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Chapter 6: Meridian Holdings
The penthouse at the top of the Meridian Holdings building offered a view of the city that most people only dreamed about. Sarah Chen wasn’t in a欣赏的心情, though. She was here to interrogate Arthur Meridian, the man who’d discovered Marcus Webb in his impossible room.
Meridian himself was in his seventies, silver-haired and immaculately dressed, with the kind ofold money elegance that couldn’t be bought—it had to be inherited. He received Sarah in a study lined with books she suspected he’d never read, offering her a seat that probably cost more than her car.
“Detective Chen,” he said, settling into his own chair with practiced grace. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“You knew Marcus Webb?”
“Know is a strong word. We were acquaintances. Members of the same clubs, the same charitable boards. Our paths crossed at various functions.” Meridian’s smile was thin, practiced. “I had no idea he was using my property for his own purposes until I found him unconscious in that room.”
Sarah kept her expression neutral. “Your property?”
“The brownstone on Holloway Street. I’ve owned it for thirty years. It was supposed to be a rental property, but the previous tenant—a friend, really—asked if he could use it for storage. I agreed, though I probably shouldn’t have. The paperwork was never officially filed.”
“Storage for what?”
Meridian’s smile flickered. “Art. Antiques. My friend had a passion for collecting, and I had the space. It was mutually beneficial.”
“Your friend. Who is this friend?”
“A man named Edward Vale. He’s been dead for five years now.” Meridian’s voice didn’t waver. “The storage arrangement simply… continued after his death. I never bothered to terminate it.”
Sarah made a note. Another dead end—or was it? “The paintings in those rooms. The ones your friend was storing. Do you know where they came from?”
“I assumed Edward acquired them through legitimate channels. He was wealthy, eccentric, and passionate about art. The specifics of his collecting were his own business.”
“But you benefited from those paintings. Their value—”
“I never sold them, Detective. I never displayed them. They were simply… there. Part of the storage arrangement.” Meridian spread his hands. “I gained nothing from them except the satisfaction of helping a friend.”
Sarah studied his face, searching for tells. But Meridian’s expression was perfectly controlled, revealing nothing. Either he was innocent, or he was very, very good at hiding.
“Where were you on the night Marcus Webb was taken?”
“Here. Alone. My household staff can confirm.” Meridian leaned forward slightly. “But I suspect you’re asking the wrong question, Detective. The right question is: who else had access to that building? And more importantly, who wanted Marcus Webb dead badly enough to orchestrate something so… theatrical?”
Sarah hadn’t considered that angle. The impossible room wasn’t just a crime—it was a performance. A message.
“What do you know about Marcus Webb’s enemies?”
Meridian’s smile returned, colder now. “Everyone who knew Marcus had an enemy of his. But if you want the truth, Detective, I suggest you look into Quantum Systems. Webb’s company. The contracts it holds. The people who would pay almost anything to see him destroyed.”
Sarah left the penthouse with a name buzzing in her head. Quantum Systems. The defense contractor. The classified contracts. The enemies that came with both.
She needed to dig deeper.