“I gave them the files requested by the legal department.”
“Did you compare the version you gave them with the original?”
Rachel looked up.
“No.”
Rebecca opened the folder.
The printed summary listed six consulting companies and their payment histories. Beside each payment were the date, amount, invoice number, and authorizing department.
Rebecca turned to the final page.
A handwritten note appeared at the bottom.
Check Northbridge — no work product located. Payment approved through executive liaison.
“Who wrote this?” Rebecca asked.
Rachel's face had gone pale.
“Adrian.”
“Do you know what he meant by executive liaison?”
“He used that term for people who coordinated contracts with government offices.”
“Was Thomas Whitaker one of those people?”
“Yes.”
“Did Adrian tell you Whitaker was involved?”
Rachel shook her head.
“No. He only said he needed to verify the approvals.”
“Did he seem afraid?”
Rachel looked at the paper for several seconds.
“Two days before he died, he asked me to send him the original invoice register and not to use the shared drive. He said someone had been accessing documents without authorization.”
“Did he identify that person?”
“No.”
“Did you preserve the request?”
Rachel nodded.
“I still have the email.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“May I see it?”
Rachel opened her laptop and searched her archived messages.
The email had been sent at 6:18 p.m. on September 10.
Its subject line was simple.
Original register — please preserve.
The body contained only three sentences.
Please send me the unaltered invoice register for Northbridge, Cedar Point, and Marlow. Do not replace the current version or upload it to the shared folder. I need the original before tomorrow's meeting.
The message ended with Adrian's name.
Rebecca asked Rachel to forward the email through the approved evidence-submission process.
Then she asked another question.
“Did Adrian have a meeting scheduled for September 12?”
Rachel looked through her calendar.
“Yes. At 9:30 p.m.”
“With whom?”
“The appointment was entered under the title 'final review.' There was no attendee listed.”
“Was that normal?”
“No. Adrian usually identified the participants, even if he used initials.”
“Did you ask him about it?”
“I sent him a message that afternoon. He replied that it was a personal meeting.”
“Did he say where it would take place?”
Rachel shook her head.
Rebecca made a note.
For the first time, the investigation had a document created before Adrian's death that directly showed his concern about the financial records.
It did not prove who had killed him.
It did not prove Eleanor was innocent.
But it contradicted the prosecution's suggestion that the disputed financial investigation had been invented after Eleanor's arrest.
Adrian had been examining the contracts before he died.
And he had been worried that someone was altering the records.
That evening, Samuel sat at his kitchen table, staring at his laptop.
He had been instructed not to investigate on his own, and he intended to follow that instruction. He had not opened the evidence system, contacted anyone from the case, or searched for information about Whitaker.
But he could not stop thinking about the authentication notification on his phone.
At 12:48 a.m., someone had attempted to use his account.
At 1:02 a.m., the system recorded a certification under his name.
The timing suggested that the person had needed access to his credentials before modifying the file.
Samuel opened his phone's notification history.
The authentication application had retained a record of the request.
New sign-in request — Court Evidence System.
Below it was a status indicator.
Request expired.
He took a screenshot.
Then he noticed a second notification.
It had arrived at 12:51 a.m.
Security settings updated by administrator.
Samuel stared at the screen.
He had never received a notification like that before.
He did not click anything else.
Instead, he called Rebecca Sloan's office number, which she had given him before he left the courthouse.
She answered after two rings.
“Inspector Sloan.”
“This is Samuel Brooks. I found something on my phone that may be relevant.”
“Have you changed any settings?”
“No.”
“Good. Can you describe what you found?”
Samuel explained the two notifications.
“Please do not delete them,” Rebecca said. “Can you bring the phone to the office tomorrow morning?”
“Yes.”
“Keep it powered on if possible. Don't attempt to log in to the evidence system, and don't respond to any unexpected requests.”
“I won't.”
He ended the call.
For several minutes, he remained at the table.
Then his personal phone rang.
The caller ID showed an unfamiliar number.
Samuel almost let it go to voicemail.
Instead, he answered.
“Hello?”
A man's voice spoke softly.
“Mr. Brooks?”
“Who is this?”
“You don't know me. But I know you're involved in the Vale case.”
Samuel stood up.
“Who is this?”
“You need to be careful about what you tell the inspectors.”
“Who are you?”
“I'm trying to help you.”
“Then identify yourself.”
The caller paused.
“People get hurt when they mistake a technical problem for a conspiracy.”
Samuel felt a chill move through him.
“Is that a threat?”
“No. It's advice.”
“Where did you get my number?”
The caller ignored the question.
“You have a career ahead of you. Don't destroy it over a file you don't understand.”
Samuel's voice became firmer.
“If you have information about the evidence, give it to the inspector general.”
A short, humorless laugh came through the phone.
“You really believe they can protect you?”
The line went dead.
Samuel stood motionless, the phone pressed against his ear.
Then he lowered it and looked at the call record.