Chapter 8 - The Ghost of MontaukThree days later, the penthouse was quiet, guarded by federal marshals stationed at every elevator and stairwell.
Harrison sat on the balcony overlooking the Hudson River, holding a weathered sketchbook he had found at the bottom of Rebecca’s backpack. Inside were dozens of charcoal drawings of him—standing on the beach in Montauk, reading architectural blueprints, sleeping by the window with a book across his chest.
Footsteps approached behind him. It was Detective Vance, carrying a manila envelope.
"We processed the encrypted server we seized from your mother’s private estate computer," Vance said, setting the envelope on the glass table. "We found something interesting about Rebecca Miller."
Harrison looked up, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. "What?"
"She wasn't just an illustrator, Harrison. Six years ago, when she left Montauk, she didn't just walk away because your mother threatened her. She walked away because she discovered that the architectural firm you and your father built was being used as a front for international money laundering by the syndicate that funded your mother's rise."
Harrison stared at the detective in disbelief. "My father’s firm?"
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"And more importantly," Vance continued, sliding a photograph across the table. "Rebecca didn't just happen to walk into your building during the storm by accident. She had been tracking a leak inside the syndicate for three months—a leak that led directly to Marcus Vance and your mother. She knew her heart was failing. She knew she had hours left. She used herself as a human delivery system to get Olivia—and the evidence—into your hands."
Harrison looked down at the photograph. It was a picture of Rebecca taken the night before she died, standing outside his building, looking up at his penthouse window with a fierce, protective smile.
