Chapter 14 - THE PERSON FUNDING LANTERN WAS INSIDE WHITMORE CAPITALJulian opened Laurel’s file.
A spreadsheet appeared.
Payments.
Shell companies.
Consulting firms.
Security contracts.
Millions moving through ordinary business expenses.
At the center:
Marcus Dane.
But Marcus wasn’t funding Lantern.
He was being paid.
Everett followed the transfer chain.
Northstar.
Veyron.
Halcyon.
Then a company he recognized.
Whitmore Strategic Opportunities Fund III.
His own firm.
He stared.
“No.”
Nolan sat in the room under police permission after discharge.
Graham had been brought in separately.
Both looked grim.
Everett pointed.
“Who authorized these payments?”
Nolan shook his head.
“I didn’t.”
Graham said:
“Not me.”
Julian opened authorization records.
The approvals carried Everett’s digital signature.
His stomach dropped.
“I never signed this.”
Julian examined metadata.
“Looks like an executive token.”
“Could mine have been copied?”
“Yes.”
Everett looked at Nolan.
“You had access.”
“So did three other people.”
“Names.”
Nolan listed them.
Chief operating officer.
Chief financial officer.
Executive legal counsel.
One name stood out.
Margaret Sloane.
Whitmore Capital’s longtime chief legal officer.
Sixty-one.
Respected.
Private.
She had managed Laurel’s estate after the accident.
Everett trusted her completely.
Julian traced the token use.
Most payments were approved while Everett was traveling.
Origin device:
Margaret’s office terminal.
Everett felt cold.
“No.”
Nolan looked at him.
“She was Graham’s mentor.”
Everett turned.
Graham’s face changed.
“What?”
“Margaret Sloane trained you.”
“Yes.”
“Any relation?”
“No.”
Coincidence.
But maybe not.
Detective Ellison called Margaret.
No answer.
Her apartment was empty.
Passport used that morning.
Flight to Toronto.
Federal authorities notified.
Everett stared at Laurel’s file.
Why had she not named Margaret directly?
Maybe she hadn’t known yet.
The recorder contained a video recorded hours before Laurel died.
Laurel sat inside her car.
Rain dotted the windshield.
“I found the payment source.”
Everett leaned closer.
“The Whitmore fund.”
“She looked furious.”
“I don’t think Everett authorized it.”
His chest tightened.
“Someone has been using his executive token.”
Then:
“Nolan thinks Margaret is involved.”
Everett looked at Nolan.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“You told Laurel.”
“Yes.”
“And not me.”
“Yes.”
Everett was too tired to be surprised.
Laurel continued:
“Graham refuses to believe Margaret would do this.”
Graham looked down.
“She built his career.”
Laurel:
“Marcus reports to someone inside Whitmore.”
“I thought it was Nolan.”
Nolan flinched.
“I was wrong.”
Then Laurel turned toward the passenger seat.
Someone was there.
Off-camera.
She asked:
“Are you sure?”
A woman answered.
“Yes.”
Everett recognized the voice.
Not Margaret.
Doreen.
Everyone turned.
Doreen froze.
Everett stared.
“You were with Laurel that morning.”
Doreen began crying.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“She made me promise.”
Everett closed his eyes.
Again.
Doreen continued.
“She wanted someone without company connections.”
“What did you do?”
“I followed Margaret.”
Everett stared.
“Laurel asked you to follow our chief legal officer?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“To a hotel.”
“Who did she meet?”
Doreen looked at Graham.
“Marcus.”
Graham whispered:
“No.”
Doreen nodded.
“I photographed them.”
“Where are the pictures?”
“Laurel had them.”
The recorder did.
Photographs showed Margaret Sloane and Marcus Dane together three weeks before Laurel’s accident.
Not romantic.
Documents spread across the table.
One image caught a page heading:
LANTERN CONTINUITY PLAN
Everett felt sick.
His own lawyer.
His wife’s estate lawyer.
The woman who handled Hadley’s legal affairs.
A central architect.
But then Julian enlarged another photograph.
A reflection in the hotel mirror.
A third person sitting just outside the frame.
Everett recognized the watch first.
Vintage gold Rolex.
His father’s.
The watch had passed to Everett’s older brother, Charles.
Charles Whitmore.
Chairman of Whitmore Capital until he retired six years ago.
Everett stared.
“My brother.”
Nolan went pale.
Graham whispered:
“Oh, God.”
Charles lived in Vermont.
Rarely visited.
He had comforted Everett after Laurel died.
He had warned Everett not to “obsess over conspiracy theories” when Graham once mentioned irregularities in the accident report.
Everett felt the room tilt.
“Call him.”
Detective Ellison stopped him.
“No.”
“He’s my brother.”
“Exactly.”
They checked travel records.
Charles had been in the city when Laurel died.
He claimed years ago to be in Vermont.
A lie.
Then another Laurel video played.
Her face was pale.
“If Charles is involved, Everett will not believe me.”
Everett’s heart broke.
She knew him.
Again.
Laurel continued:
“His brother is Everett’s blind spot.”
Everett looked away.
Hadley had inherited more than her mother’s eyes.
May you like
She had inherited a trail Laurel designed around every weakness Everett refused to see.
And now the trail pointed at his own blood.
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