Agent Bell left us with two instructions.
Do not go home alone.
Do not alter our routine more than necessary.
My father disliked both.
"They contradict each other."
Margaret closed her briefcase. "No. One concerns security. The other concerns whoever is watching."
Dad looked toward the dark windows of my office.
"If someone has been following Emily, her routine is already compromised."
"Which is why Bell doesn't want us improvising."
"I've spent thirty-two years—"
"Investigating fraud for the state. Not conducting federal surveillance operations."
Dad's jaw tightened.
I stepped between them before their argument acquired footnotes.
"I'm staying with you tonight."
That ended it.
At 12:14 a.m., building security escorted us to Dad's car.
I expected to feel watched.
Instead, the street looked painfully ordinary.
A delivery cyclist passed beneath a red light. A couple argued softly beside a taxi. Rainwater gathered around the curb. A sanitation truck groaned somewhere downtown.
Danger would have been easier if it looked like danger.
We reached Brooklyn without incident.
Dad checked the block twice before pulling into his garage.
Inside, he locked the door and immediately opened his laptop.
"No."
He looked at me.
"No what?"
"No investigation."
"I'm checking email."
"You're terrible at lying."
"I'm retired. My standards have relaxed."
Despite everything, I smiled.
Then my phone vibrated.
Margaret.
She had received an encrypted file from Agent Bell containing images federal investigators wanted me to review.
No commentary.
No names.
Only a request that I identify anything familiar.
Dad sat beside me at the kitchen table.
The first photograph showed me leaving the courthouse after the divorce.
Timestamp: 3:19 p.m.
Taken from across the street.
The second showed me entering Dad's brownstone later that afternoon.
My skin tightened.
The third showed my office building the next morning.
The fourth showed Daniel outside the lobby after security removed him.
The fifth showed me and Margaret leaving for the federal meeting.
The sixth showed my apartment entrance.
I stopped.
"Someone knew where I lived."
Dad's expression was hard.
"Daniel knew."
"Yes."
"But these aren't necessarily his."
I continued.
Another photograph.
Me entering Hayes & Rowe.
Another.
Dad's car.
Another.
Grace leaving work.
"Grace?"
Dad leaned closer.
The next showed Leonard Pike.
Then Calvin Moore.
Then Elaine Rowe.
"This isn't just me."
"No."
Whoever had taken the photographs had been tracking nearly everyone connected to Westbridge.
I enlarged the courthouse image.
Nothing obvious.
People.
Traffic.
Reflections.
Then Dad touched the screen.
"Go back."
"Where?"
"The office photograph."
I opened it.
"Zoom the glass."
The image had been taken through the window of a coffee shop opposite Hayes & Rowe.
In the reflection, behind the photographer, stood another man.
Partial face.
Gray jacket.
Dark hair.
Dad stared.
"You know him."
He didn't answer.
"Dad."
"Maybe."
"Who?"
He enlarged the reflection again.
"Samuel Doran."
The name meant nothing to me.
"Who is he?"
"Former investigator."
"Police?"
"State financial enforcement."
My stomach tightened.
"You worked with him?"
"Years ago."
"Good investigator?"
"Very."
"Then why does your face look like that?"
Dad closed the laptop halfway.
"Because Sam was fired."
"For what?"
"Improper access to confidential records. Undisclosed relationships with subjects of investigations. Taking money."
I stared at him.
"He was corrupt."
"He was never criminally convicted."
"That's not what I asked."
Dad looked tired.
"Yes."
"How do you know it's him?"
"I don't. The reflection resembles him."
I called Margaret.
She contacted Bell immediately.
Twenty-three minutes later, Bell called Dad directly.
He asked him to describe Doran.
Dad did.
Bell asked about known associates.
Dad named several.
Then Bell asked a question that made my father go quiet.
"When did you last speak to him?"
Dad's eyes shifted toward me.
"About six years ago."
Bell asked something else I couldn't hear.
Dad answered, "Yes."
Then another.
"Once."
I stood.
Bell continued.
Dad rubbed his forehead.
"Yes, Daniel was there."
My stomach dropped.
When the call ended, I didn't give Dad time to evade me.
"Explain."
He looked at the dark screen.
"Six years ago, Daniel asked me for help checking a potential business partner."
"Who?"
"He didn't give me a name at first."
"And you called Doran."
"I asked whether he still knew anyone who could run public background information."
"After he'd been fired?"
"I made a bad judgment."
That admission from my father carried weight.
"Did Daniel meet him?"
"Once."
"Where?"
"At my house."
I stared around the kitchen.
This house.
This table.
Dad continued.
"Daniel came early for dinner. Doran stopped by with information. They spoke maybe fifteen minutes."
"About whom?"
"I don't remember."
"Try."
Dad closed his eyes.
"Someone connected to a development project."
Westbridge.
"Eric?"
"I don't know."
"Marcus?"
"I don't know."
I felt anger rise.
"How did you never tell me this?"
"Because until tonight, it meant nothing."
"Daniel met a corrupt former financial investigator through you."
Dad flinched.
I regretted the cruelty immediately.
