Chapter 13 - Project Meridian
I waited until we reached our Beacon Hill brownstone before confronting him.
Not because I was afraid of what Julian would say.
Because I wanted walls around us when he said it.
Marcus locked down the building. Security swept every room. Our devices were placed into isolated network mode.
Then Julian and I stood alone in the kitchen where, six months earlier, we had watched Bradford Wellington leave his wedding in handcuffs.
“Project Meridian,” I said.
Julian loosened his tie.
“It’s classified.”
“I hold federal infrastructure clearance.”
“Not this clearance.”
My patience snapped.
“Someone followed us across an ocean, threatened my sister, called me on a secure number, and demanded a file connected to my husband. You don't get to hide behind classification.”
Julian looked exhausted.
That frightened me more than anger would have.
“Meridian began fourteen years ago,” he said.
I stayed silent.
“After several defense agencies realized foreign-controlled shell companies were buying strategic land near American ports, Vanguard was asked to help map ownership networks.”
“That sounds like standard counterintelligence.”
“It was supposed to be.”
“What changed?”
“We discovered American companies doing the same thing.”
He opened a secure cabinet and removed a black tablet.
After entering three passwords, he placed it on the counter.
Names filled the screen.
Banks.
Investment firms.
Construction companies.
Private equity groups.
Politicians.
Law firms.
Then I saw one name.
Campbell & Associates.
My stomach turned.
“No.”
“Your father’s firm appears seventeen times.”
“For what?”
“Legal transfers. Shell-company formation. Property trusts.”
I stared at the dates.
Some transactions went back fifteen years.
Before Robert’s financial collapse.
Before the gambling losses.
Before Allison’s wedding.
“He wasn't just a terrible investor,” I whispered.
“No.”
“He was laundering ownership.”
Julian nodded.
“For Adrian Vale.”
I stepped away from the screen.
Every memory I had of my father rearranged itself.
The expensive vacations he claimed clients paid for.
The late-night meetings.
The locked office.
The unexplained bursts of money followed by months of panic.
“Why wasn't he arrested?”
“Meridian was never completed.”
“Why?”
“Someone inside the investigation leaked it.”
“And?”
“Two witnesses disappeared. One investigator died in what police called a boating accident. The project was sealed.”
I stared at Julian.
“How long have you known Robert was connected?”
“I didn't know until after the wedding.”
That mattered.
But not enough.
“You found out six months ago.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me.”
“I was trying to confirm it.”
“You should have told me.”
“I know.”
“No.” My voice sharpened. “You don't get to say you know after deciding for me.”
Julian flinched.
It was tiny.
Most people would never have noticed.
I did.
“I was afraid,” he admitted.
I almost laughed.
“Julian Sterling was afraid?”
“Yes.”
“Of Adrian Vale?”
“Of what this would do to you.”
That stopped me.
He stepped closer but didn't touch me.
“You had finally escaped them. Robert, Patricia, Allison, the Wellingtons. You were sleeping through the night. You laughed again. We went to Italy. For the first time since I met you, you weren't carrying your family like a backpack full of stones.”
His voice softened.
“I didn't want to put Robert back into our marriage.”
I wanted to stay angry.
Part of me was.
But I understood the instinct.
That didn't make it right.
“No more secrets,” I said.
Julian nodded immediately.
“No more secrets.”
“Even classified ones involving my father.”
“Yes.”
“Even if you think protecting me means keeping me ignorant.”
“Yes.”
I looked at the tablet again.
A red folder icon sat beneath the Meridian directory.
“What’s that?”
Julian hesitated.
Then remembered his promise.
He opened it.
One scanned document appeared.
A legal authorization signed eleven years earlier.
Robert Campbell’s signature was at the bottom.
Below it was Adrian Vale’s.
The document authorized an eight-million-dollar payment in exchange for something identified only as ACCESS ASSET M.C.
My initials.
I felt cold.
“What does ‘access asset’ mean?”
Julian’s voice was barely audible.
“I think your father sold information about you.”
Before I could respond, our front security alarm sounded.
Marcus’s voice blasted through the intercom.
“Sir. Director. Stay inside.”
Julian moved toward the monitor.
“What happened?”
Marcus appeared onscreen from the front steps.
He held a small white box.
“It was left at the gate.”
“What’s inside?”
Marcus stared directly into the camera.
“A hotel key card.”
My pulse spiked.
“Which hotel?”
“The Fairmont Copley Plaza.”
The place where my father had thrown me into the fountain.
And taped to the key card was a handwritten message.
ROOM 1919.
May you like
COME ALONE, MEREDITH.
YOUR FATHER IS WAITING.
