Chapter 6 - The Man Behind the ThreatThe brick changed the rules.
Police photographed the broken window and collected the note.
I stayed with Emily.
Ivan denied involvement.
For once, I believed he might be telling the truth.
Threatening me directly after becoming the center of multiple investigations would have been reckless even by his standards.
Rebecca agreed.
“Someone else has something to lose.”
Trevor was the obvious candidate.
But Trevor had already begun cooperating.
Then Marcus called.
He had discovered another company.
Blue Heron Municipal Services.
Payments connected to Hawthorne Commons had passed through Blue Heron before reaching several consultants.
The registered manager was a man named Derek Voss.
I knew the name.
Ivan's cousin.
Derek had appeared at Christmas dinners for years.
He was loud, charming, and perpetually launching businesses that disappeared within eighteen months.
According to Ivan, Derek was harmless.
According to Marcus, Derek had received more than $900,000 from entities doing business with Mercer Development.
When investigators contacted Derek, he vanished.
Not internationally.
He simply stopped answering his phone and left his apartment.
Police later identified his vehicle near the neighborhood where my townhouse stood.
That did not prove he threw the brick.
But it got everyone's attention.
Then Emily remembered something.
“Derek was at the barbecue.”
I pulled up the guest list.
She was right.
He had been standing near the outdoor bar.
The leaked seventeen-second video had been recorded from the security system.
Only a handful of people should have had access.
I had assumed someone from the investigative team leaked it.
But Derek had helped Ivan install network equipment at our house years earlier.
Could he still access the system?
A cybersecurity professional reviewed the logs.
There had been unauthorized remote access after the barbecue.
The technical evidence did not immediately establish who was responsible.
But it suggested someone had copied footage.
Why would Derek leak a video damaging Ivan?
Marcus had a theory.
“Chaos.”
“Meaning?”
“If everyone focuses on Ivan's marriage, they aren't focusing on financial transactions.”
Derek may have believed the sensational video would turn a financial investigation into celebrity-style gossip.
If so, he underestimated the consequences.
Because the video encouraged witnesses to come forward.
One of them was a subcontractor named Luis Mendoza.
Luis had attended the barbecue because his construction firm worked on Hawthorne Commons.
He contacted Marcus after seeing the clip.
He had records.
Real ones.
Invoices his company submitted.
Invoices Mercer Development later recorded.
The numbers didn't match.
Someone had inflated several costs after Luis's company submitted them.
Luis had complained to Trevor months earlier.
Trevor told him to stop asking questions if he wanted future work.
Now Trevor had a problem.
His cooperation looked less voluntary.
Investigators confronted him.
He changed his story.
Trevor admitted that Ivan knew some invoices had been altered.
But he claimed Derek handled the scheme and Ivan merely looked the other way.
Ivan's attorneys said Trevor was shifting blame to reduce his own exposure.
That interpretation was plausible.
Nobody knew yet where responsibility would ultimately land.
But the corporate board had seen enough.
Ivan was removed as CEO.
Not convicted.
Not stripped of every share.
Removed from management.
The vote was announced on a Thursday morning.
I was sitting in Emily's kitchen.
I expected satisfaction.
Instead, I felt tired.
“That's it?” Emily asked.
“No.”
Because losing his job wasn't justice.
It was a corporate decision.
My divorce remained unresolved.
My ownership remained disputed.
The financial investigation continued.
And I still woke at night expecting footsteps.
But something important had happened.
Ivan no longer controlled the institution he had used as proof that he controlled everything.
He called me that afternoon from an unfamiliar number.
I answered before realizing who it was.
“Claire.”
I nearly disconnected.
“Wait.”
His voice sounded different.
No anger.
No command.
Just exhaustion.
“I need to tell you something about Derek.”
I said nothing.
“He's dangerous.”
“You spent years telling me he was harmless.”
“I was wrong.”
“That's becoming a theme.”
“Claire, listen to me.”
The urgency in his voice sounded genuine.
“Derek thinks I owe him.”
“For what?”
Silence.
“Ivan?”
“He handled things.”
“What things?”
“Problems.”
That word chilled me.
“What does that mean?”
“Business problems.”
“You need to talk to investigators.”
“I can't.”
“Then don't call me.”
“He'll come after you because he thinks you're the reason everything collapsed.”
I gripped the phone.
“Did he throw the brick?”
“I don't know.”
“Did he leak the video?”
“I don't know.”
“What do you know?”
Ivan exhaled.
“That I should have stopped him years ago.”
The line went dead.
I immediately called Rebecca.
Within hours, investigators received a report of the conversation.
Ivan eventually agreed to an interview through counsel.
His disclosures led to records nobody had previously found.
Derek had allegedly acted as an intermediary on multiple questionable transactions.
Again, allegations weren't proof.
But authorities now had enough information to pursue additional records.
Derek was located two days later.
The brick investigation remained separate.
Physical evidence ultimately connected the threat not to Derek directly but to a young employee who worked for one of his companies.
The employee admitted delivering the threat after being paid.
According to his statement, Derek ordered it.
That claim would still need to be tested through the legal process.
But the immediate danger eased after arrests and court restrictions.
For the first time in weeks, I returned to my townhouse.
The window had been replaced.
I stood in the living room and realized I hated the place.
Not because of the brick.
Because I had chosen it while still thinking like someone hiding.
Small.
Temporary.
Anonymous.
I didn't want to hide anymore.
That weekend, Emily and I drove through neighborhoods looking at houses.
Nothing extravagant.
Nothing designed to impress Ivan.
At the fourth house, I walked into a kitchen with yellow morning light and a ridiculous green backsplash.
I loved it.
“There isn't a pool,” Emily said.
“I don't want a pool.”
“The closets are tiny.”
“I own six pairs of shoes.”
“You used to own fifty.”
“Ivan liked me owning fifty.”
She laughed.
Then I did too.
It was the first time laughter didn't feel borrowed.
I made an offer contingent on the financial issues being resolved.
That evening, Rebecca called.
“We received a settlement proposal from Ivan.”
“What does he want?”
“You drop certain marital claims and resolve the ownership dispute privately. In exchange, he offers a substantial payment.”
“How substantial?”
She told me.
I sat down.
It was more money than I had ever personally controlled.
Enough to walk away.
Enough to never deal with Mercer Development again.
Emily stared at me.
“Well?”
I thought about the security camera.
My father.
The forged document.
The years of being told I owned almost nothing.
Then I asked Rebecca the only question that mattered.
“If I take it, does the agreement require me to say his version of events is true?”
“Yes.”
“Then no.”
“Claire, think carefully.”
“I have.”
“This could become a long fight.”
“I know.”
“You might receive less.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
I looked at my healing palm.
“Because for eleven years, every peaceful day in my marriage was purchased by agreeing with something I knew wasn't true.”
May you like
I took a breath.
“I'm not buying peace that way anymore.”