Not the fact.
The delivery.
He looked toward the window.
"Yes."
The word came quietly.
"I introduced them."
I sat.
For once, neither of us knew what to say.
At 1:18, Bell called again.
They had compared the reflection with known photographs.
Not definitive.
Strong resemblance.
Doran's current location was unknown.
His last known consulting company had dissolved two years earlier.
His phone was inactive.
His apartment lease ended six months ago.
Another man who seemed to have disappeared.
Except now I knew disappearance could mean many things.
At 1:46, Margaret sent a message.
Do not contact Daniel about Doran.
I had no intention of doing so.
At 2:03, Daniel contacted me.
I stared at the screen.
You need to stop talking to federal agents.
Dad saw it.
Neither of us spoke.
Another message.
They will make you think you are helping yourself.
Then:
You don't understand who you're trusting.
I showed Dad.
He photographed the messages with his own phone.
At 2:06:
Ask your father about Sam.
The kitchen went silent.
Dad sat very slowly.
Daniel knew.
Not merely that investigators had found photographs.
He knew Dad had identified Samuel Doran.
That information had existed for less than two hours.
Only a handful of people knew.
Me.
Dad.
Margaret.
Bell.
Federal investigators.
I looked at Dad.
"How?"
He was already calling Bell.
Bell's reaction was immediate.
"Do not respond."
Margaret joined the call.
The federal team began reviewing who had access to the identification.
I listened while professionals used calm language around an alarming possibility.
Leak.
Compromise.
Unauthorized disclosure.
Dad said, "If Daniel knows what we discussed with Bell, someone is feeding him current information."
Bell answered, "That's one possibility."
"What's another?"
"He's making an educated guess."
Dad almost laughed.
"He named Sam."
Bell had no response to that.
At 2:34, Daniel sent another message.
Sam wasn't the one you should be worried about.
Then nothing.
No explanation.
No demand.
Just silence.
I barely slept.
At 6:50, Bell arrived at Dad's house with another agent.
He collected our phones temporarily for examination and gave us replacements.
Dad hated surrendering his device.
"You'll survive," I told him.
"I have passwords in there."
"That's horrifying."
"They're coded."
"That's more horrifying."
Bell almost smiled.
Then he became serious.
"We located Samuel Doran."
"Where?"
"New Jersey."
"Alive?"
"Yes."
Relief mixed with dread.
"Did he take the photographs?"
"We're determining that."
Dad asked, "Did he work for Daniel?"
Bell looked at him.
"Doran has performed investigative services for several private clients."
"Daniel?"
Bell paused.
"Yes."
The word landed heavily.
"For how long?" I asked.
"At least four years."
Four years.
Before the divorce.
Before I knew about Vanessa.
During the period Westbridge money moved.
"What was he investigating?"
"We don't know all assignments."
Dad said, "But some involved Emily."
Bell looked at me.
"Yes."
I felt exposed again.
"What did he collect?"
"Travel. Business relationships. Corporate records. Public filings."
"Why?"
"We're still interviewing him."
"Is he cooperating?"
Bell's expression suggested complicated.
"Partially."
Margaret arrived twenty minutes later.
Bell then gave us another piece.
Doran admitted Daniel hired him during the marriage to monitor potential evidence of hidden assets.
I laughed once.
Of course.
The accusation again.
Everything returned to hidden assets.
Except Doran claimed Daniel wasn't actually searching for money I had concealed.
He was searching for ways to make ordinary financial behavior look suspicious.
"He wanted patterns," Bell said.
"What kind?"
"Transfers between business accounts. Investments. Large payments. Anything that could be framed without context."
Margaret said, "Divorce leverage."
"Potentially."
Dad asked, "What about the recent surveillance?"
Bell's face hardened.
"Doran denies conducting it."
"Believe him?"
"We verify."
"Who hired whoever did?"
"Unknown."
At 8:17, Bell received a call.
He stepped into the hallway.
When he returned, his expression had changed.
"We need to move."
"What happened?"
"Marcus Vale was located."
"Where?"
"A motel outside Newark."
"Alive?"
"Yes."
"Then what's wrong?"
Bell picked up his folder.
"He was trying to leave under another name."
Dad asked, "Did he say why?"
Bell looked at me.
"According to the agents with him, Marcus says Daniel warned him last night that federal investigators had the Renner recording."
My stomach dropped.
The recording had been transferred only hours earlier.
Daniel should not have known it existed.
Not unless someone told him.
Bell left immediately.
Margaret remained behind.
Dad stood at the kitchen window.
I looked at Daniel's final message.
Sam wasn't the one you should be worried about.
For once, I believed him.
Because the most frightening person in the case was no longer the disgraced investigator who had followed people for money.
It was whoever stood close enough to the investigation to tell Daniel what federal agents learned almost as soon as they learned it.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: Marcus Vale Finally Talked, and His Account of Daniel’s Marriage Strategy Revealed Why the Divorce Had Been Delayed for Months
Five Minutes After My Marriage Ended, My Father Gave Me One Instruction That Daniel Never Expected Me to Follow
Part 9 of 28
