Chapter 3 - Someone Already Knew
On Monday morning, Graham canceled everything.
Natalie objected.
He ignored her.
Then she objected harder.
So he canceled half of everything.
It was, she told him, progress.
They drove to East Bay Eye Center in the Honda.
He insisted.
“You have six cars,” Natalie said as he folded himself behind the wheel.
“This one was there.”
“That doesn’t make it emotionally significant.”
“It does today.”
Her cheap dash camera hung from the windshield.
Graham stared at it.
“You paid forty-nine dollars for this.”
“Forty-six ninety-nine.”
“It looks like a child’s toy.”
“It’s recorded every terrible driver in Rhode Island for three years.”
For the first time since Sunday lunch, Natalie laughed.
The sound caught Graham off guard.
He looked at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I forgot that sound.”
Her smile faded.
He regretted saying it.
Inside the clinic, Graham took the clipboard from the receptionist.
Natalie watched him fill out the form.
Address.
Emergency contact.
Medication allergies.
Then he stopped.
Blood type.
Three years married.
He did not know.
Natalie looked at the line.
Something moved across her face, but she said nothing.
She took the pen.
O negative.
Graham read it twice.
Then a third time.
He memorized it.
The ophthalmologist examined Natalie for twenty minutes.
The injury, thankfully, was healing.
A small retinal tear had been treated that first night.
Inflammation was resolving.
The cut had closed cleanly.
“She did everything right,” the doctor said.
Graham looked at Natalie.
“She usually does.”
Natalie rolled her good eye.
The doctor flipped through the chart.
“One more follow-up should do it. Oh, by the way, did your office receive the imaging?”
Graham frowned.
“What imaging?”
“Your assistant requested copies last Tuesday.”
Natalie sat up.
“My assistant?”
The doctor looked between them.
“Someone from Mr. Vance’s office.”
Graham’s expression emptied.
Nobody who knew him mistook that emptiness for calm.
“I did not request her records.”
The doctor stopped.
Natalie felt the cold before she understood why.
Graham stood.
“When?”
The receptionist found the log.
“Tuesday at 2:17 p.m. The caller gave the name of your operations manager.”
“Which name?”
“Henry Cross.”
That was correct.
“He had Mrs. Vance’s birth date, the date of injury, and your office billing code.”
Graham’s voice dropped.
“What number?”
“Disconnected.”
Outside, he stood beside the Honda.
“Someone knew.”
Natalie nodded slowly.
“Not necessarily everything.”
“They knew you were injured.”
“They knew enough to find the clinic.”
“And obtain proof.”
Graham looked at her.
The peace agreement was scheduled for Thursday.
A medical file documenting an injury from September twenty-ninth could destroy it if placed in front of the right people.
Malcolm Reddick’s men could deny firing the shots.
It would not matter.
Emotion rarely waited for evidence.
Someone wanted Graham’s organization to believe Reddick had injured Natalie.
Someone wanted Reddick’s people to believe Graham had hidden the injury so he could retaliate after the agreement was signed.
The agreement would collapse.
And whoever benefited from chaos would step into the space left behind.
Graham called Caleb Sutter.
“Come to the house.”
Caleb arrived thirty minutes later.
He was fifty-three, broad-shouldered, graying, and had worked for Graham’s father before Graham could drive.
When Graham explained the clinic call, Caleb swore quietly.
Then Graham asked, “Who pulled Natalie’s detail on September twenty-ninth?”
Caleb froze.
“No one pulled it.”
“She had no driver.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Check.”
Caleb opened the staffing system on his tablet.
Three minutes later, his face changed.
“The reassignment came through Harbor Shield.”
Natalie looked at Graham.
Harbor Shield Protective Services handled drivers, gate rotations, building security, and event staffing across dozens of Vance properties.
The company belonged to Brent Halley.
Daphne’s husband.
The man who had laughed at Natalie’s sunglasses.
Caleb kept scrolling.
“Three days before Marlowe’s, her regular team was transferred to the waterfront warehouse.”
“Authorized by?”
“System says me.”
Caleb looked up.
“I didn’t do it.”
Graham’s voice remained low.
“Who staffed Marlowe’s?”
Caleb already knew the answer.
“Harbor Shield.”
Silence.
Natalie folded her arms.
“Do not go to Brent’s house.”
Graham looked at her.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You have a face.”
“What face?”
“The one where somebody ends up being found in a place inconvenient for everyone.”
Caleb coughed into his hand.
Graham stared at him.
“You can leave.”
Caleb left.
Natalie waited until the door shut.
“No proof.”
“We have plenty.”
“We have suspicious staffing and a medical request.”
“He laughed at you yesterday.”
“That isn’t evidence.”
“It is emotionally compelling.”
She almost smiled.
“Graham.”
He walked toward the window.
Outside, rain streaked the glass.
“If I accuse Brent and I’m wrong, Daphne divides the family. If I’m right and I move before Thursday, the agreement collapses anyway.”
“Yes.”
“So he keeps breathing.”
“Good.”
Graham turned.
“Until Thursday afternoon.”
“Better.”
Natalie crossed the room.
“Now investigate.”
He stared at her.
“You really did spend ten years in emergency rooms.”
“Yes.”
“Because you sound disappointed nobody gets thrown through a wall.”
May you like
“I’m disappointed you keep confusing patience with weakness.”
That sentence stayed with him.
