Chapter 15 - Allison’s Second Deal
Allison Grant had disappeared from Chicago’s corporate world after her agency collapsed.
At least, that was what everyone believed.
In reality, Allison had spent the last year rebuilding herself under another name.
Allie Gray Consulting.
New website.
New mailing address.
New clients.
Same appetite for expensive shortcuts.
Marcus’s investigators traced Northstar payments through a Nevada marketing company.
Total received by Allison over eight months: six hundred and forty thousand dollars.
“What did she provide?” I asked.
“Contacts,” Marcus replied. “Former employees. Old Mercer files. Media relationships.”
Sarah shook her head.
“She knows how scandals spread.”
“She helped create enough of them.”
Howard Pike’s attorney had advised him to remain silent.
Allison, however, had not yet been arrested.
That bothered me.
“Where is she?”
Marcus hesitated.
“We lost her this morning.”
“Lost her?”
“She checked out of her apartment at five thirty.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
Everyone looked at it.
I answered on speaker.
“Rebecca.”
Allison’s voice.
“Still surrounded by accountants?”
Sarah rolled her eyes.
“What do you want?”
“A conversation.”
“You have attorneys for that.”
“I don’t trust attorneys anymore.”
“Smartest thing you’ve said in years.”
A pause.
“I have something Charles Whitmore wants very badly.”
“What?”
“Meet me.”
“No.”
She laughed softly.
“You’ve gotten colder.”
“I’ve gotten busier.”
Then she said a phrase that changed everything.
“Daniel kept a second ledger.”
Sarah’s face snapped toward me.
“What ledger?”
“All the transactions that never appeared in Mercer Group’s accounting system.”
“That could mean anything.”
“It includes Charles Whitmore.”
Arthur visibly stiffened.
Allison continued.
“Daniel discovered payments between his father and Whitmore years ago. He used them as leverage.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Then you don’t have much.”
“I have the encrypted drive Daniel gave me before he was arrested.”
My heartbeat increased.
“Why didn’t prosecutors get it?”
“Because Daniel didn’t trust me enough to tell me the password.”
“You testified against him.”
“Yes.”
“And kept evidence hidden?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
Of course.
Allison never entered a room without calculating the nearest exit.
“What do you want?”
“One million dollars.”
Sarah laughed out loud.
Allison snapped, “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Sarah said. “You’re negotiating evidence potentially connected to federal crimes. That’s not leverage. That’s a confession.”
Allison went quiet.
I spoke.
“You have two choices. Deliver the drive to federal investigators voluntarily, or keep running until they find you.”
“You think you’re untouchable.”
“No, Allison. That was Daniel’s mistake.”
Silence.
Then her voice changed.
Less arrogant.
More frightened.
“Charles knows I have it.”
That explained the call.
“He threatened you?”
“He sent two men to my apartment last night.”
Marcus immediately began typing a trace request.
“Where are you?”
“I won’t say.”
“Then I can’t protect you.”
“Why would you protect me?”
The question carried genuine confusion.
Because Allison assumed everyone thought like she did.
Transactional.
Vengeful.
Self-serving.
“Because people chasing you may be committing crimes against my company.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s enough.”
She breathed shakily.
“I’ll call again.”
The line disconnected.
Marcus cursed.
“Burner phone.”
“Can you locate it?”
“Maybe within a few blocks.”
Two hours later, federal agents raided Howard Pike’s home.
They found forged signature templates, internal server credentials, and detailed plans describing another market attack scheduled in forty-eight hours.
But they found something more disturbing.
Photographs.
Mine.
Sarah’s.
Arthur’s.
Evan’s.
Even Mia’s.
Some were taken outside our homes.
This wasn’t just financial warfare anymore.
That evening, Evan found me alone in the boardroom.
“You should increase security at your apartment.”
“Already done.”
He stood near the windows.
“My father has changed.”
“Was he ever different?”
“Yes.”
The certainty in his voice made me look at him.
“When I was young, he wasn’t angry all the time. He coached baseball. He made pancakes on Sundays.”
“What happened?”
“My mother died.”
He swallowed.
“My father decided Richard Mercer had killed her just as surely as if he had pulled a trigger.”
There was pain there.
Real pain.
Not justification.
I softened slightly.
“Evan, whatever Richard did was wrong.”
“I know.”
“And your father deserved justice.”
“I know that too.”
“But attacking thousands of employees won’t give him his wife back.”
Evan nodded.
“That’s what I keep trying to tell him.”
The conference-room phone rang.
Nobody should have been calling that line after hours.
I answered.
A distorted male voice spoke.
“Ask Evan why he really joined your company.”
Then the caller hung up.
I looked at Evan.
His face had gone pale.
“What does that mean?”
May you like
He didn’t answer quickly enough.
And suddenly I realized Evan Whitmore was still hiding something.
