Chapter 8 - Seven Missing Minutes
The old executive suite no longer existed.
The twenty-seventh floor had been renovated three times since Clara left.
But Sebastian remembered exactly where it had been.
“Room 2704.”
Nathan searched the archive.
“There’s security footage from that year.”
Andrew laughed.
“Security footage from 1999?”
“Valle installed internal cameras after a theft in 1997.”
Sebastian looked at him.
“You know that.”
Andrew’s smile vanished.
The footage was grainy and silent.
We watched Clara walk into Room 2704 at 8:11 p.m.
Young. Dark hair. White blouse. Furious.
Andrew entered four minutes later.
At 8:22, Margaret appeared in the corridor.
She stopped outside the door.
I turned toward her.
“You were there.”
She said nothing.
On-screen, the camera skipped.
8:22 became 8:29.
Seven minutes missing.
At 8:30, Clara burst out carrying a toddler.
Me.
There was blood on her sleeve.
She ran toward the service elevator.
Margaret came out one minute later.
No Andrew.
Sebastian whispered, “What did you do?”
Margaret looked at the frozen screen.
“I helped him.”
“With what?”
“His head was bleeding.”
“That is not what I asked.”
She faced me.
“Your mother had a folder.”
“What folder?”
“Atlas.”
“Was that all?”
Margaret hesitated.
There.
Another door.
I pushed.
“What else was in the room?”
She shook her head.
Andrew said, “Margaret.”
She looked at him.
He gave the smallest nod.
I saw it.
“So you two still agree on the story.”
Olivia whispered, “Mom, tell her.”
Margaret’s face broke for the first time.
“There was a man.”
Sebastian frowned.
“What man?”
“I didn’t know his name then.”
Andrew closed his eyes.
I leaned forward.
“Who?”
Margaret looked at Sebastian.
“A federal investigator.”
The room went silent.
“He was meeting Clara,” Margaret continued. “She planned to give him Atlas.”
Sebastian sat down.
“You knew she was trying to report us.”
“Yes.”
“And you let me believe she stole the money.”
“I let you believe what kept the company alive.”
I stared at her.
“You destroyed my mother to protect a hotel chain.”
Margaret’s eyes met mine.
“No.”
Her voice dropped.
“I destroyed her reputation because Andrew told me the investigator was your father.”
I stopped breathing.
My father.
Mom had always told me he died before I could remember him.
Sebastian whispered, “Clara never told me who Charlotte’s father was.”
Margaret looked at me.
“She didn’t tell you because the man disappeared the same night she did.”
I could barely speak.
“What was his name?”
Andrew answered.
“David Mercer.”
Nathan’s laptop chimed.
He had searched the name.
A federal personnel record appeared.
David Mercer, financial crimes investigator.
Status: killed in a car explosion.
Date of death: two days after Clara fled.
I stared at the screen.
Then Nathan scrolled.
The file contained a fingerprint note.
BODY NOT RECOVERED.
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