Chapter 2

The Prescott estate sits on the old side of town.

From the street it still looks like money.

The truth is thinner than that.

My grandfather built the family on refrigerated freight, then pushed into pharmaceuticals, fresh food, warehousing, distribution.

By my father's generation the Prescotts were one of the wealthier names in the region.

Then my father died.

Shares went to uncles.

Relatives pulled their money out.

Land got sold.

Warehouses changed hands.

By the time any of it reached me, what was left was Prescott Logistics and the house.

Keeping both alive has never been easy.

To everyone outside, though, the Prescott name still means something.

Nobody understood that better than Vanessa.

She said all the time that she hated feeling indebted to us.

But nothing pleased her more than hearing somebody say, "Adrian really treats that girl like family."

That evening she sat at our dining table.

Claire had made roast chicken, a potato gratin, and the chicken and wild rice soup Vanessa always liked.

Vanessa ate in small, quiet bites.

"Mrs. Prescott, nobody makes this like you do."

Claire smiled.

She was still smoothing over what I'd done at the ceremony.

"You've been buried in finals. I doubt you've eaten a real meal in weeks."

Vanessa nodded obediently.

"It's been a little chaotic."

Then she looked at me.

"Mr. Prescott, I'd still like your advice about what I should do now that I've graduated."

There it was.

I set down my fork.

"Take two weeks off.

"Then come to Prescott Logistics.

"Start as an assistant in the executive office. Travel with me, sit in on the work, learn."

Her fingers stopped.

Then her face lit up.

"Really?"

"Really."

"I'm afraid I'll disappoint you."

"Then learn fast."

She stood up and thanked me like she was accepting an award.

"I won't let you down, Mr. Prescott."

The translucent text appeared again.

[She's been waiting for that offer.]

[She has to get inside Prescott Logistics before she can steal from it.]

[Later she'll call the chance you gave her one more form of control.]

I read it without feeling anything.

I'd already accepted what she was.

She wasn't a tree we'd planted.

She was a snake coiled under our roof.

After dinner I shut myself in the study and called Gordon Reyes, our general counsel.

"Starting tomorrow, rebuild permissions around every sensitive file."

There was a pause.

"Is something wrong, Adrian?"

"Internal review.

"Client lists, pricing schedules, contract templates. Watermark all of it.

"Every open, every download, every forward, every external send gets logged."

I paused.

"And put together a second set of documents."

"A second set?"

"Decoys.

"They need to look real. Tempting enough to be worth taking. But nothing that can hurt us if it walks out the door.

"Give every file its own marker. If it turns up outside our system, I want to know exactly which copy it came from."

Gordon was quiet for a few seconds.

"You think somebody's going to steal from us?"

"I don't think so."

I looked at the stack of sponsorship records on the desk.

"I know so."

After the call I sat there a long time.

Tuition receipts.

Housing payments.

Living expenses.

Hospital invoices.

Surgical deposits for Denise Hale.

Page after page of things Claire and I had done because we meant them.

I never wanted the money back.

I never expected her to be grateful for the rest of her life.

But she wasn't going to turn any of it into the weapon that killed us.

I locked the records in the safe.

That night, the kindness ended.

The planning started.