Chapter 14 - The Confrontation with Martin
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By Monday morning, Graham’s obsession had shifted from frustration to complete, unhinged investigation.
He couldn't sleep, he couldn't eat, and he couldn't focus on Calloway Holdings. He spent two hours in his corner office pacing the floor before calling Martin into the room.
"Martin," Graham commanded, his voice raspy and hollow. "Sit down."
Martin sat down carefully, holding his notepad, genuinely terrified of his boss's deteriorating state. "Yes, Mr. Calloway?"
"I need you to pull my wife’s personal expenses and calendar records from the last eight months," Graham said, his eyes bloodshot. "Specifically, anything involving travel, calls to North Carolina, or transactions with antique dealers."
Martin’s mouth opened slightly. "Mr. Calloway... I don't have access to Mrs. Calloway's personal accounts. She manages her own design firm's financials."
"Then find out!" Graham roared, slamming his fist onto his glass desk so hard his laptop rattled. "Find out who she was calling between January and August!"
Martin swallowed hard, realizing that his boss was on the verge of a total psychological breakdown. He pulled out his phone, hesitated, and then looked up.
"Mr. Calloway... I don't need to pull her bank records for that," Martin confessed quietly.
Graham went dead still. "What do you mean?"
"Back in May," Martin admitted, his voice trembling slightly. "Mrs. Calloway called my office asking for contact details for historical horology restorers in Europe. She was trying to track down a specific serial number for a vintage watch."
Graham’s breath caught in his throat. "A watch?"
"Yes, sir," Martin said. "She made me swear not to tell you. She spent seven months tracking down your late father's vanished 1958 Vacheron Constantin chronograph. She found it with a retired teacher in Asheville, paid forty thousand dollars of her own money to buy it back, and spent three months having it restored by hand."
Martin looked down at his hands.
"She was going to give it to you as a surprise for your tenth anniversary night, Mr. Calloway."
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Graham sat down slowly in his executive chair.
The air in the room seemed to freeze into ice. The image of the navy velvet box, the half-open door, his own arrogant voice holding up his ring... everything collapsed onto his chest like a falling building.
