Chapter 7 - HIS NAME WAS ON THE BUILDING.
By that afternoon, Alexander understood why Conrad Vale did not need to threaten people loudly.
His name already did most of the work.
The Vale Center for Business.
The Vale Scholarship Fund.
The Vale Entrepreneurship Lab.
The Vale Distinguished Lecture Series.
A plaque inside the Bellamy Conference Center thanking the Vale Meridian Foundation for “transformational support.”
Conrad had put enough money into Hawthorne University that generations of students would graduate beneath stone engraved with his surname.
That kind of power did not look like power to people who had grown used to it.
It looked like architecture.
Alexander walked through the business center with Detective Ortiz.
Students passed them carrying laptops.
A digital wall displayed photographs of alumni.
Conrad Vale appeared in three of them.
One showed him shaking hands with the university president.
Another standing beside scholarship recipients.
A third beside Bryce, both wearing tuxedos at a previous Founders’ Night.
Ortiz stopped.
“You’re staring.”
“I’m appreciating philanthropy.”
“That was sarcasm.”
“Good catch.”
“You planning to punch the screen?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Too expensive.”
Ortiz almost smiled.
They were there to speak with Hawthorne’s director of campus security, Thomas Reeve.
Reeve was fifty-four.
Former state police.
Broad shoulders.
Silver hair.
A professional handshake.
He offered coffee.
Alexander declined.
Ortiz began with the deleted footage.
Reeve’s response had been prepared.
“System anomaly.”
Ortiz looked at him.
“Your IT department says deletion.”
“That’s their interpretation.”
“They gave me server logs.”
Reeve paused.
“Then intentional deletion by an unknown user.”
“Better.”
Alexander sat quietly.
Reeve glanced at him.
“Mr. Sterling, I understand your concern.”
Alexander said nothing.
Reeve continued.
“I also understand you have experience in security matters.”
There it was.
Alexander leaned back.
“What experience?”
Reeve looked at Ortiz.
“This interview is about the footage.”
Alexander did not move.
“You brought up my background.”
Reeve folded his hands.
“I was briefed.”
“By who?”
“Senior administration.”
“Who briefed them?”
“I don’t know.”
Alexander watched his face.
Reeve was disciplined.
Not perfect.
But practiced.
“What did they tell you?”
Reeve looked toward Ortiz again.
She said, “Answer him.”
Reeve frowned.
“I was told Mr. Sterling had commanded a specialized military unit.”
Alexander’s voice remained flat.
“What unit?”
“I wasn’t given specifics.”
“Word used?”
“Vanguard.”
Alexander felt something cold move through him.
Ortiz noticed.
“Is that accurate?”
Alexander did not answer immediately.
Vanguard Force had never been famous.
That had been the point.
Officially it had existed under a broader structure that gave people outside it little reason to remember the name.
Many records were not public.
Some veterans spoke about it.
Few civilians would know.
“Yes,” Alexander said finally.
Ortiz turned to Reeve.
“How did Hawthorne know?”
“I told you. I was briefed.”
“By whom?”
“General counsel.”
Richard Kellerman.
Alexander stored the information.
Ortiz continued.
“Did you delete footage between 10:36 and 11:23?”
“No.”
“Did anyone under you?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Who had access?”
“Several supervisors.”
“Names.”
Reeve handed her a list.
Prepared.
Of course.
Ortiz scanned it.
“Was campus security notified about the kitchen dispute?”
“Yes.”
Alexander looked up.
That was new.
“Who called?”
Reeve glanced at him.
“A Bellamy manager.”
“Hargrove?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“One officer responded.”
“When?”
“Approximately 10:50.”
“Name?”
“Officer Nathan Brooks.”
“Where is he?”
“On administrative leave.”
Alexander and Ortiz both looked at Reeve.
“Why?” Ortiz asked.
Reeve paused.
“Pending internal review.”
“Related to Chloe?”
“Potentially.”
Ortiz leaned forward.
“Why wasn’t that in your initial report?”
