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The Book of Five Rings.
Graham had an array of leather-bound classic books, mostly old accounts of past battles regarding various forms of strategy. This one might not fit in as well as the others, but it still deserved a place on the shelf. The story had been written by a samurai warrior, Miyamoto Musashi. He had emphasized the importance of knowing one's enemies better than their own compatriots. More people should take note of the wisdom imparted in Musashi's words.
Clearly, someone else had.
Graham retraced his steps back to his desk so that he could quickly log into his security system. He searched through the log entries for when the doorbell had been activated, clicking on the appropriate date and time. Two had shown, but he figured the first one would display the stranger who had somehow gotten ahold of valid credentials.
The male figure had worn a hat, sported dark facial hair thick enough to conceal the lower half of his face, and also wore tinted glasses. They appeared to be more of everyday use instead of sunglasses, so they should lighten somewhat as he entered the residence.
Graham leaned in closer to view Lacy as she greeted the workman at the door and asked to see identification, even though he was wearing a jacket with the logo of his company. Once the man had shown her a license, along with a business card, she gave him a smile and began to talk about how nice it would be for Graham to finally be able to have a fire in the hearth. She even made mention that the flue had been sticking since Christmas.
Once the man entered the house, Graham pulled up the directory once more. He then chose the office footage that had recorded moments later. While he continued to monitor the man's movements, Graham reached into the interior pocket of his suit jacket and retrieved his phone. He scrolled through his contacts until he found the name that he was searching for in order to initiate the call.
"Wharton & Sons."
"Josh, this is Graham. Did you send one of your technicians out to the house today?"
By this time, footage on the monitor showed the man kneeling in front of the hearth and shining a flashlight up into the chimney. He then reached up with his left hand and began to work on the flue.
"Of course not," Josh exclaimed. "You know me better than that. I have you marked down for next Tuesday, our last call of the day. I even have a brand-new bottle of Crown Royal sitting on my desk to bring with me. Why do you ask?"
"Someone came to the house today, claiming he was with your company."
Graham continued to monitor the security footage, confused as to why the man was actually working on the problem. He was now utilizing a tool of some sort from his utility belt while holding the small Maglite in his mouth.
At first, Graham had assumed the male subject had feigned working on the flue for Lacy's benefit. She'd stayed in the doorway until a faint sound could be heard coming from the kitchen.
"You know, Trey's van was broken into a couple of days ago," Josh replied with a touch of anger. "Son of a bitch. We didn't think anything of it at the time. Truthfully, we thought it was just someone looking for warm clothes. Trey's jacket was stolen, along with a few miscellaneous items. Graham, I am so sorry. I never thought—"
"You did nothing wrong, Josh. I'll take care of it," Graham assured his childhood friend. "I'm looking forward to Tuesday. It's been too long."
Graham didn't waste time disconnecting the call. He didn't want to get caught up in the details, and he would share with Josh what he'd learned about the man at a later date. Right now, Graham wanted to continue to watch the screen for when the male subject began to take a tour of the private office.
What had he been looking for?
Better yet...who was he?
Considering that the man wore a hat that was rather low on his forehead, a full beard and mustache, along with tinted glasses that hadn't lightened as much as Graham had hoped, it was hard to distinguish any of the man's features.
Fifteen minutes passed before the male figure stood and began to brush off any soot that had remained on his clothes. He hadn't removed the bulky jacket, either. He took his time sliding the two tools that he'd been using to fix the flue back into the utility belt around his waist, lifting up the bottom of the jacket to ensure that they were seated into their slots properly.
Once he also secured his Maglite, the man began to casually stroll around the office as if he were in a museum. He never touched a thing, and he really didn't go near the desk. Whether that was by design, given that the security camera was in the righthand corner behind Graham's shoulder, or the fact that he didn't really care what was on the desk was up for debate. By the time he had made his way back to the hearth, he stood for a moment to study the oil painting that hung above the mantel.
Graham's gut tightened in disgust that this man was setting eyes on the last gift given to him by Kelsey. His daughter had painted the eagle, globe, and anchor in a rich gold hue, with each of his decorations that he'd been awarded during his time of service surrounding the beautiful centerpiece. No one who couldn't appreciate the beauty in such a gift should ever be able to set eyes on it.
By the time that Graham had swallowed the bile that had risen to the back of his throat, the male subject began to casually peruse the contents of the bookshelf. He'd taken his time, almost as if he were searching for just the right message to convey.
The Book of Five Rings.
One should know their enemies better than the enemies' friends.
The man had made sure his gloves were secured over his hands before he reached for the spine of the book, moving it just enough that Graham would have eventually noticed it had Lacy not mentioned that someone had arrived today.
As the man began to stuff the white handkerchief into the pocket of his coat, his attention seemed to be focused on the door. Lacy must have been coming back to check on his progress. It wasn't long before he was strolling toward the door as if he'd completed whatever task he'd set out to do.
Graham logged off the security software program, waiting until his computer shut down completely before walking around his desk and advancing toward the hearth. It didn't take him long to check the flue, not surprised to find that it was now working without issue.
It wasn't like the problem had been something he hadn't been able to fix on his own. He'd known exactly what the problem was, but he always made it a point to give an old childhood friend a call when something went wrong...out of respect and friendship.
