers?”
“Some.”
“Where?”
“In Zurich.”
Silence.
“Why Zurich?”
“Because you told me not to keep them in London.”
“I told you to put them somewhere secure.”
“I did.”
Julian rubbed his jaw.
“Anyone else know?”
“My attorney.”
“Name?”
“Katherine Vale.”
Julian stopped moving.
“What?”
Clara’s skin prickled.
“You know her?”
Julian looked directly into the camera.
“Clara, when did you last speak to Katherine?”
“Yesterday.”
“About what?”
“A corporate filing.”
“Did you mention your family?”
“No.”
“Your penthouse?”
“No.”
“Rotterdam?”
“Julian, what is this?”
He stepped away from the others.
When he spoke again, his voice was low.
“Katherine Vale’s brother was named in the Rotterdam file.”
Clara could hear her own heartbeat.
“What brother?”
“Conrad Vale.”
The room tilted.
Clara knew that name.
Not from Rotterdam.
From her father’s funeral.
A man had stood in the rain twenty feet from the grave.
Clara remembered asking Margaret who he was.
May you like
Her mother had said she had no idea.
Now Clara knew she had lied.
