Chapter 5 - The Card That Never Left Home
ArcLight placed Merritt on paid administrative leave the following morning.
Elena Park delivered the news by video call.
“I want to be clear,” she said. “This is not disciplinary.”
“It feels disciplinary.”
“I know.”
Merritt sat at her dining table with her right leg elevated.
“Corporate Security found something?”
“We found activity.”
“What activity?”
Elena glanced off-screen.
“Our investigator should explain.”
A second person joined the call.
Daniel Cho, ArcLight’s director of internal investigations.
Merritt knew him by reputation.
Quiet.
Methodical.
Impossible to charm.
“Merritt,” Daniel said, “do you still have the physical emergency card?”
“Yes.”
“Show me both sides without holding it close enough for the numbers to be readable.”
She did.
“Has it ever left your possession?”
“Not knowingly.”
“Who knew where you kept it?”
Merritt thought carefully.
“No one officially.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
She exhaled.
“My mother has been in my office. My father too. My sister.”
“When?”
“Several times since surgery.”
Daniel nodded.
“Were you taking opioid pain medication?”
“For four days after surgery. Then mostly anti-inflammatory medication.”
“Any periods when you were asleep while family members were in your condo?”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone have access to your work laptop?”
“It was password protected.”
“Anyone know the password?”
“No.”
Daniel looked at something on another screen.
“Your laptop uses biometric login as well.”
“Yes.”
“Fingerprint?”
“Face ID.”
“Could anyone unlock it while you were asleep?”
Merritt stared at him.
The question felt invasive.
Then useful.
“I don’t know.”
Daniel continued.
“We found a draft vendor authorization form created on your machine nine days ago at 2:13 p.m.”
Merritt’s stomach dropped.
“That’s impossible.”
“The forensic image says otherwise.”
“I didn’t create it.”
“The document lists Rosecliff Harbor Estate as a temporary executive leadership venue.”
Merritt said nothing.
Elena’s expression was grim.
Daniel continued.
“The form bears your electronic signature block.”
“My signature?”
“A stored image of it.”
“I don’t store a signature image.”
“You did.”
“No.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Not intentionally, perhaps. But there is a PNG file in an archived folder from a 2024 contract package.”
Merritt remembered.
A scanned signature from an old vendor amendment.
Anyone searching her files could have found it.
“Was the form submitted?”
“Yes.”
“To whom?”
“Accounts Payable received it from an email address designed to resemble yours.”
Merritt leaned forward.
“What address?”
Daniel spelled it.
Merritt saw the trick immediately.
Her real address ended in arclightlogistics.com.
The fake used arclight-logistics.com.
One hyphen.
“Someone registered a domain?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Elena said, “The accounts payable coordinator noticed the external-domain warning and rejected the request.”
“Then why did the card charge go through?”
“Because the vendor form was not necessary for the credit-card transaction. Whoever did this seems to have tried two methods.”
Merritt felt sick.
“Why?”
“To create legitimacy,” Daniel said. “If the payment was questioned later, there would be a paper trail suggesting a company event.”
Merritt’s mind returned to Judson’s words.
Your company will investigate more than one transaction.
“Did they find others?”
Daniel did not answer immediately.
Instead he said, “Do you recognize a merchant called Northeast Executive Hospitality?”
“No.”
“Boston-based.”
“No.”
“Three charges over the past six months. $3,800. $4,250. $5,100.”
Merritt stared.
“On my card?”
“Yes.”
“I never saw them.”
“They were credited back before the monthly reconciliation deadline.”
That was clever.
Temporary charges.
Short-term financing.
Exactly as Judson had described.
Merritt’s throat tightened.
“Who refunded them?”
“The merchant.”
“Who owns it?”
“We’re checking.”
Merritt already knew what the answer would somehow become.
Family.
It was always family.
Daniel leaned closer to the camera.
“I need to ask you something uncomfortable.”
“Go ahead.”
“Has your father ever worked in hospitality, event planning, consulting, or payment processing?”
“No.”
“Your mother?”
Merritt hesitated.
“Blythe used to organize charity events. She did private event consulting for a while.”
“What was the name?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Think.”
Merritt closed her eyes.
She remembered business cards in a silver holder.
Blythe answering calls during dinner.
A logo with an anchor.
“Harbor something.”
Daniel typed.
“Harbor House Consulting?”
Merritt’s eyes opened.
“Yes.”
Daniel and Elena exchanged a look.
“What?”
Daniel said, “Northeast Executive Hospitality lists its registered mailing address as a commercial mailbox.”
Merritt waited.
“The same mailbox was previously used by Harbor House Consulting.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Merritt looked at the corporate card lying beside her.
Still physically present.
Still innocent-looking.
It had never needed to leave her condo.
Someone in her family had copied the information, created false paperwork, impersonated her electronically, and moved company money through businesses connected to her mother.
And they had been practicing with smaller amounts for months.
Her phone vibrated.
A message from Sloan.
PLEASE CALL ME BEFORE MOM AND DAD DO SOMETHING STUPID.
Merritt stared at it.
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Then another message appeared.
I THINK THEY’RE GOING TO BLAME YOU.
