Chapter 5 - THE MAN MY FATHER TRUSTED MOST
Owen Reddick had been with my father for sixteen years.
My mother died fourteen years ago.
That meant she had known him for two.
Long enough to distrust him.
Not long enough for me to understand why.
I didn't tell Dad about the note immediately.
That decision hurt.
It was also necessary.
Instead, I called Mara Lewis, Sentinel's deputy director.
She met me in an underground parking garage because apparently my life had become a bad spy movie.
I handed her a copy of my mother's note.
Mara read it twice.
“You think Owen deleted the footage?”
“I think my mother wanted me to investigate him.”
“Those aren't the same.”
“I know.”
“What do you need?”
“His access history.”
“I can't give you that.”
“You can preserve it.”
She looked at me.
Then nodded.
“Already did.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because last night's deletion was wrong.”
“Owen showed us the log.”
“He showed you a filtered log.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did the full log say?”
Mara took out a tablet.
“There were five authorized deletion pathways.”
“Owen said four.”
“I know.”
“What's the fifth?”
“Legacy administrator.”
“Who controls that?”
She hesitated.
“No one is supposed to.”
“Meaning?”
“It was your mother's credential.”
I stared at her.
“My mother has been dead fourteen years.”
“Yes.”
“Then why is her credential active?”
“It shouldn't be.”
“Was it used last night?”
Mara turned the screen toward me.
At 9:37 p.m.:
C.H.V. LEGACY AUTHORIZATION ACCEPTED.
My mother's initials.
The missing minutes had been deleted using my dead mother's credentials.
Someone wanted us to find that.
Or someone had spent fourteen years using a ghost.
“Who can reactivate legacy access?”
“Owen.”
“Who else?”
“Your father.”
I said nothing.
Mara watched me.
“You need to be careful.”
“Of Dad?”
“Of conclusions.”
Fair.
My phone rang.
Grant Blackwood.
I declined it.
He called again.
Again.
On the fourth attempt, I answered.
“What?”
“Your brother's awake?”
“How do you know?”
“Everyone knows.”
“Why are you calling?”
“I want to make a deal.”
I almost laughed.
“You assaulted me.”
“I know.”
That answer surprised me.
No denial.
No lawyer language.
Just I know.
“What deal?”
“I tell you who set you up last night.”
“In exchange for?”
“You don't push the assault charge.”
“No.”
He exhaled.
“You haven't heard the offer.”
“I don't need to.”
“Evelyn.”
“No.”
“Your mother knew my mother.”
“I know.”
“She knew your father too.”
“I know.”
“She knew why Owen Reddick joined Sentinel.”
I stopped.
“What do you know about Owen?”
“Enough to tell you that he didn't work for your father first.”
“Who?”
“My grandfather.”
Silence.
Grant continued.
“Owen Reddick was Blackwood security.”
“When?”
“Before Sentinel.”
I looked at Mara.
She could hear.
Her face changed.
“That isn't in his personnel file,” she whispered.
Grant heard.
“Of course it isn't.”
“What did he do for your family?”
Grant laughed without humor.
“Everything people like my family don't put on payroll.”
My skin prickled.
“Why tell me?”
“Because my mother is going to bury me.”
That sounded impossible.
Helena Blackwood protected Grant from everything.
“She needs someone to blame for the charity money.”
“You chaired the committee.”
“I moved some of it.”
“How much?”
“Four million.”
I felt no sympathy.
“What about the rest?”
“I don't know.”
“Convenient.”
“Thirty-four million wasn't me.”
“Who?”
“Ask Owen.”
The line went dead.
Mara and I looked at each other.
Then my father's car entered the garage.
I hadn't told him where I was.
That was the moment fear arrived.
He stepped out alone.
“Evelyn.”
“How did you find me?”
“Your car.”
“I disabled family tracking.”
“You disabled the app.”
He almost smiled.
“Not the hardware.”
Of course.
My father looked at Mara.
“Leave us.”
She didn't move.
I said,
“Stay.”
Dad's expression changed.
Tiny.
But enough.
“What's going on?”
I handed him my mother's note.
He read it.
Then sat down on the hood of the car.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
“You knew Owen worked for Blackwood.”
“Yes.”
My heart sank.
“Why wasn't it in his file?”
“Because I removed it.”
“Why?”
“He helped your mother.”
“What?”
“During the original investigation.”
Everything shifted.
“Owen was her source?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did she tell me to investigate him?”
Dad looked at the paper again.
“I don't know.”
“Was he involved in the archive fire?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
At least he was learning.
Then Mara's tablet made a sound.
An alert.
She looked down.
Her face went white.
“What?”
“Someone is wiping the legacy server.”
My mother's credential records.
“Can you stop it?”
“Trying.”
Her fingers moved.
“Source?”
She traced it.
Then looked toward my father.
Dad saw her expression.
“Where?”
Mara swallowed.
“Sentinel headquarters.”
“Which terminal?”
She stared.
“Your office.”
My father's private office.
A room only three people could enter without escort.
Nathaniel.
Owen.
And me.
I had been with Mara.
Dad had been in front of us.
Which left one person.
Owen.
Mara called headquarters security.
Nobody answered.
Again.
Nothing.
Then every light in the parking garage switched off.
Darkness swallowed us.
A second later, my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One message.
Your mother should have stopped digging.
May you like
Then another.
You still can.
