Chapter 2 - the employee who refused to disappear
Adrian’s hands were not restrained, but the security officers walked close enough to suggest that they did not trust him.
His tuxedo jacket hung over one arm. His white shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and a thin line of sweat marked his forehead.
When he saw Eleanor, he stopped.
“You came through the service entrance.”
“You told me to observe,” Eleanor replied. “I am observing.”
The senior officer, Harold Knox, looked between them.
“Director Reed was found inside Archive Room C without scheduled authorization.”
“I am the museum director,” Adrian said. “My authorization is implied.”
“Not for sealed security archives.”
Eleanor knew Harold. He had worked at the museum for twenty-two years and once carried Henry Sterling out of a smoke-filled restoration workshop after an electrical fire.
He was not easily manipulated.
If Harold was suspicious of Adrian, then someone had made the situation appear serious.
“What were you searching for?” Eleanor asked.
Adrian glanced at Lena.
“Camera files from the administrative corridor.”
Lena’s breathing quickened.
Harold noticed.
“Does this involve you, Ms. Ortiz?”
Before Lena could answer, Celeste’s voice came through Harold’s radio.
“Bring Director Reed to my office. Immediately.”
Eleanor watched Harold’s expression harden.
“Since when does the gala chair give orders to security?” she asked.
Harold lowered the radio.
“Since the board placed her in charge of tonight’s operational command.”
“Which board members approved that?”
Harold did not answer.
Adrian stepped closer to Eleanor.
“We need privacy.”
“You need a lawyer,” Harold replied.
“I need twelve seconds of footage.”
A silence followed.
Lena gripped the garment bag against her chest.
Eleanor noticed the tag attached to it.
VALE PRIVATE HOLDING ROOM.
“What is inside the bag?” she asked.
Lena swallowed.
“Mrs. Vale’s second gown.”
Celeste was not married, but she insisted on being called Mrs. Vale because, according to her, unmarried women were not treated seriously in philanthropic circles.
Eleanor pointed toward the bag.
“Open it.”
Harold hesitated.
“It is private property.”
“So is the building,” Eleanor replied. “Mine.”
The younger officer looked away to hide a smile.
Lena unzipped the garment bag.
A silver gown appeared.
Beneath it was a large cream envelope sealed with red wax.
Adrian stared at it.
“That is not clothing.”
Lena pulled the envelope free.
The museum crest had been pressed into the wax, but the seal was slightly crooked.
Eleanor held out her hand.
The envelope contained six donor authorization forms.
Each approved the transfer of restricted educational donations into an account called the Vale Cultural Development Fund.
At the bottom of every page was Adrian Reed’s signature.
Adrian read the first document.
“I never signed this.”
Harold took the page and examined it.
“The verification code is yours.”
“My code was reset two days ago.”
“By whom?”
“I requested no reset.”
Lena spoke quietly.
“Celeste asked me to deliver a tablet to your office on Tuesday. Her assistant said it was for the gala seating plan.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
“She used the tablet to capture my authentication.”
Eleanor read the transfer total.
Nine million, four hundred thousand dollars.
The funds were scheduled to move at 11:58 p.m.
Two minutes before the end of the museum’s financial year.
“Why wait until tonight?” Mara asked.
Adrian looked at the donor names.
“Because gala gifts are processed in large batches. The false transfers would be hidden among legitimate payments.”
Harold’s radio sounded again.
“Knox, report.”
Harold switched it off.
That decision changed everything.
Until then, he had been a security officer following procedure.
Now he had chosen a side.
He led them into a maintenance room and locked the door.
“The archive file you requested was deleted forty minutes ago,” he said. “But our system mirrors twelve-second emergency clips to an independent server whenever someone opens a restricted finance cabinet.”
“Why twelve seconds?” Lena asked.
“Long enough to identify the intruder. Short enough to minimize storage.”
Adrian leaned toward him.
“Did a clip survive?”
Harold nodded.
“The backup terminal says one file exists. But it cannot be accessed from the museum network.”
“Where is the independent server?” Eleanor asked.
Harold looked toward the floor.
“In the original security room beneath the east wing.”
Eleanor knew the room.
Henry had designed it before the museum opened.
After renovations, the entrance was sealed behind a gallery wall.
Only three people had ever possessed the original key.
Henry Sterling.
Eleanor Sterling.
And their son, Charles.
Charles had been dead for eighteen years.
Eleanor reached beneath the sleeve of her gown and removed a narrow gold key from a chain around her wrist.
“I suppose,” she said, “we are going downstairs.”
Before anyone moved, someone struck the maintenance-room door from the outside.
Then Celeste spoke through it.
“Director Reed, open this door.”
Adrian looked at Eleanor.
May you like
Celeste knocked again.
“I know Mrs. Sterling is in there.”
