# Chapter 7: Messages That Refused to Stay Buried
The gallery stood motionless as the forensic analyst placed the laptop on a nearby table.
Grant Holloway's face had lost all color.
His breathing was shallow.
His hands, once steady with confidence, were now trembling at his sides.
Detective Elena Brooks stepped closer.
"You recovered deleted messages?"
"Yes, Detective."
The analyst connected the laptop to a large monitor mounted on the gallery wall.
"Mr. Holloway deleted them approximately twenty-three minutes after the incident."
Brooks nodded.
"Can they be authenticated?"
"They've already been verified through the carrier's server logs."
Grant shut his eyes for a moment.
His attorney, standing quietly across the room, lowered his head.
He knew what that meant.
The messages were admissible.
There would be no arguing that they had been fabricated.
The first message appeared on the screen.
Grant Holloway → Daniel Mercer
6:14 P.M.
> She'll be there tonight.
Another.
Daniel Mercer
> Are you sure?
Grant's reply came only seconds later.
> She never misses these charity events.
The guests exchanged uneasy glances.
The analyst clicked to the next conversation.
Grant Holloway
> Keep everyone busy after the auction starts.
Another message.
> I only need five minutes alone with her.
Someone near the back of the room gasped.
Grant's jaw tightened.
"That doesn't prove anything."
No one answered.
The analyst continued.
Another thread appeared.
Grant Holloway → Unknown Contact
> Did you confirm the west corridor?
Reply:
> Yes.
> Cameras removed months ago.
Arthur Vale quietly shook his head.
"They never updated their information."
Detective Brooks looked toward him.
"They were working from outdated security reports."
Arthur nodded once.
"Which means someone supplied them."
The detective's expression hardened.
"There may be another suspect."
Grant immediately pointed toward Arthur.
"Exactly!"
He seized on the possibility.
"Someone set me up!"
Brooks didn't react.
"We'll determine that."
The analyst opened another deleted message.
This one had been sent less than an hour before the auction.
> If she embarrasses me again...
> I'll make sure she never walks into another gala.
The gallery grew colder.
Another message followed.
> Don't worry.
> Nobody will interfere.
Grant's lips parted.
"I didn't mean..."
Brooks raised a hand.
"Save it."
She looked toward the analyst.
"Continue."
He hesitated.
"Detective..."
"This next conversation is different."
"How?"
"It wasn't deleted by Mr. Holloway."
"It was deleted remotely."
Every head turned.
"Remotely?" Brooks repeated.
"Yes."
The analyst enlarged the log.
"Approximately twelve minutes after the assault."
"Someone with administrator access attempted to erase the conversation from another device."
Arthur frowned.
"Can you identify the source?"
The analyst typed rapidly.
"The request originated from an encrypted corporate server."
"Which company?"
Several seconds passed.
Then the analyst looked up.
"Holloway Enterprises."
The room erupted in whispers.
Grant immediately shook his head.
"No."
"I didn't authorize that."
Brooks studied him carefully.
"You expect me to believe someone inside your own company deleted evidence without your knowledge?"
Grant hesitated.
"My father..."
He stopped himself.
Too late.
Brooks caught it instantly.
"Your father?"
Grant looked away.
"I didn't say that."
"You almost did."
Arthur's expression remained unreadable.
"So Richard Holloway knows."
Grant glared at him.
"My father has nothing to do with this."
Arthur spoke quietly.
"Then why did you think of him first?"
Grant remained silent.
Detective Brooks looked toward one of her officers.
"Contact the Cyber Crimes Unit."
"I want every server belonging to Holloway Enterprises preserved immediately."
"Yes, Detective."
The officer stepped away to make the call.
Grant suddenly took a step forward.
"You can't seize company records over text messages."
Brooks met his eyes.
"I don't need the messages."
She held up the forensic report.
"I need the attempted destruction of evidence."
Grant froze.
He understood.
Trying to erase evidence could become a crime of its own.
The analyst cleared his throat.
"There's one more thing."
Brooks turned.
"What is it?"
He enlarged the final deleted conversation.
Unlike the others, this thread contained no names.
Only a number.
One message had been sent at exactly 7:52 P.M.
> Everything is ready.
The reply arrived fifteen seconds later.
> Make sure she signs before midnight.
I frowned.
"Signs what?"
The analyst shook his head.
"There are no attachments."
Another message appeared.
> If she refuses...
> Use Plan B.
Every person in the gallery fell silent.
Grant stared at the screen in disbelief.
"I've never seen those messages."
The analyst looked directly at him.
"They came from your phone."
Grant shook his head harder.
"No."
"I swear..."
"I didn't send those."
For the first time all night...
He sounded genuinely frightened.
Not angry.
Not arrogant.
Afraid.
Detective Brooks noticed the change.
She stepped closer.
"You seem surprised."
"I am."
"Why?"
Grant swallowed.
"Because..."
His voice became barely audible.
"I don't know what Plan B is."
Arthur Vale slowly turned toward him.
For the first time that evening, Arthur's calm expression shifted.
Not with anger.
With concern.
He looked at Detective Brooks.
"I don't think this investigation is only about my daughter anymore."
Brooks frowned.
"What are you saying?"
Arthur looked toward the giant monitor displaying the anonymous messages.
"I'm saying someone may have been using Grant..."
He paused.
"...without him realizing he wasn't the one in control."
The room fell into another uneasy silence.
Because if Arthur was right...
May you like
Then the assault at the museum had never been the ultimate objective.
It had only been the beginning of a much larger plan.
