Chapter 3 - What Protocol Seven FoundMy daughter was fine.
That mattered more than everything else.
The cold water had triggered painful uterine tightening, but no premature labor.
Dr. Patel ordered observation.
While I sat in a private hospital room wearing dry clothes, Arthur arrived with an encrypted tablet.
His face told me the audit was worse than expected.
“How bad?”
He sat.
“Morrison Financial has been hiding related-party expenses for at least five years.”
“Numbers?”
“Initial estimate: fourteen million.”
I stared.
“Fourteen?”
“Potentially more.”
Brendan was senior vice president of strategic acquisitions.
Diane sat on two advisory committees.
Nicholas worked in procurement.
Jessica had somehow obtained a marketing-director position three months after beginning her relationship with Brendan.
Nepotism was not automatically illegal.
Fraud was.
Arthur continued.
Corporate vehicles billed as client transportation had been used privately.
Mansion renovations charged to a nonexistent “international investor residence program.”
Luxury travel categorized as due diligence.
Club memberships.
Jewelry.
Furniture.
Even Diane’s birthday party in Tuscany.
I almost laughed.
“We paid for Tuscany?”
“Apparently your company sponsored the educational experience.”
“What education?”
“Wine.”
Of course.
Then Arthur became serious.
“That’s not the dangerous part.”
He showed me a vendor.
Redwood Advisory Partners.
Six million dollars over thirty months.
“What did they do?”
“Nothing we can verify.”
“Owner?”
“Shell structure.”
“And actual beneficiary?”
Arthur hesitated.
“Brendan.”
I stared.
“No.”
“Indirectly.”
The payments eventually reached a private investment vehicle Brendan controlled with Nicholas.
If confirmed, they had been approving payments to themselves through hidden related entities.
Fraud.
Breach of fiduciary duty.
Potential tax crimes.
“And Diane?”
“Received distributions.”
I leaned back.
For years, Brendan had told me his family was wealthy because the Morrisons were “good with money.”
Apparently they were.
With mine.
Then Arthur showed me something strange.
Three transfers from Redwood.
$600,000.
$850,000.
$1.2 million.
Recipient:
Lane Strategic Communications.
Jessica Lane.
I looked at him.
“Her marketing company?”
“Created nine months ago.”
Three months before she supposedly met Brendan.
That bothered me.
“Supposedly?”
Arthur understood immediately.
“We’ll investigate.”
My phone buzzed.
Brendan.
I ignored it.
Then another message.
PLEASE TALK TO ME BEFORE YOU DESTROY EVERYTHING.
I stared at the screen.
Arthur said:
“Want me to block him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Evidence.”
He smiled slightly.
“My grandmother trained you well.”
“Yes.”
The next message arrived.
YOU KNOW MOM DIDN’T MEAN IT.
Then:
JESSICA SAYS THIS CAN ALL BE FIXED.
I looked at Arthur.
“Jessica thinks this can be fixed.”
“That sounds optimistic.”
“No.”
I stared at the message.
“It sounds informed.”
Why would a marketing director know enough about Protocol Seven to think she could reverse it?
Unless Jessica was much closer to the financial scheme than we understood.
I called Arthur back into action.
“Find out who Jessica really works for.”
He stood.
“Already started.”
Three hours later, he returned.
No smile this time.
“Cassidy.”
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“What?”
“Jessica Lane doesn’t exist.”
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