I stood there staring at the photograph.
It was the same picture we had taken at the lake.
Mr. Wilson was smiling.
I was standing beside him, looking completely confused.
And across the bottom of the photograph, someone had added four words:
MY SUCCESSOR. TRUST HER.
I couldn’t breathe.
“What is this?”
Karen was still standing behind me.
She laughed softly.
“I guess congratulations are in order.”
I turned around.
“What does that mean?”
She folded her arms.
“You really expect me to believe you don’t know?”
“I don’t.”
She looked toward the office door.
“Then maybe you should ask him.”
Before I could respond, the office door opened.
Mr. Wilson stood there.
“Emily.”
Everyone nearby immediately became quiet.
He looked at the photograph.
Then at me.
“Come inside.”
I followed him.
He closed the door.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Finally I pointed toward the photograph.
“Would you like to explain that?”
He smiled.
“Yes.”
“Because yesterday you fired me.”
“Yes.”
“Then you secretly asked me to meet you at a lake.”
“Yes.”
“You made me take a photograph with you.”
“Yes.”
“And now you’ve put that photograph on your office door with the words ‘My Successor. Trust Her.’”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
Mr. Wilson walked to his desk and slowly sat down.
“Because I wanted everyone to think I had chosen you.”
“Chosen me for what?”
He opened a drawer.
Inside was a thick folder.
He placed it on the desk.
“Everything.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
He opened the folder.
The first page was a company financial report.
The second was an audit.
The third was a list of employees.
And beside several names were handwritten notes.
I recognized one immediately.
Karen.
I looked up.
“What am I looking at?”
“The reason I fired you.”
My heart sank.
“You fired me because of this?”
“No.”
He turned another page.
“I fired you because someone was about to frame you.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
He pointed to a series of transactions.
“Money has been disappearing from the company for almost eighteen months.”
I looked at the figures.
Millions.
“Someone has been transferring company money into private accounts.”
“Who?”
“That is what I have been trying to find out.”
He paused.
“Until last week.”
I looked at him.
“You found them?”
“I found part of them.”
He pushed another document toward me.
There was a signature at the bottom.
My signature.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“That isn’t mine.”
“I know.”
“But it looks like mine.”
“That was the problem.”
He leaned back.
“Someone forged your signature on twelve separate documents.”
I couldn’t speak.
He continued.
“They created purchase orders, authorized payments, and approved transfers using your employee credentials.”
I shook my head.
“I never approved any of that.”
“I know.”
“Then why fire me?”
“Because if I had suspended you quietly, the person behind it would have known I was investigating.”
I stared at him.
“So you made it look like I was guilty?”
“Exactly.”
He opened another folder.
“This morning, our auditors confirmed that the fraudulent activity stopped the moment you were fired.”
I looked at him.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning whoever was doing it believed you were gone.”
A chill went through me.
“And now?”
“Now they’re going to make a mistake.”
I looked toward the office door.
“The photograph?”
He nodded.
“That was deliberate.”
“You wanted everyone to think I’m replacing you.”
“Yes.”
“But why?”
“Because I need the person responsible to believe you’re now in control of the company.”
I stared at him.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It is.”
“Then why me?”
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he said:
“Because you’re the only person here I trust.”
Those words hit me harder than I expected.
For five years I’d worked for him.
He had barely ever complimented me.
I’d always assumed he simply tolerated me.
But apparently he’d been watching.
“You’ve been testing me?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I’ve been preparing you.”
He opened a second drawer and pulled out an old photograph.
It showed the company when it had first opened.
A much younger Mr. Wilson stood in front of the building.
Beside him was another man.
I recognized the face.
Mark.
My supervisor.
I looked at Mr. Wilson.
“Mark?”
He nodded.
“He was here when I started the company.”
“But he’s only been my supervisor for three years.”
“He left.”
“When?”
“Seven years ago.”
I frowned.
“Then how did he come back?”
Mr. Wilson looked at me.
“That is exactly what I want you to find out.”
My stomach tightened.
“You think Mark is involved?”
“I think Mark knows more than he has told me.”
I remembered yesterday.
The moment Mr. Wilson had fired me.
Mark had lowered his head.
Not surprised.
Not confused.
Almost guilty.
I suddenly understood why.
“He knew.”
Mr. Wilson didn’t answer.
I continued.
“He knew you were going to fire me.”
“Yes.”
“And Karen?”
“She knew you were being investigated.”
I felt sick.
“But why would they frame me?”
“Because you’re the person who discovered the missing money.”
I froze.
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
I remembered the report I’d submitted.
A small discrepancy.
I’d thought it was a mistake.
Then I’d emailed Mark.
He told me not to worry about it.
Mr. Wilson watched my face.
“You remember.”
I nodded slowly.
“That report.”
“Yes.”
“You were the one who received it?”
“I was.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because by then, someone was already watching your computer.”
I looked toward the office window.
Suddenly, the entire last year made sense.
The strange password resets.
The missing emails.
The documents that had appeared in my folders.
The time my computer had been accessed while I was at lunch.
I’d blamed the IT department.
Mr. Wilson stood.
“Emily, I need you to do something for me.”
“What?”
“Go back to your desk.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Act exactly as you normally would.”
“And then?”
“Wait.”
“For what?”
He looked at the photograph on the door.
“For whoever put that picture there to make their next move.”
I swallowed.
“And if they do?”
Mr. Wilson walked toward the door.
“Then we finally know who they are.”
I followed him out.
Everyone immediately stopped talking.
Karen was watching me.
Mark was standing beside the printer.
Neither looked away.
I returned to my desk.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
Nothing happened.
At 9:43, my computer screen suddenly went black.
A message appeared.
YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED FIRED.
My hands went cold.
Then another message appeared.
CHECK YOUR DRAWER.
I slowly opened it.
Inside was a small envelope.
My name was written across the front.
I opened it.
There was a single sheet of paper.
One sentence.
Ask Mr. Wilson who really owns this company.
I looked toward his office.
The door was closed.
Then I noticed something else.
A second sheet was underneath.
It contained a photograph.
A photograph of Mr. Wilson standing beside the same lake.
But he wasn’t alone.
Standing beside him was my father.
My father had been dead for eleven years.
And on the back of the photograph were five handwritten words:
Your father knew the truth.