THE MESSAGE
Chapter One — The Wrong Number
At 11:43 on a Tuesday night, Rachel Monroe received a text message that was never meant for her.
She almost ignored it.
She had already turned off the lamp beside her bed, and her phone was face down on the nightstand. At thirty-eight, Rachel had finally learned that every notification did not deserve immediate attention.
Then the phone vibrated again.
And again.
She sighed, reached for it, and squinted at the screen.
Unknown Number
The first message read:
I did what you asked.
Rachel frowned.
The second:
She doesn’t know anything.
She sat up.
Clearly, someone had the wrong number.
Then the third message arrived.
Tomorrow, everything goes back to normal.
Rachel stared at the screen.
There was something unsettling about the words, but she told herself not to create a mystery where there wasn’t one.
She typed:
I think you have the wrong number.
Three dots immediately appeared.
Someone was typing.
Then they disappeared.
Rachel waited.
Nothing.
She placed the phone back on the nightstand.
Thirty seconds later, it vibrated.
Rachel?
Her hand stopped.
She picked up the phone.
The sender knew her name.
Who is this?
No response.
Rachel called the number.
Straight to voicemail.
She tried again.
Same thing.
Then another text arrived.
Forget these messages.
Rachel’s heartbeat quickened.
You contacted me. Who are you?
The reply came almost immediately.
It was a mistake.
Rachel stared at the screen.
Then:
Please, Rachel. Just forget it.
Now she knew one thing for certain.
This wasn’t a wrong number.
Someone knew exactly who she was.
Rachel worked as an administrative coordinator for a small private college. Her life was not exciting.
She went to work.
She came home.
She called her mother most evenings.
She attended church on Sundays.
She occasionally met friends for dinner.
There were no secret enemies.
No complicated romances.
No reason anyone would send her cryptic messages in the middle of the night.
At least none she could think of.
She took screenshots.
Then she blocked the number.
By morning, she had convinced herself it was probably some ridiculous prank.
Until she walked into her office.
Her coworker Monica looked up.
“Did you hear?”
“Hear what?”
“Mr. Lawson resigned.”
Rachel stopped.
David Lawson was the college’s Chief Financial Officer.
“Resigned?”
“Apparently sometime last night.”
“That doesn’t make sense. I had a meeting with him at ten this morning.”
Monica lowered her voice.
“Nobody knew. Even the president seems surprised.”
Rachel slowly placed her handbag on her desk.
Her computer chimed.
New email.
From David Lawson.
Sent at 11:41 p.m.
Two minutes before the first mysterious text.
Rachel opened it.
There was no message.
Only an attachment.
FINANCIAL REVIEW — CONFIDENTIAL
Rachel stared at it.
She remembered the text.
I did what you asked.
Then:
She doesn’t know anything.
Her phone vibrated.
Different number.
One sentence appeared.
Don’t open Lawson’s attachment.
Rachel looked around the office.
Someone knew she had received it.
And whoever they were—
they were watching closely enough to know she was about to open it.
Chapter Two — The Attachment
Rachel didn’t touch the file.
For nearly a minute, she simply stared at her computer screen.
FINANCIAL REVIEW — CONFIDENTIAL
Behind her, phones rang.
Someone laughed near the copier.
Monica complained about the coffee.
Everything around Rachel remained completely ordinary.
But her morning no longer felt ordinary.
She closed the email.
Then immediately reopened it.
The attachment was still there.
“Rachel?”
She jumped.
Monica stood beside her.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You look like you saw a ghost.”
Rachel forced a smile.
“Didn’t sleep well.”
Monica leaned against the desk.
“So weird about Lawson, right?”
Rachel nodded.
“Did anybody talk to him?”
“Not that I know of.”
“What exactly did they say?”
“Just that he resigned effective immediately.”
Rachel glanced toward the hallway leading to the executive offices.
“Effective immediately?”
“Yep.”
“That doesn’t sound like him.”
Monica shrugged.
“Maybe he got another job.”
Rachel knew David Lawson well enough to know that wasn’t how he operated.
He planned everything.
He scheduled vacations six months in advance.
