Chapter 44 - SOMEONE WAS STILL LOGGING IN FROM THE HOUSE.
The estate had been mostly empty since the scandals.
Not abandoned.
Maintained.
Security staff visited.
Contractors.
Estate managers.
Attorneys retrieving records.
The property itself sat inside a trust while Daniel's family disputes were resolved.
Noah hated the house.
Daniel rarely went.
Emma hated it for different reasons.
The wall.
Allison.
The rooms where employees learned silence.
The idea that the estate still had functioning data lines irritated her more than it should have.
“Why does an empty mansion need business internet?”
Daniel answered, “Security.”
“Cameras?”
“Climate systems. Alarms. Fire monitoring.”
“Northstar portals?”
“No.”
Investigators obtained warrant authority for network records connected to the credential use.
No dramatic SWAT team.
Financial cybercrime officers.
Digital specialists.
A locksmith.
Daniel authorized access as beneficiary representative.
Emma did not enter at first.
She stood outside looking at the windows.
Years ago, she had entered through the service path because that was where staff entered.
Today Daniel opened the front door.
Emma noticed.
Said nothing.
Then stepped through.
Small things mattered.
The network closet was in a basement utility room.
Multiple old systems remained active because nobody wanted to risk disconnecting estate controls.
One line fed a legacy office above the library.
The room once belonged to Henry.
Later Walter Daines used it.
After Henry's death, Judith occasionally did.
The computer hardware had been replaced.
But a small network appliance remained behind a cabinet.
Old.
Dusty.
Powered.
Investigators photographed it.
The device maintained a secure tunnel.
Destination addresses belonged to discontinued Northstar infrastructure.
Some servers no longer existed.
One did.
A hosted virtual machine paid annually through a prepaid corporate account.
Who paid?
Funds came from Reed Family Continuation Account.
Alexander closed his eyes when he heard.
“They used our money to keep the system alive.”
“Possibly,” Emma said.
“Stop possibly-ing me.”
“I can't.”
“I know.”
The virtual machine contained no dramatic archive.
Mostly scripts.
Credentials.
Automated proxy instructions.
A lightweight system designed to keep old trust authorities functional when newer platforms rejected them.
Who created it?
Metadata showed 2012.
Administrator initials:
W.D.
Impossible.
Walter Daines died before 2012.
Unless the initials belonged to someone else.
Investigators checked.
The server account's recovery email used a domain tied to Northstar.
A name appeared.
Not Walter.
William Daines.
Walter's son.
Emma stared.
A new person.
But not random.
Directly connected.
William had worked briefly for Northstar's IT contractor in the early 2000s.
Later private consulting.
No public role in Prescott affairs.
No criminal record.
No known involvement in Allison, Noah, Sarah, or Harbor.
He became a person of interest because records suggested his credentials created the server.
That did not mean he had recently used it.
Investigators contacted him.
William was living in Vermont.
He agreed to speak.
He looked nothing like Emma imagined.
Soft-spoken.
Glasses.
Worked in healthcare systems now.
He seemed horrified.
“Yes, I built that.”
“Why?”
“My father asked.”
“Walter?”
“Yes.”
“In 2012? Walter was dead.”
William frowned.
“No. I built the original in 2002.”
Metadata reflected a migration.
Important correction.
“What was it for?”
“My father said old beneficiary systems needed compatibility.”
“Did you know about Northstar?”
“I knew the name.”
“Project Harbor?”
“No.”
“Redwood?”
“Barely.”
“Did you use the system in 2019?”
“No.”
“Recently?”
“No.”
“Who had access?”
“My father. A Northstar administrator. Maybe Mercer later.”
“Anyone else?”
William thought.
“There was an emergency credential.”
“What name?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“Master continuity.”
Emma almost laughed.
Of course.
“Who controlled it?”
“I don't know. My father said the family office needed one way in if vendors changed.”
Daniel asked, “Which family office?”
William looked at him.
“Prescott.”
The emergency credential had no personal name.
Its current authentication key was stored locally on the estate network appliance.
That meant anyone with physical access to the office and enough knowledge could use it.
Investigators reviewed estate entry logs.
