Daniel called HR before he reached the door.
I watched his expression change while someone answered.
“Lauren Pierce,” he said. “Emergency leave. I need the request details.”
A pause.
“No, do not email anything yet.”
Another pause.
“When?”
His eyes met mine.
“Who approved it?”
He listened.
“Understood.”
He ended the call.
“Well?”
“She submitted the leave request at 7:42 this morning.”
“We know that.”
“Your assistant approved it.”
I frowned.
“Sarah?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She said Lauren reported a family emergency.”
“What kind?”
“She didn’t ask.”
That sounded like Sarah.
She was excellent at protecting boundaries.
If someone told her a parent was sick or a family emergency had happened, she would not demand proof before granting a day away from work.
“Did Lauren say where she was going?”
“No.”
“Did she log into company systems after leaving?”
“HR doesn’t know.”
“IT will.”
Daniel nodded.
“I’m calling them next.”
Julian remained on the sofa.
He looked exhausted, but he was paying attention.
“Should I go?”
“No.”
“You’re dealing with an internal security issue.”
“You’re not involved.”
“That is exactly why I should probably leave.”
I thought for a second.
He was right.
Not because I distrusted him.
Because Crestwood had obligations around employee privacy and possible misconduct, and Julian had no reason to be exposed to details he did not need.
I walked over to him.
“I’ll have security take you through the garage.”
He nodded.
“I’m going to Rebecca’s.”
“Why?”
“She’s alone.”
That made sense.
“Call me later.”
“I will.”
He hesitated.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m about to find out whether someone inside my company buried evidence during a billion-dollar diligence process.”
“So no.”
“Probably no.”
He gave me a tired smile.
Then he kissed my forehead.
“I’ll call.”
After he left, I shut the office door.
Daniel was already speaking with IT.
I listened to half the conversation.
Lauren’s credentials.
Laptop.
Mobile device.
Remote access.
VPN records.
Then Daniel stopped.
His face tightened.
“What?”
He raised one finger.
Into the phone, he said, “Lock the account now.”
My stomach dropped.
He ended the call.
“She logged into Crestwood remotely at 8:06 this morning.”
“From where?”
“They need time.”
“What did she access?”
“Sterling diligence folders.”
“Which ones?”
“They’re pulling the log.”
“What else?”
“She downloaded something.”
I stood very still.
“How much?”
“Unknown yet.”
“Outside device?”
“Company laptop.”
“That’s better.”
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean maybe?”
“If she copied it afterward, we won’t know immediately.”
I walked to the window.
This was no longer a missing-package problem.
It was active.
“Call Sarah.”
Daniel did.
Sarah arrived two minutes later.
She looked worried before she sat down.
“Is Lauren okay?”
“We don’t know.”
Her concern appeared genuine.
“When did she contact you?”
“7:38.”
“How?”
“Text.”
“Show me.”
She handed Daniel her phone.
He read aloud.
Family emergency. Need today off. Sorry. I’ll explain later.
Sarah had replied:
Of course. Take care of what you need.
Nothing unusual.
“Did you speak to her yesterday?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Late afternoon.”
“About what?”
“Calendar coverage.”
“Did she seem upset?”
Sarah thought.
“No. Maybe distracted.”
“How?”
“She missed a room change.”
That sounded trivial.
Sarah continued.
“Lauren doesn’t miss room changes.”
That did not.
“What room?”
“The Sterling legal call yesterday.”
I looked at Daniel.
“When?”
“Before Arthur came in?”
Sarah nodded.
“She moved it to Six but left the old room on Robert Ellis’s calendar.”
“Robert was supposed to attend remotely?”
“Yes.”
“He came in person.”
“Yes.”
Daniel wrote something.
“Did Lauren work directly with Robert often?”
“Constantly.”
“Friendly?”
“Professional.”
“Outside contact?”
Sarah hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
“That hesitation means something.”
She sighed.
“They had coffee once or twice.”
“Here?”
“Downstairs.”
“Alone?”
“I think so.”
“How long ago?”
“Months.”
My skin prickled.
“Why didn’t you mention this before?”
“Because senior assistants having coffee with outside counsel is normal.”
She was right.
It was.
Nothing about it would have raised concern.
Until now.
Daniel’s phone buzzed.
He read.
“IT found the download.”
“What?”
“A compressed archive from the Sterling diligence folder.”
“How large?”
“Three point two gigabytes.”
