Chapter 2 - CALEB VOSS
The license was fake.
Probably.
Nobody concluded that in fifteen minutes.
It had security features.
Hologram.
Barcode.
State design.
Everything convincing enough that I would have accepted it at a hotel desk without thinking twice.
The photograph was Harrison.
Not a similar man.
Harrison.
Hair shorter.
No smile.
Name:
Caleb James Voss.
Address:
Toledo, Ohio.
Birth date differed from Harrison’s by eleven months.
I stared until the letters stopped looking like language.
“Does Harrison have another identity?”
Detective Ellis did not speculate.
“We authenticate first.”
Good.
The USB went into an evidence bag.
The doll too.
The note.
My laptop was imaged because I had opened the first file.
I hated surrendering it.
Then remembered what mattered.
Ethan.
“Are we safe here?”
Detective Ellis looked at building security.
“Victoria did not try to enter. But because Harrison is missing and specifically warned you about her, I would recommend staying somewhere not known to company personnel until we know more.”
My sister lived forty minutes away.
Too obvious.
I called Naomi Price.
She was my business attorney.
I owned a small event-design and branding studio.
Nothing glamorous enough to prepare me for fake licenses.
Naomi arrived at eleven that night carrying no nonsense.
“Hotel under my reservation,” she said. “Different neighborhood. No social media. No telling extended family.”
Detective Ellis approved the basic plan.
No witness-protection theatrics.
Just sensible distance.
Before leaving, I packed Ethan’s pajamas.
Medicine.
Two stuffed animals.
He insisted on the damaged doll.
Police had it.
That became our first crisis.
“Moose Lady!”
“She has to stay with the police for a little while.”
“No!”
“She belongs to you. They’re borrowing her.”
“Daddy put thing.”
“I know.”
“Daddy said secret.”
I knelt.
“We don’t keep scary secrets from Mommy anymore.”
His face crumpled.
That was another consequence Harrison would have to own if he came home.
If.
I hated that word.
At the hotel, Ethan finally slept after midnight.
I did not.
Naomi sat across from me.
“What exactly does Harrison do at Sterling?”
“Director of distribution compliance.”
“Meaning?”
“He audits warehouses, shipping procedures, regulatory documentation, vendor contracts.”
“Does he have access to valuable products?”
“Yes. Sterling distributes medical equipment.”
“What kind?”
“Patient monitors, imaging components, infusion equipment, replacement modules. Mostly hospital systems.”
“Controlled drugs?”
“No.”
Good.
One less nightmare.
Sterling MedLogix was not a pharmaceutical company.
It was a high-value medical equipment distributor.
Harrison had worked there nine years.
Victoria Sterling was executive vice president of operations and daughter of founder Malcolm Sterling.
Her fiancé? No.
No need.
She was simply powerful.
“Any current deal?” Naomi asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Acquisition. Sale. Financing. Something that would create pressure.”
I remembered Harrison complaining about due diligence.
“Sterling is being acquired.”
“By whom?”
“Northlake Health Systems.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know. Hundreds of millions.”
Naomi wrote it down.
Then:
“Why did Victoria have the shipping box?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did the doll arrive in that box?”
“I never saw it.”
That was the problem.
Ethan had found Millie outside our apartment door Friday morning.
No box.
I assumed Harrison had arranged a courier.
The building camera showed a delivery driver carrying a box at 6:14 a.m.
He entered the elevator.
At 6:19 he left without it.
At 6:25 Ethan and I left for preschool.
At 8:02 a cleaning worker moved an empty cardboard box from the hallway to the recycling room.
At some point before then, Ethan must have taken the doll inside.
I had not noticed.
Victoria could have retrieved the discarded box later.
That was less mysterious.
Still disturbing.
The next morning, Detective Ellis called.
The license number did not belong to Caleb Voss.
It belonged to a real Ohio license issued to a woman in her sixties.
Counterfeit.
The barcode encoded different information from the printed front.
Professional fake.
“Does this mean Harrison made it?”
“No.”
“Does the fake use his photograph?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Then:
“Sterling’s corporate attorney contacted us.”
My stomach tightened.
“They reported Harrison too?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“Unauthorized removal of company records and suspected diversion of inventory.”
I went cold.
“How much inventory?”
“They haven’t provided a final amount.”
“What are they saying he stole?”
“Medical-device components valued in the millions.”
I looked through the hotel window.
Cars below.
Normal morning.
Coffee shop.
Dog walker.
Nothing looked changed.
“My husband is missing,” I said.
“I know.”
“And his company is accusing him of theft.”
“They are reporting suspected conduct. That is not the same as proof.”
Precision.
I needed it.
Then Detective Ellis added:
“Victoria Sterling claims Harrison created multiple false shipping identities.”
I looked at Naomi.
The license.
Caleb Voss.
Maybe Victoria had not come to silence me.
Maybe she had come because Harrison really was running.
May you like
The worst possibility was no longer that I did not know where my husband was.
It was that I did not know who he had been before he disappeared.
