Chapter 4: What He Thought He Had
I called Grace back before his car had left the street.
"He said he knows things about the business," I said.
"Things that could complicate my exit."
A pause.
"What things?"
"He didn't say.
He left before I could ask."
"Is there anything he could actually know?" Grace asked.
"Anything he had access to?"
I thought about it carefully.
"He was never involved in the firm.
He didn't have access to the accounts, the client files, or the holding company structure.
But he was in the house.
He saw documents sometimes.
He heard phone calls."
"Did he ever meet your CFO?"
"Once.
At the Christmas party three years ago.
They spoke for maybe ten minutes."
"His name?"
"Marcus Webb."
"I'll make a note." Grace's voice stayed even.
"Here's what I need you to do.
Write down every conversation Anthony could have overheard.
Every document he might have seen on your desk.
Every name he heard you mention.
Send it to me tonight."
"You think he's bluffing."
"I think he's scared and he said the first thing that came to mind that might give him leverage.
But I don't assume bluffs.
Send me the list."
I spent the afternoon going through fourteen months of careful memory.
By six o'clock I had two pages of notes.
I sent them to Grace and poured a glass of wine I didn't finish.
The next morning, Anthony's attorney called my cell phone directly.
His name was Phillip Crane.
I recognized it.
He handled divorces for wealthy men in this city, and he was known for being aggressive.
"Ms.
Hartwell," he said.
"I represent Anthony Hartwell.
I'd like to arrange a meeting between our clients to discuss a mutually agreeable resolution."
"My attorney is Grace Okafor," I said.
"Please contact her office."
"Of course.
I did want to say, before we go through formal channels — my client has information he believes you'd prefer to keep private.
He's prepared to be reasonable if you're prepared to be reasonable."
I kept my voice flat.
"Contact Grace Okafor.
Have a good morning."
I ended the call and texted Grace immediately.
Her reply came in four minutes: *Phillip Crane.
Predictable.
Don't take any calls from him directly.
I'll handle it.*
Two days later, Grace called me into her office.
She had a printed email on her desk.
She turned it to face me.
"Crane sent this yesterday," she said.
"Anthony's claim is that you falsified revenue projections in a client pitch three years ago, and that he overheard a conversation between you and Marcus that confirmed it."
I read the email twice.
"That pitch," I said slowly.
"The Dalton account."
"Tell me about it."
"The projections were aggressive.
They were based on a market expansion scenario that didn't fully materialize.
But they weren't falsified.
They were clearly labeled as scenario-based forecasts.
The client signed off on the methodology."
"Do you have documentation?"
"Marcus will have everything.
The original pitch deck, the signed methodology disclosure, the client approval email."
Grace nodded.
"Then this is nothing.
A misheard conversation turned into a threat." She picked up the email and set it face-down.
"But here's what concerns me.
Crane doesn't take cases he can't use.
Anthony told him something that made him think this was worth pursuing."
"He doesn't have anything real."
"No.
But he has your name, and he has Crane, and he has a story." She looked at me directly.
"Anthony is going to try to make this ugly enough that you pay him to stop."
I looked at the upside-down email on her desk.
"What do I do?"
"You let me call Marcus Webb today.
You get me every document from the Dalton pitch by end of week.
And you stop answering your phone when you don't recognize the number."
I nodded.
"One more thing," Grace said.
She opened a second folder.
"I ran a background check on Dana Reeves.
The woman from the golf club."
I hadn't asked her to do that.
"She filed a civil suit against a previous employer eighteen months ago," Grace said.
"Settled out of court.
The employer was a man named Gerald Whitmore.
He's a property developer.
Married." She closed the folder.
"Anthony is not her first."
The room was quiet for a moment.
"He thought he was choosing someone who wanted him," I said.
Grace looked at me without expression.
"He chose someone who wanted what came with him."
I picked up my bag and stood.
"Get me the Dalton documents," Grace said.
"And Olivia — don't underestimate Crane.
He's going to push harder before he backs down."
I walked out into the afternoon sun and called Marcus from the parking lot.
He answered on the second ring.
"I need everything from the Dalton pitch," I said.
"Every version, every email, every signed disclosure.
How fast can you get it to me?"
A pause.
May you like
"Olivia," Marcus said.
"There's something I should have told you sooner."