He gave three weeks’ notice when he changed meeting times.
He would not disappear overnight without saying goodbye.
Especially not after sending Rachel a confidential file.
Her desk phone rang.
“Rachel Monroe.”
Silence.
“Hello?”
Then a man’s voice.
“Delete the email.”
Rachel froze.
“Who is this?”
Click.
The call ended.
She checked the extension.
INTERNAL CALL
Rachel’s eyes moved slowly around the office.
The call had come from somewhere inside the building.
At lunchtime, Rachel went to her car.
She locked the doors.
Then opened Lawson’s email on her phone.
Her thumb hovered over the attachment.
Don’t open it.
That was precisely why she needed to.
She downloaded the file.
A spreadsheet appeared.
Hundreds of transactions.
Payments.
Transfers.
Vendor names.
Amounts.
Nothing immediately made sense.
Then she noticed one column highlighted in yellow.
Community Advancement Fund.
Rachel recognized it.
The college had launched the fund two years earlier to provide scholarships and emergency assistance to struggling students.
She scrolled.
$12,000.
$18,500.
$9,700.
$21,000.
Transfers going out.
But not to students.
Not to scholarship accounts.
To companies Rachel had never heard of.
She zoomed in.
Monroe Consulting Group.
Rachel’s breath caught.
Monroe?
She searched the document.
The company appeared eleven times.
Total payments:
$186,400.
Rachel felt sick.
Her last name was Monroe.
Anyone reviewing the spreadsheet could assume the company belonged to her.
She searched online.
No obvious website.
No business profile.
Nothing.
Then she noticed another tab.
AUTHORIZED BY
She opened it.
Every payment to Monroe Consulting Group carried the same authorization.
R. Monroe
Rachel dropped the phone onto the passenger seat.
“No.”
She had never authorized those payments.
She had never heard of Monroe Consulting Group.
Someone had used her name.
Her initials.
Possibly even her credentials.
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
Against her better judgment, she answered.
“Who is this?”
A familiar voice replied.
“Rachel?”
She stopped breathing.
“Mr. Lawson?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“They said you resigned.”
“I didn’t.”
Rachel gripped the phone.
“What?”
“I did not resign.”
“Then what’s happening?”
Lawson’s voice became urgent.
“Did you open the attachment?”
Rachel hesitated.
“Yes.”
He exhaled.
“Listen carefully. I sent it because I found something, and I needed someone outside my department to have a copy.”
“Why me?”
“Because I trusted you.”
Rachel looked at the spreadsheet.
“My name is all over this.”
“I know.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means somebody has been preparing for this investigation longer than I realized.”
“What investigation?”
Silence.
Then Lawson said:
“The one that’s going to make it look like you stole nearly two hundred thousand dollars.”
Rachel’s stomach dropped.
“Mr. Lawson—”
A sound came through the phone.
Lawson stopped talking.
“What’s wrong?”
“I have to go.”
“Wait!”
“Rachel, don’t trust—”
The call disconnected.
She immediately called back.
The number was unavailable.
Rachel sat motionless.
Then her phone chimed.
A new email.
FROM: OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT
SUBJECT: MANDATORY MEETING — 2:00 P.M.
Rachel looked at the time.
1:37.
Then she read the final line.
Please bring your employee identification and building-access card.
Rachel understood exactly what that meant.
They weren’t inviting her to a meeting.
They were preparing to take her access away.
Chapter Three — The Meeting
At 1:58 p.m., Rachel stood outside the president’s conference room.
She prayed quietly.
“Lord, whatever is happening, help me walk in there with wisdom.”
Then she opened the door.
Four people were waiting.
President Charles Whitmore.
Human Resources Director Janice Bell.
The college attorney.
And a man Rachel had never seen before.
“Rachel,” President Whitmore said. “Please sit.”
She sat.
Nobody smiled.
The unfamiliar man introduced himself.
“Elliott Graves. Independent forensic auditor.”
Rachel’s stomach tightened.
Whitmore folded his hands.
“Rachel, we’re investigating financial irregularities involving the Community Advancement Fund.”
“I know.”
Everyone looked at her.