“It should have been.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Reeve’s face hardened.
“Because I didn’t prepare the initial report.”
“Who did?”
“My deputy.”
“Name.”
“Colin Ward.”
Alexander watched Ortiz write.
“What did Brooks report?” she asked.
Reeve inhaled.
“That the dispute was verbal.”
“Any physical injury?”
“He noted a catering worker had a cut.”
“Marisol Diaz?”
“Yes.”
“Did he speak to Chloe?”
“Yes.”
Alexander’s fingers tightened.
“What did Chloe say?”
Reeve looked at him.
“That a student had deliberately knocked over a service cart.”
“Grant Heller.”
“Yes.”
“Did Brooks take a statement?”
“He says he did.”
“Where is it?”
Reeve paused.
“Missing.”
Alexander stood.
Ortiz immediately said, “Sit down.”
He looked at her.
“Alexander.”
He sat.
Reeve’s jaw tightened.
“I understand how that sounds.”
Alexander’s voice became quieter.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“My daughter reports an incident.”
“I didn’t say she formally reported it.”
“You said an officer took a statement.”
“I said he says he did.”
“And the statement vanished.”
“That appears to be the case.”
“Then your cameras vanished.”
“Footage.”
“Then her phone vanished.”
“That happened off campus.”
“Two blocks from your building.”
Ortiz raised a hand.
“Enough.”
Alexander leaned back.
Ortiz turned to Reeve.
“Who ordered Brooks onto administrative leave?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Why?”
“Failure to follow reporting protocol.”
“Before or after police asked for the missing footage?”
Reeve stopped.
Too long.
Ortiz noticed.
“So after.”
“Yes.”
Alexander studied him.
Reeve was not comfortable.
But discomfort was not guilt.
Ortiz asked another twenty minutes of questions.
Most answers created more paperwork, not clarity.
When they finished, Reeve escorted them toward the elevator.
Alexander stopped beside a framed photograph.
Conrad Vale.
University President Margaret Bell.
Thomas Reeve.
All three smiling at a campus-security fundraising event.
Alexander looked at Reeve.
“You know him well?”
“Mr. Vale?”
“Yes.”
“Professionally.”
“What does that mean?”
“He supports the university.”
“With money.”
“Yes.”
“How much does he support your department?”
Reeve did not answer.
Alexander looked at the caption beneath the photograph.
VALE MERIDIAN FOUNDATION — $3.2 MILLION CAMPUS SAFETY INITIATIVE.
Alexander read it aloud.
Reeve’s face changed.
Just a little.
“Three point two million.”
Ortiz looked at the plaque.
Alexander turned back to Reeve.
“Your cameras have his name on them too?”
“No.”
“Just the checks.”
“Mr. Sterling—”
The elevator opened.
Alexander stepped inside.
Before the doors closed, Reeve said something unexpected.
“I’m sorry about Chloe.”
Alexander looked at him.
For the first time, the security director’s voice did not sound institutional.
It sounded tired.
Almost ashamed.
Then he added quietly:
“You should ask why Officer Brooks called me at 11:19.”
Ortiz put her hand against the elevator door before it closed.
“What did he say?”
Reeve looked down the hallway.
“He said there was pressure to let Bryce Vale leave campus.”
“From who?”
Reeve shook his head.
“He wouldn’t tell me on the phone.”
“Where’s Brooks now?”
“At home.”
Ortiz immediately took out her phone.
Reeve’s next words stopped her.
“No.”
“What?”
“He isn’t.”
Alexander felt his attention sharpen.
“You just said he was.”
“He was.”
Reeve looked between them.
“His wife called thirty minutes ago.”
“Where is he?”
Reeve swallowed.
“Nobody knows.”
Ortiz’s expression hardened.
“Officer Brooks is missing?”
Reeve shook his head quickly.
“I didn’t say that.”
Alexander stared at him.
“Then what are you saying?”
May you like
Reeve looked directly at him.
“I’m saying the first person who tried to write down what happened to your daughter has disappeared.”
