Chapter 4: The Name on the Payroll
Rebecca placed the payroll record on my desk.
I stared at Savannah Pierce's name until the letters blurred.
“Eleven months?”” I whispered.
Rebecca nodded.
“Eleven.””
“How much?””
“About eighty-four thousand dollars.””
I looked at my father.
He didn't look surprised.
That frightened me more than the number.
“Why would Savannah be on my payroll?””
Rebecca pulled out a chair and sat down.
“She wasn't listed as Savannah Pierce.””
I frowned.
“What?””
“She was hired under another name.””
My father leaned forward.
“Which name?””
Rebecca opened the folder.
“Sarah P. Reynolds.””
I felt a chill move through me.
“Who approved her?””
Rebecca hesitated.
“You did.””
“No, I didn't.””
“I know.””
“Then why does it say I did?””
“Because whoever created the authorization made it look like you.””
My father took the document.
“Where did the payments go?””
“An account in Sarah Reynolds' name.””
“Bank?””
“Private bank. Illinois.””
“Address?””
Rebecca gave him the address.
Dad immediately recognized it.
“That isn't a residence.””
“What is it?”” I asked.
“Registered agent office.””
He looked at Rebecca.
“Who submitted the employee paperwork?””
“Our HR director.””
“Who gave HR the instructions?””
Rebecca swallowed.
“Brandon.””
The room became silent.
I pushed my chair back.
“So he hired Savannah into my company.””
“Apparently.””
“Under a fake name.””
“Yes.””
“And paid her with company money.””
“Yes.””
I laughed once.
It wasn't funny.
It was the sound that came out when my brain couldn't process something else.
“For eleven months?””
Rebecca nodded.
“I thought she was a consultant.””
“Why?””
“Because that's what Brandon told me.””
I stared at her.
“You believed my husband?””
Rebecca lowered her eyes.
“He was your husband.””
That sentence hurt more than it should have.
My father placed the payroll record beside the transfer statements.
“Rebecca, I need you to answer one question carefully.””
She looked up.
“Did Elena ever verbally authorize payments to Savannah?””
“No.””
“Did Elena ever meet her as an employee?””
“No.””
“Did Elena know the name Sarah Reynolds?””
“No.””
Dad nodded.
“Then this wasn't an accounting mistake.””
I looked at him.
“What was it?””
“Identity fraud.””
The words landed heavily.
Rebecca's eyes filled with tears.
“There's something else.””
My stomach tightened.
“What?””
She opened the folder again.
“Brandon wasn't just using the company to pay Savannah.””
She slid another page toward me.
“He was using her to access information.””
I read the heading.
*Client Acquisition Database — Export Activity*
The dates were listed beneath it.
One export every few weeks.
Names.
Phone numbers.
Private addresses.
Contract values.
Investment schedules.
I looked up.
“Why would Savannah need this?””
“She didn't,” Rebecca said.
“Then who did?””
Rebecca hesitated.
“Brandon.””
Dad's jaw tightened.
“What information did they export?””
“Everything.””
“Everything?””
“Client names. Project budgets. Property locations.
Vendor rates. Acquisition plans.””
I stared at the list.
One of our biggest clients was a billionaire real-estate developer.
Another was a celebrity who had paid us to redesign three homes.
Another was a private equity firm preparing a luxury hotel portfolio.
All of it had been copied.
I whispered, “Why?””
Rebecca looked at me.
“I don't know.””
Dad stood.
“Yes, you do.””
She flinched.
“You just don't want to say it.””
Rebecca's hands trembled.
“What are you talking about?””
Dad pointed at the export dates.
“Look.””
I leaned over the page.
The exports happened shortly before major negotiations.
Three weeks before the Fairmont redevelopment contract.
Two weeks before the Lake Shore property acquisition.
Nine days before the Wicker Park hotel bid.
Dad said, “Someone was using your confidential information before your company made offers.””
I understood.
“They were selling our information.””
“Possibly.””
“To competitors?””
“Possibly.””
Rebecca whispered, “Not competitors.””
We both looked at her.
“What do you mean?”” I asked.
She took a breath.
“I saw one of the recipient addresses.””
“Whose?””
She pulled out another document.
The email address belonged to a company I'd never heard of.
