Reborn in Castle (TV show)

Later that afternoon, Travis and Ryan pushed through the revolving glass doors of Meridian Capital Partners on the twenty-third floor of a modern Midtown tower. The reception area smelled of fresh coffee and expensive leather, and the young woman behind the desk offered them a practiced smile until they flashed their badges.

Travis leaned on the counter while Ryan hung back a step. "Detective Wilson and Detective Ryan from the Twelfth. We need to speak with whoever manages Ethan Mercer's accounts. Right now would be good."

The receptionist's smile faltered. She picked up her phone, murmured a few quick words, and within a minute, a tall man in a charcoal suit, gray hair, around 50s, stepped out from the glass-walled offices. His name tag read David Hargrove, Senior Portfolio Manager.

Hargrove shook their hands with the firm grip of someone used to closing deals. "David Hargrove. I oversee the team Ethan works on. What's going on here? First, I hear he didn't show up for work, then the news says he has been kidnapped."

Travis kept his voice even as they walked toward a small glass conference room. "We're here about that. Mind if we ask you a few questions about his work here?"

Hargrove closed the door behind them and gestured for the detectives to sit. He remained standing, arms crossed over his chest. "Of course. Ethan's one of our best analysts. Quiet, reliable, never misses deadlines. If something happened to him, I want to help any way I can."

Ryan pulled out his notebook while Travis leaned forward, elbows on the table. "We found some irregular transfers from the company's operating account. Seven thousand dollars exactly, wired to Ethan Mercer's personal account every week for the past seven months. That adds up to over two hundred thousand dollars. Care to explain why your firm was sending that kind of money straight to one of your employees?"

Hargrove's face tightened. He dropped into the chair across from them and rubbed his forehead. "Those were authorized bonuses. Ethan flagged several high-value client opportunities last year. We structured the payments as performance incentives so they wouldn't show up in regular payroll and trigger unnecessary attention. At least that's what he told me when he requested the setup."

Travis raised an eyebrow but kept his tone neutral. "Seven grand a week is a hell of a bonus. Did anyone else on the team get similar deals?"

"No one," Hargrove admitted after a short pause. "Ethan said the clients were extremely private and insisted on dealing only with him. He claimed any publicity inside the firm could scare them off. I trusted him. His numbers always checked out. We made our profits, our clients made their profits, and Ethan got his bonuses. So, everything was perfect."

Ryan flipped a page in his notebook. "We're going to need the names of those clients and every email or memo that authorized those transfers. Also, pull the full transaction logs for the last year. Something about this feels off."

Big places like this always talk about court orders and client confidentiality whenever a cop asks for their files and records. And Travis already got a court order within an hour, thanks to the Captain's connection and he was ready to whip it out like those detectives from TV shows. But...

Hargrove nodded slowly, already reaching for his phone to call IT. "I'll have everything sent to you within the hour. If Ethan was skimming or running some side scheme, I want to know as badly as you do. Our reputation is on the line here."

Travis stood up and slid his card across the table. "One more thing. Did Ethan seem stressed lately? Any sudden changes in behavior, long lunches, extra hours, maybe he got into an argument, a big fight, or talked about taking time off?"

Hargrove thought for a moment, eyes narrowing. "Now that you mention it, he did ask for next week off. Said he needed to handle some family matters upstate. I approved it because he rarely takes vacation. Come to think of it, he seemed almost relieved when I signed off on the request yesterday afternoon."

Travis exchanged a quick glance with Ryan before heading for the door. "Thanks for your time, Mr. Hargrove. We'll be in touch. And if you hear from Ethan before we do." He took out his card and gave it to him. "Give us a call."

They stepped back into the elevator a minute later, the doors sliding shut on the worried face of the portfolio manager. Ryan let out a low whistle once they were alone. "Two hundred grand funneled straight to his pocket and nobody batted an eye. Either this guy is the smoothest thief in Manhattan or the whole firm is asleep at the wheel."

Travis hit the lobby button and leaned against the mirrored wall. "He's not the smoothest. He got sloppy with the fridge bottles. We just need one solid thread to pull and the whole fake kidnapping unravels."

Ryan grinned as the elevator descended. "You think Sarah knows about the money?"

"I think she knows more than she's saying," Travis replied, already picturing the next conversation with the tearful girlfriend. "I'm just waiting for her to slip up. If she's indeed into this mess with her boyfriend or fiancé or whatever they really are, they will need to contact each other at some point and when they do, we'll catch them red-handed."

Travis and Ryan stepped out of the elevator into the lobby and headed straight for the street.

Ryan slid behind the wheel while Travis took the passenger seat.

"Sarah said she spotted him talking to someone in scrubs outside the blood bank a couple weeks back," Travis said as he buckled in. "If Ethan was pulling his own blood for that little art project in his apartment, this is where he got the supplies, or at least learned how to do it right."

Ryan merged into traffic and gave a low chuckle. "Guy's turning his own veins into a crime-scene paint set. That's some next-level commitment to faking your death."

They made the short drive in comfortable silence, the city humming around them.

Ten minutes later, Ryan pulled up in front of the blood center, a clean, modern building with wide glass doors and a steady stream of donors coming and going. Travis got out first, badge already clipped to his belt, then Ryan and the two detectives pushed through the entrance together.

Inside, the waiting area smelled of antiseptic and fresh coffee. A middle-aged woman in navy scrubs sat behind the reception desk, typing on a computer. She looked up with the polite but wary smile people reserve for unexpected cops.

Travis rested one forearm on the counter and kept his voice easy. "Detectives Wilson and Ryan. We're looking into a missing person who may have visited here recently. Ethan Mercer. Thirty-four, financial analyst. Ring any bells?"

The woman's fingers paused on the keyboard. "Ethan Mercer? Yeah, he's been in a few times over the last couple of months. Always scheduled the late slot so he wouldn't run into the regular crowd. Said he preferred quiet."

Ryan leaned in beside Travis. "Did he ever mention why he was donating so often? Most people don't come back that many times in a row."

She glanced around to make sure no one was listening, then lowered her voice. "He told the phlebotomist he was doing it for a research study, something about rare antibodies. Paid cash for the extra testing kits every time and asked a lot of questions about how to store the samples properly at home. We thought it was odd, but he was polite, never caused trouble, and his iron levels stayed solid, so we kept letting him come back."

Travis pulled out his phone and showed her a clear photo of Ethan from his driver's license. "This the guy?"

She nodded right away. "That's him. Last time he was here was about ten days ago. He took two full units instead of the usual one. Said he needed them for the study. We reminded him about the rules on frequency, but he just smiled and said it was fine."

Ryan jotted the dates in his notebook while Travis kept the questions rolling. "Did he ever bring anyone with him or mention a partner? Girlfriend, maybe?"

"Not that I saw," she answered. "Always came alone. Paid in cash, left with a small cooler bag he brought himself. One of the techs joked that he looked like he was running his own little lab at home."

Travis slipped the phone back into his pocket and gave her a grateful nod. "We're going to need copies of his donation records, the exact dates, volumes drawn, and any notes the staff wrote down. Court order's already in motion if you need it, but it would save us both some time if we can get it today."

The woman reached for a clipboard and started filling out a release form. "I'll pull everything we have. Give me fifteen minutes and I'll have it ready."

...

Find me in the link below for advance chapters: https://unknownmaster.carrd.co/

[22 advance chs] + [Modern Family: 13 chs Early access]