Dozens of people over recent months.
Security.
Cleaners.
Archive teams.
Attorneys.
Contractors.
Daniel.
Margaret once.
Michael.
Emma looked up.
“Michael?”
Daniel checked the record.
“He was here six weeks ago.”
Emma felt heat rise.
“Why?”
Daniel looked confused.
“I assumed with you.”
“He wasn't.”
She called him.
Michael answered.
“Hi.”
“You went to the Prescott estate six weeks ago.”
Silence.
Again.
Always silence before the next missing fact.
“Dad.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was looking for something.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
“Which ledger?”
He hesitated.
Emma's voice sharpened.
“No. We're done with this. Answer.”
“The Jonathan files referenced an original worker-beneficiary schedule.”
“Schedule B.”
“Yes.”
“You thought it was at the estate.”
“I thought Walter might have kept a copy.”
“Did you find it?”
“No.”
“Did you go into Henry's office?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see the network box?”
“No.”
“Did you use any computer?”
“No.”
“Can you prove that?”
“I don't know.”
Emma closed her eyes.
Michael had walked back into the heart of the system without telling her.
Not because he necessarily did anything wrong.
Because he still believed secrets belonged to the person protecting them.
“You promised.”
“I know.”
“No. You don't.”
“Emma—”
“You promised you would stop deciding which facts I could handle.”
Michael went quiet.
“I was afraid you'd stop me.”
“That is not protection.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that after.”
She hung up.
Gloria found her outside the house.
“You want me to hit him?”
Emma laughed despite herself.
“Maybe later.”
The investigation compared Michael's visit to credential logs.
Good news.
No Northstar login occurred that day.
His phone location placed him in the archive rooms, not Henry's office during the critical period.
Not exoneration of every question.
Enough to separate his secrecy from the active credential use.
The most recent Northstar vote submission occurred at 3:12 a.m.
Estate entry system showed no door opened.
No security alarm.
Meaning the user may have connected remotely through the network appliance.
Who had remote access?
The emergency Master Continuity account.
Cyber specialists traced the recent connection path.
It bounced through commercial VPN services.
Then one mistake.
For twenty-three seconds, the user connected directly before the VPN activated.
Residential ISP.
Fairfield County.
Subpoena.
Address.
Daniel recognized it before Emma did.
Not Judith's house.
Not Margaret's.
Not Mercer's.
A condominium owned by a dormant Prescott employee-benefit holding company.
The registered occupant was not a Prescott.
It was June Bell.
Emma stared.
“June?”
The eighty-year-old former benefits employee who had given them ledgers.
Who helped expose Harbor.
Who found the forty-one-family payments.
Who had repeatedly supported the investigation.
Daniel said, “Don't jump.”
Emma almost snapped.
Then nodded.
Right.
Address did not equal user.
June could have family.
Caregivers.
Tenant.
Old records.
They called.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
Police performed a welfare check.
June was fine.
Angry.
Her internet router sat under a desk.
She had no idea what Northstar was doing on it.
A technician examined the network.
Someone had installed remote-access software on an old desktop.
When?
Three months earlier.
June remembered a repair visit.
“My computer stopped printing.”
Who fixed it?
A local technician recommended by—
She stopped.
Emma leaned forward.
“By who?”
June looked ashamed.
“Michael.”
Emma closed her eyes.
Again.
Michael had given June the number of a technician he used while retrieving old files.
Police found the invoice.
Company legitimate.
Technician interviewed.
He denied installing covert software.
Forensics showed the remote tool predated his visit by two weeks.
June had opened an email attachment around that time.
Sender address spoofed to look like Michael.
The compromise likely targeted her because she possessed old Redwood records.
Someone had used June's computer as a relay.
Not June.
Not necessarily Michael.
The chain continued.
Then investigators opened the malicious attachment metadata.
The document that infected June's system had been titled:
JONATHAN CARTER — ORIGINAL SCHEDULE B.
Whoever sent it knew exactly what June, Michael, and Emma were looking for.
May you like
And hidden inside the file was a scanned first page of the real Schedule B.
The rest had been deliberately removed.