*Hayes Capital Advisory.*
My father's eyes narrowed.
“Hayes.””
I looked at Rebecca.
“Is that Brandon?””
She nodded.
“It's his investment company.””
My chair scraped against the floor.
“Brandon owns an investment company?””
“He registered it two years ago.””
“Why didn't I know?””
Rebecca looked at me sadly.
“Because he told everyone it was a private investment vehicle.””
I stared at the page.
Two years ago.
That was when Brandon had started becoming distant.
That was when he'd begun taking mysterious calls.
That was when he started traveling more.
I had thought he was having an affair.
Maybe I had only seen one part of it.
Dad picked up the documents.
“How much money did Hayes Capital receive?””
Rebecca shook her head.
“I don't know.””
“Then let's find out.””
She looked nervous.
“Dominic, there's a reason I came here tonight.””
“What?””
“I didn't come because I suddenly decided to tell Elena everything.””
“Then why?””
Rebecca's face went pale.
“Because someone broke into my office.””
I froze.
“When?””
“This afternoon.””
“Did they take anything?””
“My computer.””
Dad's expression changed.
“What else?””
“A backup drive.””
“What was on it?””
“Accounting records.””
“Which records?””
Rebecca looked at me.
“Northstar.””
My father went silent.
I felt my heart pounding.
“Did you call the police?””
Rebecca shook her head.
“Why not?””
“Because I found this first.””
She reached into the folder.
A photograph.
It showed a man entering the employee parking garage.
Baseball cap.
Dark jacket.
Face partially hidden.
But I recognized the posture.
The way he carried his shoulders.
The way he walked.
I whispered his name.
“Brandon.””
Rebecca nodded.
“I think so.””
My father took the photograph.
“Where did you get this?””
“Security gave it to me.””
“When?””
“An hour ago.””
Dad looked at the timestamp.
“3:17 p.m.””
The day of my divorce.
My stomach dropped.
Brandon had been at the courthouse with me that morning.
At least, I thought he had.
I suddenly remembered something.
He had left the courthouse thirty minutes before the hearing.
He'd said he needed to make a phone call.
I had never questioned it.
Dad looked at me.
“What?””
I shook my head.
“He left before the hearing.””
“How long?””
“Thirty minutes.””
“Where did he say he was going?””
“He didn't.””
Dad stared at the photograph.
“Then he wasn't celebrating the end of his marriage.””
He turned to Rebecca.
“He was cleaning up.””
Rebecca's phone buzzed.
She looked at it.
Her face drained of color.
“What?””
She slowly handed me the phone.
A text message.
Unknown number.
*You should have stayed home tonight, Rebecca.*
A second message appeared.
*Now you have to choose whose side you're on.*
Rebecca's hand began shaking.
My father took the phone.
Then his own phone rang.
He answered.
“Dominic Rossi.””
A man's voice came through.
“Mr. Rossi.””
Dad's expression hardened.
“Who is this?””
“You've been looking in the wrong place.””
“What place?””
“The money isn't the crime.””
Dad's eyes narrowed.
“What is?””
A pause.
Then the caller said:
“Your daughter is.””
The line went dead.
Dad lowered the phone.
I stared at him.
“What did he mean?””
He didn't answer.
He was already looking at the payroll documents.
Then he looked at me.
“Your signature.””
“What about it?””
“Who has been forging it?””
“Brandon.””
“No.””
Dad's voice was suddenly cold.
“Not Brandon.””
He pointed to the signature.
“The handwriting is wrong.””
I stared.
“What?””
“Whoever forged these documents copied your digital signature.””
He looked at Rebecca.
“But the person who created the authorization didn't need to copy your handwriting.””
Rebecca frowned.
“Then how—”
Dad interrupted.
“Because Elena's signature was already stored in the accounting system.””
I felt sick.
“Who had administrative access?””
Rebecca didn't answer.
Dad asked again.
“Who?””
She looked at me.
Then whispered:
“Me.””
My blood went cold.
Rebecca had administrative access.
Rebecca had approved the first Northstar payment.
Rebecca had access to my signature.
And Rebecca was the one standing in my office telling me someone had framed her.
May you like
My father slowly closed the folder.
“Then we have a bigger problem.””