Sarah whispered, “Jesus.”
“What did she take?”
“Everything.”
I felt something inside me harden.
Not panic.
Focus.
“Remote wipe?”
“Laptop hasn’t checked in since 8:19.”
“When did HR approve leave?”
“7:42.”
“Where was she at 8:06?”
“IT is tracing.”
“Do it.”
Daniel left to coordinate.
I looked at Sarah.
“How long has Lauren worked under you?”
“Four years.”
“At Crestwood?”
“Six.”
“You trust her?”
Sarah looked genuinely hurt.
“Yes.”
“Did you know she handled Sterling document intake?”
“Yes.”
“Was that unusual?”
“No.”
“Did she ever raise concerns?”
“Never.”
“Financial problems?”
“I don’t know.”
“Relationship issues?”
“No idea.”
I hated asking.
Necessary questions still felt invasive.
Sarah folded her hands.
“Chloe.”
“Yes?”
“If she did something, I missed it.”
“This isn’t about blame yet.”
“It feels like it.”
“I know.”
She looked down.
“I hired her.”
“You also hired thirty people who never stole a diligence archive.”
Sarah looked up.
“We don’t know she stole it.”
“No.”
Not yet.
At 3:46, IT traced Lauren’s last remote session to a hotel network near Sea-Tac Airport.
That changed everything.
“Airport?” I said.
Daniel nodded.
“Hotel Wi-Fi.”
“Which hotel?”
“They’re trying to identify through network records.”
“Travel booking?”
“Nothing through Crestwood.”
“Personal flights?”
“We can’t access that.”
“Correct.”
I was glad he said it before I did.
This had to stay lawful.
Clean.
If Lauren had done something wrong, we would not answer by doing something wrong ourselves.
At 4:02, security pulled building access logs.
Lauren had entered Crestwood at 6:51 that morning.
Before her leave request.
She left at 7:31.
Eleven minutes later, she texted Sarah.
I looked at Daniel.
“What did she do inside?”
“Cameras.”
Our building retained footage longer than ninety days.
This time luck was not against us.
Security reviewed it while we waited.
At 4:19, they sent a clip.
Lauren entered the twenty-fourth floor carrying her usual shoulder bag.
She went straight to the administrative area.
At 7:03, she entered the records room.
At 7:18, she came out holding a white archive envelope.
At 7:23, she returned it.
Or appeared to.
The camera angle did not show whether the envelope still contained anything.
“Zoom?”
“This is the best quality.”
“Who had access to that room?”
“Admin, legal, compliance.”
“What is stored there?”
“Temporary physical intake before scanning.”
I looked at Daniel.
“The anonymous package.”
He nodded.
“If it was ever routed internally.”
Sarah stood behind us.
Her face had gone pale.
“I know that envelope.”
We both turned.
“What?”
She pointed at the screen.
“The white one.”
“You recognize an envelope?”
“The label.”
“What label?”
“Red diagonal stripe.”
I looked closer.
There was indeed a stripe.
“What does it mean?”
Sarah swallowed.
“Unverified external source.”
Silence.
“Who marks that?”
“Mailroom or admin if contents don’t match normal diligence submissions.”
“Would the anonymous package get one?”
“Yes.”
My pulse quickened.
“Sarah, are you saying that could be the missing whistleblower package?”
“I’m saying it looks exactly like how we would mark it.”
Daniel replayed the footage.
Lauren carried the envelope out.
Returned.
Then left the building.
“What did she do inside the room for fifteen minutes?”
“No camera inside.”
Of course not.
Sensitive documents.
Privacy.
Security designed correctly.
And now inconveniently.
At 4:31, another call.
Forensic accounting had preliminary results on Hawthorne Advisory Services.
The company had no employees.
No office.
No meaningful public footprint.
Its registered address was a private mailbox.
Payments from Sterling totaled eighty-six thousand dollars over seven months.
Several invoices corresponded to dates when Sterling sent major diligence data sets to Crestwood.
Daniel said, “That could be legitimate subcontracting.”
“It could.”
“But?”
“Why no work product?”
“Maybe bundled.”
“Through Robert’s wife?”
“Maybe.”
He looked at me.
Neither of us believed maybe very strongly anymore.
At 4:48, Julian called.
“I’m with Rebecca.”
“Everything okay?”
“No.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
“She found Robert.”
“Where?”
“At home.”
“Did he speak to her?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He resigned.”
