Chapter 8: What the Photographer Had
The photographer's name was Soren Adler.
Warren found that out in eleven minutes through the foundation's event coordinator, who was still managing the dinner upstairs and who was, by that point, very willing to cooperate with anything Warren asked because she had watched the wheelchair incident from the registration table and had been quietly furious about it ever since.
Soren Adler was not the foundation's contracted photographer.
The foundation's contracted photographer was a woman named Beth Kwan who was currently in the main ballroom shooting the award presentation that had begun twenty minutes ago.
Beth had a badge, a contract, and a second camera bag near the stage.
Soren Adler had a press credential from a financial news outlet called the Meridian Observer.
Warren read the name of the outlet twice.
"Meridian," Adrian said.
"Yes."
"Same as the title company."
"The Observer is a small publication," Warren said.
"Mostly commercial real estate coverage.
It's owned by a holding company." He was typing as he spoke.
"The holding company's registered agent is—" He stopped.
"Devereux," Adrian said.
"Philip Devereux.
Listed as managing partner." Warren set his phone on the table.
"Soren Adler is not a neutral press photographer.
He was placed here tonight to document the story they wanted — Adrian Cole losing control at a public event.
A man in a wheelchair making accusations.
Unstable.
Unfit." He looked at Adrian.
"That was the story."
"But he photographed everything," Elena said.
"Including the envelope.
Including the moment she grabbed the chair."
"He had no choice," Warren said.
"He couldn't stop shooting without making himself conspicuous.
And a photographer's instinct is to keep shooting regardless." He paused.
"Which means Soren Adler's camera contains evidence that directly contradicts the story he was sent here to tell."
Adrian thought about the moment the photographer had raised his camera again — after Elena crossed the floor, after the room went quiet.
He had been shooting the wrong thing from Devereux's perspective.
He had been shooting the truth.
"Can we get the images?" Adrian asked.
"We can subpoena them," Warren said.
"But that takes time." He looked at Elena.
"The unknown number.
Whoever has been sending the messages knew about Devereux, knew about the parking structure, knew about the photographer.
Someone inside their group is not comfortable with what they're doing."
"Or someone who was supposed to be inside their group," Elena said, "and changed their mind."
They looked at her.
"The messages started after she grabbed the chair," Elena said.
"Before that, whoever it is was presumably going along with the plan.
Something in that moment made them decide to warn Adrian instead." She paused.
"That's not a spy.
That's someone who watched what happened and couldn't stay quiet."
Adrian looked at his phone.
He typed a reply to the unknown number for the first time.
He wrote: *Who are you?*
The three of them waited.
Forty seconds passed.
The reply came: *Someone who was supposed to be a witness for their side.
I was here to confirm that Adrian Cole caused a scene.
I saw what actually happened instead.*
Then, after a pause: *My name is Beth.
Not the photographer.
The other Beth.
I'm Devereux's personal assistant.
I've been his assistant for three years.
I didn't know about the document until tonight.*
Adrian read the message aloud.
Warren sat back in his chair.
"Devereux's personal assistant," he said slowly, "who has presumably had access to his files, his communications, and his scheduling for three years." He looked at the ceiling for a moment.
"And who just watched her employer instruct a city councilman to commit fraud in a parking structure."
He picked up his phone.
May you like
"I need to make one more call," he said.
"This one to a friend at the district attorney's office."
