Then he looked toward the hallway where Garrett waited.
“Three hours and thirty minutes after Ethan died.”
The exactness of it made me shiver.
My father always counted things.
Shares.
Debts.
Lies.
Now he was counting minutes of absence.
“Dad,” I whispered, “please don’t make this public tonight. I can’t survive people talking about him like some scandal.”
He looked at me, and the hardness faded just enough for love to show through.
“I won’t let anyone touch Ethan’s memory.”
Then his eyes went cold again.
“But Garrett’s reputation is not Ethan’s memory.”
Before I could answer, his phone buzzed.
He stepped aside and answered with one word.
“Now.”
I didn’t hear the voice on the other end, but I recognized the shift in my father’s posture. Chairman Sterling had entered the room.
“I want access logs from the Grand Meridian Hotel between six p.m. and two a.m. Pull security footage from the lobby, elevators, valet, and penthouse corridor. I want the name Melissa matched to payroll, vendor files, corporate guests, and personal accounts. No mistakes.”
My breath caught.
Grand Meridian.
That was where Garrett said he had a late investor dinner two months ago.
