Robert Whitmore. The name triggered something in Carson’s memory. He opened a new search window and typed in the name plus “Blackridge” plus “embezzlement.”
A news article from fifteen years ago popped up.Local Accountant Arrested for Embezzlement Scheme.
Carson’s pulse quickened as he read. Robert Whitmore had worked at Morrison & Associates—Nora’s firm—and had been caught stealing from client accounts. The accountant who’d discovered the theft and reported it?
Daniel Bell. Nora’s father.
“Shit,” Carson muttered.
“What?” Nora looked up from her laptop.
Carson turned his screen toward her. “Your father was the one who caught Eugene’s father embezzling. He’s the reason Robert Whitmore was arrested.”
Nora’s face went white. “No. No, that can’t be. My dad died when I was eight. That was twenty years ago.”
“The embezzlement was fifteen years ago. Your dad didn’t work at the firm then.” Carsonscrolled through the article. “The accountant who reported it was...Daniel Morrison.”
“Morrison.” Nora stood, moving to the table. “That’s why Eugene uses that name? Because of who caught his father?”
“Maybe. Or maybe...” Carson’s mind raced, connecting pieces. “What if Eugene has been targeting people connected to the firm for years? Different names, different approaches, but the same goal—revenge for what happened to his father?”
“But my dad didn’t even work there when—” Nora stopped. “Wait. My dad worked there before we moved to Seattle. That was when I was seven. He left the firm right before we moved.”
“Why’d he leave?”
“I don’t know. I was too young to understand. But I remember...there was something wrong. Some kind of problem at work. Dad was stressed. Mom wanted him to leave, start over somewhere new.” She looked at Carson with wide eyes. “What if it was connected? What if Dad knew something about Robert Whitmore?”
Carson was already pulling up more records. “If your dad left right before the embezzlement was discovered...maybe he suspected something. Maybe he’d started investigating.”
“And Eugene blames him too.” Nora sank into the chair next to Carson. “That’s why he’s targeting me. Because of something my father did twenty years ago.”
“It’s a theory. I need to prove it.” Carson typed rapidly, pulling up more background on both Daniel Bell and Robert Whitmore. “But if I’m right, this isn’t random. Eugene has been planning this for a long time. Waiting. Watching. Getting into position at your building.”
“How long has he worked there?”
Carson pulled up the employment records he’d gotten earlier. “Eighteen months. Started three months before you moved in.”
“He was waiting for me.” The horror in Nora’s voice made Carson want to put his fist through something. “He knew I’d moved back to Blackridge. Knew where I worked. Got a job at my building specifically to get to me.”
“That’s what it looks like.”
Nora stood abruptly, wrapping her arms around herself. “I need air. I need to—” She broke off, breathing too fast.
Carson recognized the signs. Panic attack incoming.
He stood and moved to her, hands hovering near her shoulders but not quite touching. “Nora. Look at me.”
She didn’t respond, her breathing getting faster.
“Nora.” Firmer this time. “Look at me. Right now.”
Her eyes snapped to his, wide and terrified.
“Breathe with me,” Carson said, keeping his voice steady and authoritative. “In through your nose. Four counts. You can do this.”
He demonstrated, and after a moment, she followed. They breathed together—in for four, hold for four, out for four. Again. Again.
Slowly, the panic in her eyes receded. Her breathing steadied.
