Chapter 4 - The Corporate Vault
Brenda refused to look me in the eye when hospital security escorted her into the private consultation room. She sat down at the small conference table with a defiant tilt of her chin, crossing her arms over her expensive cashmere sweater.
"This is harassment, Conrad," Brenda snapped, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to sound indignant. "Just because a quack doctor made a mistake and your wife miraculously woke up doesn't mean you get to treat me like a criminal. Mason, tell your brother to grow up."
Mason remained silent, staring nervously at his hands. He looked defeated, a shadow of the ambitious executive he used to be before Brenda took over the household finances and corporate purchasing.
I leaned across the table, placing both palms flat on the cold wood, bringing my face inches from hers.
"Let’s talk about mistakes, Brenda," I began, my voice chillingly low. "You were the one who recommended Dr. Albright’s private clinic when Vivienne fell ill last month. You were the one who handled all the financial arrangements, paid his exorbitant fees out of our corporate expense accounts, and insisted that Vivienne be cremated or buried immediately without an independent autopsy."
"That was what the family wanted! It was a peaceful passing!" Brenda protested, her voice rising an octave.
"Was it?" I slammed my fist onto the table, making the metal water pitcher jump. "Dr. Vance just confirmed that Vivienne was injected with a specialized cataleptic agent. She was buried alive, Brenda. Someone paid Dr. Albright a fortune to fake her death certificate and put her six feet under while she was still breathing."
Brenda’s face drained of every drop of color. The defiant facade cracked instantly, replaced by a flickering panic that she tried desperately to conceal.
"I don't know anything about drugs! I'm the head of corporate purchasing, not a pharmacist!" she yelled, though her eyes darted toward the door as if calculating her escape route.
"Are you?" I asked softly, reaching into my suit pocket and pulling out a folded document. I tossed it across the table. It slid across the smooth surface and stopped right in front of her.
Brenda looked down. It was a certified bank transfer record dated three days prior—a wire transfer of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars from a private offshore account controlled by Pendelton Enterprises' purchasing division, directly deposited into an account registered under Dr. Lucas Albright's personal name.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars of company funds," I whispered, leaning in closer. "Authorized by the head of purchasing. For consulting services. Care to explain what kind of consultation costs a quarter of a million dollars, Brenda? Or should I call the FBI right now and let them audit every contract you've touched in the last five years?"
Brenda’s lower lip began to tremble. She looked at Mason for help, but my brother refused to meet her gaze.
Before Brenda could formulate a lie, the heavy oak door flew open.
A nurse rushed in, breathing heavily, her eyes wide with terror.
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"Mr. Pendelton! You need to come to Room 304 immediately! Your wife... she just woke up fully. And she's asking for you. But... but she says she knows who put her in that box."
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