Chapter 9: A Name On The Public Record
The bus depot smelled of wet concrete and burnt coffee. I bought two fares with the last cash in my coat pocket and gave one ticket to Emmett.
“You don’t have to come,” I said.
“My car was just taken because someone used your case to connect me to a municipal breach.”
“That still isn’t an answer.”
“To which question?”
“Who was the woman?”
The bus arrived before he replied. I climbed aboard, chose a seat near the driver, and kept my injured foot in the aisle where no one could step on it. Emmett sat across from me rather than beside me.
My phone filled with missed calls as we pulled away. The apartment manager. The bank. Two former coworkers. Then an email arrived with the subject ACCOUNT STATUS.
My housing profile had been suspended. The rent payment Emmett made was under review, and building access would remain disabled until I appeared with identification and proof of funds. The deadline at noon had become irrelevant. I could not return home even if I reached it.
A former coworker named Tessa called again. I answered.
“People are asking whether you altered client records,” she said without greeting.
“Who’s asking?”
“Our compliance manager. He received audio of you approving account changes.”
The forged recording had traveled beyond my apartment.
“I didn’t make it.”
“I believe you, but your system access was suspended this morning.”
I watched office buildings slide past the window. “I haven’t worked there in months.”
“You still consult twice a week.”
Not anymore, I understood.
Tessa lowered her voice. “They’re canceling the contract. They said preserving files you sent me could make me part of an internal investigation.”
“Delete nothing.”
There was a pause.
“Jillian, I can’t risk my job.”
The call ended. My remaining income had disappeared in less than a minute, not with an accusation I could answer, but with administrative language no one wanted to challenge.
Emmett looked at me. “What happened?”
“I lost my contract.”
“I can arrange—”
“No.”
The word came out sharper than I intended. Several passengers turned. I lowered my voice. “Every time you arrange something, I owe you more.”
We got off near a public records annex listed on Mara’s form. The entrance required appointments, but a glass wall separated the lobby from a row of computer stations. I used the case number to request an emergency records review.
A supervisor named Leonard met us beside a vending machine. He was thin, tired, and unwilling to sit.
“Terminal seventeen belongs to the overnight reconciliation team,” he said. “The login at 4:52 used a temporary credential.”
“Whose?”
“The credential was created under your name.”
I handed him the envelope password I had received at the library. He compared it to a printed log, then looked at me differently.
“This is the initialization code.”
“For what?”
“The temporary credential.”
Emmett shifted behind me.
Leonard noticed. “Sir, I need to speak with Ms. Bannon alone.”
“He stays where I can see him,” I said.
Leonard led me to a counter several yards away. He showed me a record of the credential’s creation. My identification details had been entered correctly, but the verification had come from an old employment account.
Tessa’s company.
“Can you preserve this?” I asked.
“It was already marked for deletion as a duplicate.”
“By Dean?”
Leonard’s face closed. “I can’t confirm a person.”
“Can you confirm whether Dean tried to stop it?”
That made him look up.
“At 5:11, someone called our emergency line,” he said. “He reported the credential as fraudulent and asked us to lock your housing profile.”
My certainty shifted beneath me. “Why wasn’t it locked then?”
“The caller failed the authorization check.”
“Did he give his name?”
Leonard turned the printout around. The call note read: DEAN — CLAIMS SUBJECT IN DANGER, REQUESTS IMMEDIATE HOLD.
Dean had been chasing me less than twenty minutes later.
I looked through the glass wall at Emmett. He was speaking to the woman from the depot. She had followed us inside and now held out her phone to him. He saw me watching and stepped between her and the glass.
Leonard followed my gaze. “Do you know Mr. Carbone?”
“Yes.”
His voice dropped. “Then you should know the temporary credential was created from an address associated with one of his retained offices.”
I crossed the lobby before Emmett could move. The woman slipped her phone into her coat.
“Show me,” I said.
She looked at Emmett. He gave the smallest shake of his head.
That was enough.
I took out my own phone and called Dean. The call went directly to voicemail.
“I found the emergency report,” I said. “You have until noon to explain why you were trying to protect me while you chased me.”
May you like
I ended the call and faced Emmett.
The bus carried us into public because I had chosen visibility. Now Dean knew I was looking for evidence, and Emmett’s hidden connection to that evidence stood within arm’s reach.