“From Sterling?”
“Effective immediately.”
I stood.
“Why?”
“He said he can no longer represent the company because his personal interests may conflict.”
Daniel mouthed, What?
I put Julian on speaker.
“Repeat that.”
Julian did.
Daniel leaned toward the phone.
“Did Robert specify the conflict?”
“No.”
“Did he mention Hawthorne?”
Silence.
Then Rebecca’s voice came faintly through Julian’s phone.
“What is Hawthorne?”
Julian said, “You’re on speaker.”
I answered carefully.
“Rebecca, I can’t give you details yet.”
“That means something exists.”
“Yes.”
“Does it involve Robert?”
“Possibly.”
She exhaled.
“God.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That he made mistakes.”
“What kind?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“Anything about forecasts?”
“He said Arthur wasn’t the only person who failed the company.”
I looked at Daniel.
“Exact words?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
Rebecca answered directly now.
“He said he thought he was protecting Sterling.”
There it was.
The phrase from my theory.
Protecting.
“How?”
“He wouldn’t explain.”
“Did he mention Crestwood?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Rebecca’s voice lowered.
“He said your firm was never supposed to see certain things.”
Every sound in my office seemed to vanish.
Daniel wrote the sentence exactly.
“What things?”
“I asked.”
“And?”
“He said it doesn’t matter now.”
“It matters enormously.”
“I know.”
“Where is Robert?”
“Still at home.”
“Has the board’s outside counsel been informed?”
“I called them before you.”
“Good.”
“Chloe.”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“This isn’t your fault.”
“I’m beginning to wonder how many times everyone around Arthur said that while something went wrong.”
I had no answer.
At 5:14, outside counsel contacted federal regulators.
At 5:26, Sterling announced Robert Ellis’s resignation without explanation.
At 5:41, Hawthorne’s bank records became inaccessible to our investigators because we lacked authority to compel them.
That part would require regulators.
At 6:03, IT identified Lauren’s hotel.
She had checked out.
No further login.
No company device connection.
At 6:16, security confirmed something else.
Lauren had used her badge to enter the records room three months earlier.
The morning after the anonymous package arrived.
Duration:
Twenty-seven minutes.
I stared at the access log.
Then I looked at the date of Hawthorne’s first invoice.
Two days later.
The lines were no longer separate.
They were beginning to form a shape.
“What do you think happened?” Sarah asked.
I answered honestly.
“I think someone sent us evidence about the forecasts.”
She looked at Lauren’s access record.
“And Lauren stopped it.”
“Maybe.”
“For Robert?”
“Maybe.”
“And Hawthorne?”
“Could be payment.”
Her face changed.
“Bribe?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you’re thinking it.”
I was.
I hated it.
At 6:30, Daniel’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His eyes sharpened.
“Send it.”
He hung up.
“What?”
“The courier.”
“The anonymous package?”
“They found the sender record.”
My heart started beating harder.
“Name?”
“Not a person.”
“Then what?”
“A law office.”
“Which?”
He looked at the email that arrived.
Then at me.
“Lang & Weaver.”
I knew that name.
Rebecca Lang.
The former regional president.
The woman who had challenged Arthur before resigning.
“She sent it,” I said.
Daniel nodded.
“Or her lawyers did.”
I picked up my phone.
“Find her number.”
He already had it.
We called.
Rebecca Lang answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Lang, this is Chloe Bennett from Crestwood Capital.”
Silence.
Then:
“I wondered when you’d call.”
That sentence told me she had been waiting.
“You sent a package to Crestwood three months ago.”
“Yes.”
“What was inside?”
She did not hesitate.
“The original Sterling expansion forecasts.”
I closed my eyes.
“And?”
“Emails.”
“Whose?”
“Arthur’s.”
“What did they show?”
“That he knew the downside case.”
“What else?”
A pause.
Then:
“That Robert Ellis helped remove it from the board materials.”
Daniel stopped writing.
I asked, “Why didn’t you contact us when we never responded?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“Twice.”
“To whom?”
“Your administrative contact.”
My skin went cold.
“Name?”
“Lauren Pierce.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 14: Rebecca Lang Had Tried to Warn Crestwood Months Earlier, and Lauren’s Last Message Revealed Why She Had Been Too Afraid to Tell Me
Julian Had Warned Me About His Father, but Nothing Prepared Me for the Question Waiting at the Front Door
Part 13 of 27
