Chapter 5 - The Photographs on His Desk
Three days later, I discovered Stellan had lied to me.
Again.
This lie was worse.
Nathan Cross disappeared after stealing the flash drive, but the files had already been copied.
Evelyn reconstructed most of them.
The evidence connected Hale Development to bribery, shell corporations and manipulated city contracts.
But one folder was encrypted.
The password was Hazel’s birthday.
Inside were photographs.
Of me.
Hundreds of them.
Me leaving Crestwood.
Me collecting Hazel from school.
Me at the grocery store.
Hazel at the playground.
My apartment.
My car.
My life.
The photographs covered almost two years.
Long before I had met Stellan.
My hands went numb.
Stellan entered his office and stopped when he saw the screen.
“You knew.”
“Jo.”
“You knew.”
“I can explain.”
“You have photographs of my daughter.”
“They aren’t mine.”
“But you had them.”
“I found them during the investigation.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
Three months.
He had known who I was before he ever entered Crestwood.
Table nine had not been chance.
The flowers.
The piano.
Everything.
“You came looking for me.”
“Yes.”
The word landed like a slap.
“Why?”
“Because Nathan’s records included surveillance of you. I needed to know why.”
“So you watched me too?”
“I had you protected.”
“Without telling me.”
“Yes.”
“You investigated my daughter.”
“I made sure no one could reach her.”
“You learned her favorite flowers.”
His face tightened.
“That wasn’t part of the investigation.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I asked Mrs. Kowalski.”
I stared at him.
“You spoke to my neighbor?”
“She thought I was conducting an employment background check.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You weren’t interested in a waitress.”
“I was interested in you.”
“Because of Lillian.”
“At first.”
Those two words made everything worse.
I backed toward the door.
Stellan moved.
He stopped himself before blocking me.
“Jo.”
“I need air.”
“Let me explain.”
“No.”
“Please.”
That word stopped me.
Stellan Voss did not say please.
I turned.
He looked almost angry at himself.
“The first night at Crestwood was intentional,” he said. “Everything after that wasn’t.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No. I expect you to decide for yourself.”
“Good.”
I opened the door.
“Then I’m deciding to leave.”
He let me.
That hurt most.
I returned home with Hazel that afternoon.
For two days, Stellan did not call.
No flowers.
No security men visibly standing outside.
No black Escalade.
I should have felt free.
Instead, every quiet sound in the apartment reminded me how quickly I had become accustomed to knowing someone was watching the street.
On the third evening, Marcus appeared.
He looked terrible.
“Jo, I need help.”
“No.”
“Just listen.”
“I’ve spent five years listening.”
He pushed inside before I could stop him.
“They’re going to kill me.”
I froze.
“Who?”
“Hale’s people.”
My stomach dropped.
Marcus began talking.
His gambling debt had not been random.
Nathan had purchased it eighteen months earlier.
Then he offered Marcus a deal.
Information about me in exchange for wiping out portions of what he owed.
My schedule.
Hazel’s school.
Our relatives.
Everything.
I felt physically sick.
“You sold information about your daughter?”
“I didn’t know what they wanted!”
“You knew enough to take money.”
“I’m sorry.”
I slapped him.
Hard.
He accepted it.
Then he handed me a memory card.
“I stole this from Nathan.”
“Why?”
“Because I finally figured out he was never going to let me walk away.”
Headlights appeared outside.
Marcus looked through the window.
His face drained.
“They found me.”
The first shot hit the brick beside the window.
I pulled Hazel to the floor.
Marcus shoved a bookshelf against the door.
Then the apartment went dark.
Somewhere downstairs, glass shattered.
I grabbed my phone.
Before I could dial, headlights flooded the alley.
Black SUVs.
Doors opened.
Men poured out.
And then Stellan entered my apartment carrying no weapon, no visible fear, only that terrifying stillness.
He looked at Marcus.
Then at me.
Then at Hazel trembling against my chest.
“Take them downstairs,” he told his security chief.
I stood.
“Stellan—”
He crossed the room.
His hands stopped inches from my face.
He did not touch me.
Not until I nodded.
Then he cupped my cheeks.
“You can hate me tomorrow.”
His forehead touched mine.
“Tonight, let me keep you alive.”
For the first time since discovering his lie, I stopped fighting him.
May you like
Only for that night.
Or so I told myself.
