Chapter 7: The Threat He Didn't Expect
Marcus called at noon.
Logan was with Garrett in a conference room two floors above a law firm on Market Street, going through the transfer records page by page.
Nora Chen was on a video call from her apartment, her screen sharing a spreadsheet that mapped eighteen months of movements across six accounts.
She was precise, quiet, and visibly exhausted in the way of someone who had been carrying something heavy alone for too long.
Logan's phone lit up on the table.
Everyone in the room saw the name.
Garrett said, "Put it on speaker."
Logan answered.
"Marcus."
"I've been thinking about our conversation last night." Marcus's voice was easy.
Conversational.
The warmth was back, as if it had never left.
"I think we got off on the wrong foot.
You were upset.
Understandably.
I should have been more patient."
"All right," Logan said.
"I'd like to meet.
Just the two of us.
There are things I can explain that would make this whole situation much clearer."
Garrett was already writing on a notepad.
He slid it across the table.
*Keep him talking.*
"What kind of things?" Logan asked.
"The accounts, for one.
There's context you don't have.
Decisions that were made for good reasons that I should have brought to you earlier." A pause.
"I take responsibility for that."
Nora's expression on the screen didn't change.
She was watching the call with her hands folded in front of her.
"Where do you want to meet?" Logan asked.
"The office.
This afternoon.
Three o'clock."
"Just us?"
"Just us." Another pause.
"Logan, I know how this looks.
I know what you think.
But before you do something that damages the company — and yourself — irreparably, you should hear what I have to say.
For your father's sake if nothing else."
Garrett wrote again: *Don't commit.
Leave it open.*
"I'll think about it," Logan said.
"Don't think too long." The warmth dropped by one degree.
Just one.
"Some of those records your father copied — there are things in there that could be read more than one way.
I'd hate for the wrong interpretation to reach the wrong people before we've had a chance to talk."
Logan kept his voice level.
"Is that right."
"I'm trying to protect you, Logan.
I always have been." The warmth came back up, smooth and immediate.
"Three o'clock.
I'll have everything laid out."
The call ended.
The room was quiet for a moment.
Nora spoke first.
"He knows you're filing."
"Or he suspects it," Garrett said.
He set down his pen.
"The comment about the records being read more than one way — he's preparing a counter-narrative.
He'll claim the transfers were authorized, that Logan was a willing participant, that the shell accounts were a tax strategy Logan approved verbally."
"Can he make that stick?" Logan asked.
"Not with what Nora has documented.
But he can create enough noise to slow the investigation and shift the public story." Garrett looked at Logan.
"He wants you in that office at three o'clock because he wants to know exactly how much you have before he decides how to respond."
"I'm not going."
"No.
You're not." Garrett gathered the pages in front of him into a neat stack.
"We file this afternoon.
Before three o'clock."
Nora unmuted herself.
"There's one more thing." She pulled up a second spreadsheet.
"I found a transfer I didn't include in the original package.
It went out four days ago.
After your father started asking questions." She turned her screen so the camera could see it.
"It's the largest single movement in the entire eighteen months."
Logan leaned toward his screen.
"Where did it go?"
May you like
"I've traced it to a personal account." Nora looked directly into the camera.
"The account is in Cara's name."
