“You hate to miss dinner with your girls.”

“It can’t be helped tonight. Gianna will feed them. Maybe I can make it home for bedtime.” Morgan had a family friend who insisted on performing live-in nanny duties in return for her keep.

“I know you want to find Chelsea, but we have to eat.”

Morgan skipped way too many meals.

“You’re right,” she said. “I just want to find her. I’ll take the Clarks’ financial records home with me tonight. I can go through them after the kids go to bed.”

“Sharp said he’d work on the phone records. I guess that leaves me with social media accounts.” Lance drove toward a deli.

Neither Morgan nor Sharp nor Lance would ever be the kind of professionals who could leave a case like Chelsea’s at the office at five o’clock. But on the other side of the equation, they couldn’t neglect the loved ones who depended on them. It was going to be a long night—the first of many until they found Chelsea Clark.

Alive or dead.

Chapter Eleven

The lobby of Speed Net reminded Lance of a trendy loft—sleek, industrial, and slightly cold. Building security rivaled that of a bank vault. Instead of glass, the front door was made of steel. Lance and Morgan had been buzzed into the building after speaking to the receptionist via a video intercom.

Lance had expected the start-up tech firm to employ a young, hip receptionist, but the woman sitting at the modern desk was middle-aged and dressed in comfortable navy-blue slacks and a white cardigan. She rounded the desk to greet them, and Lance suspected her heavy-soled black shoes were orthopedic.

The nameplate on the desk read BARBARA PAGANO.

Speed Net was founded by Elliot Pagano. Could this be his mother?

Morgan introduced them and handed the receptionist a business card.

“Hello. I’m Barbara. Elliot is waiting for you.” Her smile was a thousand times warmer than the metal-and-glass space around her. Lance half expected her to offer him a cookie.

Barbara stepped in front of a number pad and entered a code. Then she pressed her thumb to a small glass plate. The door unlocked with a soft snick, and she opened it. “This way, please.”

Lance and Morgan followed Barbara into a large, open industrial-looking room filled with long tables, desks, and computer equipment. At the far end of the room, a few couches and overstuffed chairs were grouped around a large screen TV. Video-game controllers and soda cans littered the sleek coffee table. The ceiling was at least thirty feet high. The people milling around in their jeans and T-shirts and sneakers could have passed for the cast of American Pie. They crossed the polished concrete floor to a glassed-in conference room.

Morgan set her tote on the floor and sat in a gray leather chair at the table.

“You’re Elliot’s mom?” Lance asked.

“I am.” Barbara smiled. Her eyes shone with pride. “He doesn’t just let me work here; Elliot employs the whole family. There’s his dad and brother, Derek.” She pointed through the glass. At the far side of the cavernous outer room, two men were installing some sort of conduit along the base of the brick wall. “He’d be furious if he heard me say this, but Elliot is such a good boy. He takes care of all of us. Here he is now.”

The door opened and a young man walked in. Elliot wore jeans, sneakers, and a gray Doctor Who T-shirt emblazoned with a spinning TARDIS. His hair was short but in need of a trim. A thick chunk fell over his brow. According to their preliminary information, Elliot was a twenty-seven-year-old, self-made multimillionaire. He might be young, but he had the self-assured bearing of a more experienced man.

“Thanks, Mom,” Elliot said to Barbara as she bowed out of the room.

Lance held out a hand. “Thanks for meeting with us.”

“I’ll do anything to help. I can’t believe Chelsea is missing.” Elliot shook their hands and sat across from Morgan. Lance took the chair beside her. Tim had provided basic information about his employer. Elliot had built the company from the ground up after selling his previous start-up for a huge chunk of change. Not bad for a guy who had dropped out of college at the age of twenty.

“Nice that you let your parents work here,” Lance said.

“I tried to give them money, but my father practically burst a vein at the thought of taking money he hadn’t earned.” Elliot sighed.

“Hard to fault him for having a good work ethic,” Lance pointed out.

“This is true,” Elliot agreed. “Most of my employees got here by being smart and working hard. Of all of them, I have the most respect for Tim. I grew up poor, but I had the support and love of my parents. Family is everything to me. I don’t know how I would have handled my wife’s death without my family. Tim didn’t have that support network growing up, but I’m glad Chelsea’s family is here with him now.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Morgan said.

Elliot was a widower? But then losing a spouse so young could explain Elliot’s maturity.

“How much do you know about Tim’s background?” Morgan asked.

“Tim was up front about his family’s legal issues since his personal information gets mixed up with his father’s.” Elliot interlaced his fingers and leaned on his forearms. “I’m glad I hired him. He works his ass off, and he’s never given me any reason to doubt his loyalty.”

“What can you tell us about his wife?” Lance asked.

Elliot shrugged “I really don’t know Chelsea that well. We have holiday parties, and several times a year we hold picnics, where we participate in team-building exercises. Spouses are welcome. Chelsea always comes. She seems very sweet. Loves her kids like crazy,” Elliot said with a sad smile.

Lance glanced through the glass. Everyone looked young. Very young. Many must be fresh out of college, and apparently not one of them owned an iron. At the ripe old age of thirty-three, Lance felt ancient. A young man in skinny jeans and a knit beanie cruised by on a skateboard. The glass muffled the click-clack of his wheels on the polished concrete.

“How valuable is the research Tim’s team is working on?” Morgan asked.

“Very,” Elliot said. “The technology we’re developing has the potential to transform Internet access on a global scale, increasing access to low-cost, multigigabit wireless connectivity.”

“Tim is a state-college grad,” Morgan said. “I would think a high-tech, cutting-edge firm like Speed Net would want graduates from more prestigious universities.”

Elliot steepled his fingers. “I went to a prestigious university. I didn’t fit in. Rich, privileged kids weren’t and aren’t my people. If you’ve watched your parents struggle to pay bills, if your family has been evicted from their apartment in the middle of winter, if you’ve made a meal out of government cheese and ketchup packets, you understand the value of success in a way someone who hasn’t struggled doesn’t. If, in spite of your family’s poverty, you’ve managed to get an advanced college degree, you have my attention.”

Refreshing attitude.

Elliot sat back. “Plus, I can’t afford MIT grads anyway.”

And practical.

“Who is your strongest competitor?” Lance asked.

“Gold Stream,” Elliot said with no hesitation. His mouth flattened. “Levi Gold and I used to be partners. We started our first tech company, TechKing, when we were twenty-two. We had a disagreement and sold the company.”