“When you removed me from photographs?”
She looked toward Caleb.
“When you asked me to use the garden entrance?”
Another glance at Caleb.
Something in that glance bothered me.
I turned toward my son.
“Why does she keep looking at you?”
Caleb swallowed.
“Mom, we need to talk privately.”
For the first time that evening, he came toward me.
I stepped backward.
“No.”
“Mom.”
“You’ve had an entire evening to speak.”
His face collapsed slightly.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
He glanced around the room.
“This isn’t the place.”
I almost laughed.
“Tiffany managed to make it the place.”
Richard stepped closer.
“Martha, whatever is happening personally, please do not let it interfere with Project Sterling.
Seven thousand employees—”
“I am aware of the employees.”
“Then you understand.”
“I understand very well.”
My phone buzzed again.
Daniel.
Library.
Five minutes.
Bring Caleb.
Do not discuss this in front of Sterling.
I looked at my son.
“Come with me.”
Tiffany grabbed his arm.
“Where are you going?”
Caleb pulled away.
That frightened me more than anything else.
Because he already knew.
The library was empty when we entered.
Same room where, that morning, I had asked whether he was happy.
Twelve hours earlier I thought I had been speaking to a frightened groom.
Now I wasn’t sure I knew the man standing beside me.
Daniel Mercer was waiting near the fireplace.
Sixty-three years old.
Gray hair.
No patience for drama.
He had worked beside me for seventeen years.
The moment I saw his expression, I knew this was worse than a few forwarded documents.
“Martha.”
“What happened?”
Daniel looked at Caleb.
“When did you first give Richard Sterling access to our internal projections?”
Caleb’s face drained.
“I didn’t.”
Daniel placed a tablet on the desk.
“I’m giving you one opportunity not to insult your mother twice tonight.”
Caleb said nothing.
Daniel opened a folder.
Email records.
Login histories.
Downloads.
Private messages.
My eyes struggled to process them.
One address appeared repeatedly.
Caleb’s.
“What am I looking at?”
Daniel’s voice softened.
“Your son’s beneficiary credentials were used to access portions of the family-office portal eighteen times over eight months.”
Caleb shook his head.
“That portal doesn’t contain Vance corporate documents.”
“No,” Daniel said.
“But it contains investment summaries circulated to trustees.
Including confidential exposure limits.”
My mouth went dry.
Daniel continued.
“Caleb forwarded those summaries to an outside advisory account.
We traced that account this afternoon.”
“To whom?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
He didn’t need to.
I looked at Caleb.
“Richard.”
Caleb whispered, “I can explain.”
There are four words that become terrifying when spoken by someone you trust completely.
I can explain.
Daniel tapped the screen again.
Richard’s team had adjusted loan requests using information Caleb supplied.
They knew our acceptable debt ratio.
Our liquidation assumptions.
Our maximum preferred exposure.
Even the thresholds our committee would use to value specific Sterling assets.
Someone had effectively given them the answers before the examination.
“Why?”
I asked.
Caleb rubbed both hands over his face.
“Tiffany’s father was going to lose everything.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I was trying to help.”
“By stealing confidential information?”
“I didn’t steal anything.”
Daniel’s voice sharpened.
“You knowingly transmitted restricted information to a transaction counterparty.”
Caleb spun toward him.
