Chapter 5 - The Woman in the File
I had never seen Alister without his public face.
That night, I did.
The warmth disappeared first.
Then the charm.
What remained was a man who had spent his entire life believing every room would eventually belong to him.
“Put the portfolio down, Emery.”
I didn’t.
“You photographed me five years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You were interesting.”
“I was twenty-three.”
“You were Gideon Ferris’s new assistant.”
My heart pounded.
“So this was always about him.”
“Not always.”
He stepped closer.
“Eventually I liked you.”
“That may be the most insulting thing you’ve ever said.”
“I paid almost three hundred thousand dollars to keep your brother out of bankruptcy.”
“You manufactured most of that debt.”
His eyes sharpened.
So Gideon had been right.
Alister hadn’t known how much we knew.
“Ferris has been busy.”
“You forged Kyle’s signature.”
“I solved Kyle’s problem.”
“You created his problem.”
“I improved the leverage.”
The casualness chilled me.
“And the car?”
For the first time, something changed in his expression.
“I didn’t order that.”
I believed him.
Not because he deserved trust.
Because he looked angry.
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why should I believe anything you say?”
“Because if I wanted Kyle dead, he would be dead.”
The sentence was monstrous.
It was also probably true.
My earring remained live.
Gideon heard every word.
I needed Alister talking.
“What do you want from Gideon?”
Alister smiled faintly.
“Now you’re asking useful questions.”
He poured himself bourbon.
“Ferris owns infrastructure nobody understands. Ports. trucking corridors. private storage. Union loyalty. Half the East Coast moves through businesses connected to him.”
“And Calder wants it.”
“Calder wants the federal logistics contract.”
“Which has nothing to do with marrying me.”
“It does when Ferris trusts you more than anyone alive.”
I hated how satisfying that sounded.
“You thought I’d steal information?”
“No.”
He smiled.
“I thought Gideon would give it to you.”
“Then you don’t know him.”
“I know him better than you do.”
“No. You know his reputation.”
Alister’s smile vanished.
“And you think you know the man?”
“Yes.”
It came too quickly.
Too confidently.
Alister noticed.
“Oh.”
He set down the glass.
“That explains tonight.”
“What?”
“You’re sleeping with him.”
“No.”
“But you want to.”
I said nothing.
His eyes turned ugly.
“I bought your brother out of ruin. I introduced you to governors, donors, families who wouldn’t have let your mother clean their kitchens—”
My hand moved before I thought.
The slap cracked through the suite.
Alister’s head turned.
Silence.
I stared at my own hand.
Then at him.
He touched his cheek.
“That,” he said quietly, “was a mistake.”
The door opened.
Gideon entered.
No rush.
No raised voice.
Two men followed him.
Alister actually laughed.
“There he is.”
Gideon looked at me first.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
Only then did he look at Alister.
“Step away from her.”
“This is my suite.”
“It’s a hotel.”
“My donors own the hotel.”
“I own the mortgage.”
Alister’s expression shifted.
I almost laughed.
Gideon held out his hand to me.
I walked to him.
Alister said, “You really think he’s your rescue, Emery?”
I stopped.
“Don’t.”
He smiled.
“Ask him why you got the job.”
Gideon went completely still.
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
Alister reached into the portfolio and removed another photograph.
My father.
Thomas Nash.
Standing beside a much younger Gideon Ferris.
I stared.
My father had died six years earlier.
One year before Gideon hired me.
“What is this?”
Neither man answered.
“Gideon.”
His face told me everything.
He knew.
I stepped away from him.
“You knew my father?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He worked for my father.”
My chest tightened.
“My father was an accountant.”
“Yes.”
“For an insurance company.”
“No.”
One word.
One devastating word.
Alister sat back, enjoying every second.
Gideon continued.
“Your father handled financial records for Ferris operations for almost eleven years.”
“No.”
“He left before my father died.”
“My father hated organized crime.”
“He hated what he became part of.”
I could barely breathe.
“Why did you hire me?”
Gideon’s silence lasted too long.
“Answer me.”
“Because your father asked me to watch over you and Kyle if anything happened to him.”
The room disappeared around me.
Five years.
My job.
My career.
Every promotion.
Every compliment.
Every achievement.
Suddenly contaminated by one question.
“Did I earn any of it?”
Gideon’s expression broke.
“Every damn thing.”
“But you hired me because of him.”
“Yes.”
I backed away.
“Emery.”
“Don’t.”
Alister stood.
“You see?”
I turned on him.
“You don’t get to enjoy this.”
His smile faded.
“You used my brother. You used me. Whatever Gideon hid doesn’t make you innocent.”
I walked toward the door.
Gideon followed.
“Emery.”
“I need space.”
“This building isn’t secure.”
“Then put someone outside the door. But don’t come inside.”
His jaw tightened.
Then he nodded.
That night I returned to my apartment for the first time since Kyle’s crash.
At 2:00 a.m., unable to sleep, I opened the old metal box containing my father’s papers.
Insurance forms.
Tax records.
Birthday cards.
A photograph of Kyle at graduation.
Then I found an envelope taped beneath the bottom panel.
My name was written on it.
EMERY.
Inside was a letter.
Sweetheart,
If you are reading this, then Gideon kept his promise.
There are things about my life I was too ashamed to tell you.
But there is one thing you must understand.
The most dangerous man in the Ferris organization was never Gideon.
And if a Pemberton ever comes near you or Kyle, run.
I stopped breathing.
The letter had been written six years earlier.
Long before I met Alister.
May you like
And at the bottom was one final line.
The proof is where your mother used to keep the Christmas star.