The attorney leaned forward.
“How do you know?”
Rachel immediately realized her mistake.
She could tell them about Lawson’s file.
But Lawson had trusted her.
And someone inside this institution was clearly involved.
“I’ve heard concerns,” she said carefully.
Graves slid several pages across the table.
“Do you recognize these transactions?”
Rachel looked down.
Monroe Consulting Group.
$186,400.
“I saw them today.”
“Where?”
Rachel paused.
“In a document.”
“What document?”
Before she could answer, Graves placed another sheet in front of her.
It was an authorization form.
At the bottom was a signature.
Rachel Monroe.
Her signature.
Or an excellent copy of it.
“That isn’t mine.”
Janice spoke gently.
“Rachel, it appears to be your signature.”
“It looks like my signature. I didn’t sign it.”
Graves placed another document down.
Then another.
Each carried her name.
Her employee number.
Her authorization code.
Rachel looked up.
“Someone used my information.”
The attorney asked:
“Who had access to it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you establish Monroe Consulting Group?”
“No.”
“Do you own or control it?”
“No.”
“Have you ever received money from it?”
“Absolutely not.”
Graves studied her.
“Then perhaps you can explain this.”
He turned his laptop toward her.
A bank account.
MONROE CONSULTING GROUP
Registered account contact:
Rachel Denise Monroe.
Her home address.
Her telephone number.
Even the last four digits of her Social Security number.
Rachel stared at the screen.
Someone hadn’t simply used her name.
Someone had built an entire company around her identity.
President Whitmore spoke quietly.
“Rachel, until this matter is resolved, we’re placing you on administrative leave.”
Her eyes filled, but she refused to cry in that room.
“You believe I did this?”
“We’re investigating.”
“You’ve known me nine years.”
“I understand.”
“No. You don’t.”
Rachel stood.
Janice held out her hand.
“Your access card, please.”
Rachel removed it from her purse.
Placed it on the table.
Then walked toward the door.
Graves spoke behind her.
“One more question.”
Rachel turned.
“Have you spoken with David Lawson today?”
The room seemed to change.
Rachel looked at each face.
“Why?”
Graves answered.
“Because Mr. Lawson is missing.”
Rachel’s heart pounded.
“Missing?”
“His wife reported this morning that he never came home last night.”
Rachel thought about the phone call.
His frightened voice.
Don’t trust—
He had never finished the sentence.
“No,” Rachel said.
It was the first lie she had told during the meeting.
“I haven’t spoken with him.”
She walked out.
In the parking lot, Rachel finally allowed herself to breathe.
Her job was gone.
Her identity had been stolen.
A man who trusted her was missing.
And somebody was communicating with her from inside the college.
She reached her car.
Something was tucked beneath the windshield wiper.
A white envelope.
No name.
Rachel looked around.
The parking lot appeared empty.
She opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Rachel stared at it.
It showed her entering the college that morning.
Taken from across the parking lot.
On the back, someone had written:
YOU SHOULD HAVE DELETED THE FILE.
Rachel’s hands trembled.
Then she noticed something else.
In the photograph, several feet behind her, stood someone she recognized.
Monica.
Her coworker.
Her friend.
But Monica wasn’t walking toward the building.
She was looking directly toward whoever had taken the photograph.
And in her hand—
was Rachel’s old employee access card.
The same card Rachel had reported missing six months earlier.
Rachel stared at the photograph.
Then whispered:
“Monica… what have you done?”
Her phone vibrated.
Another message.
This time there were only four words:
Now you’re asking questions.
Rachel looked around the empty parking lot.
Another message arrived.
Keep asking the right ones.
And for the first time, Rachel wondered whether the mysterious sender was actually threatening her—
or trying to help her.
End of Complimentary Preview
Rachel Monroe thought the message was meant for someone else.
Now her identity has been stolen, $186,400 is missing, the man who discovered it has disappeared—and someone inside her workplace knows every move she makes.
But the most dangerous mistake Rachel could make now…
is trusting the wrong person.
Unlock The Message to continue with Chapter Four.
Subscribe to get access
Read more of this content when you subscribe today.
