Chapter 2 - “TAKE MY ARM”“Don’t move.”
Vincent’s voice was barely louder than the orchestra.
Mave stopped breathing.
The scarred stranger continued walking toward them.
Twenty feet.
Fifteen.
Ten.
Vincent never reached for his gun.
That would have caused panic.
Instead, he held out his left arm.
“Take my arm.”
Mave stared at him.
“What?”
“Now.”
Something in his face erased every question.
She slipped her hand through his arm.
Vincent immediately turned as if they were simply another wealthy couple moving toward the dance floor.
His body remained between her and the stranger.
“Keep walking.”
“Who is he?”
“Not here.”
“Vincent—”
“Mave.”
She had worked for him three years.
He almost never used her first name like that.
Not sharp.
Not commanding.
Afraid.
That frightened her more than the man behind them.
They moved through the ballroom.
Vincent nodded politely at a city commissioner.
Smiled at a donor.
Even paused long enough to tell a hospital administrator he would increase his pledge.
All while steering Mave toward a service corridor.
She whispered, “He’s following us.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Reflection.”
Of course.
Vincent noticed everything.
Leo appeared near the kitchen doors.
His smile had vanished.
“Boss?”
“East exit.”
Leo nodded.
No questions.
Mave looked over her shoulder.
The stranger was gone.
That made it worse.
They entered a private elevator.
Vincent pressed the basement button.
Mave pulled her hand away.
“Who was that?”
Vincent looked at the ceiling camera.
“Wait.”
“You know him.”
“Yes.”
“From where?”
“Wait.”
The doors opened into the underground garage.
Two black SUVs waited.
Security moved quickly.
Vincent guided her toward the second.
Mave stopped.
“I’m not getting into a car until you tell me what is happening.”
One of the guards glanced at Vincent.
Nobody spoke to him like that during emergencies.
Mave did.
Vincent looked at her.
Then sighed.
“His name is Adrian Vale.”
“Should that mean something?”
“No.”
“Good start.”
“He worked for my father.”
Mave’s stomach tightened.
“Doing what?”
“Surveillance.”
“That sounds innocent.”
“It wasn’t.”
Rain began hammering the garage entrance.
Vincent looked toward the ramp.
“Get in.”
“Vincent.”
“He disappeared nine years ago.”
“So?”
“He was supposed to be dead.”
That got her into the car.
The convoy left through a restricted exit.
For the first five minutes, nobody spoke.
Vincent watched mirrors.
Leo sat in front.
Mave held her tablet against her chest.
Then Vincent asked:
“Did anyone contact you this week?”
“No.”
“Unknown calls?”
“Spam.”
“Letters?”
“No.”
“Anyone ask about your family?”
Her face changed.
Vincent noticed.
“What?”
“My mother got a call.”
“When?”
“Tuesday.”
“From who?”
“She didn’t know.”
“What did they ask?”
Mave hesitated.
“They asked if my father still had a storage unit.”
Vincent became completely still.
“What did your mother say?”
“She hung up.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because my father has been dead thirteen years.”
Vincent looked away.
Too quickly.
Mave caught it.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You know something.”
“No.”
“You absolutely do.”
The gray sedan appeared behind them.
Same one from earlier.
Vincent’s face hardened.
“Leo.”
“I see it.”
The sedan accelerated.
Their driver changed lanes.
Sedan followed.
Mave’s pulse spiked.
“This is because of me?”
Vincent did not answer.
“Vincent.”
“Yes.”
That single word changed everything.
The second SUV fell back.
Blocked the sedan.
Traffic compressed.
Then the gray car suddenly cut across two lanes and exited.
Gone.
Leo called security.
Plate photographed.
Likely stolen.
Vincent looked at Mave.
“You’re not going home.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I have a cat.”
Leo turned slightly.
Vincent stared.
“You are discussing a cat?”
“He needs medication.”
“Mave.”
“He has kidney disease.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“Leo.”
“Yeah?”
“Get the cat.”
Mave almost laughed.
“This is ridiculous.”
“You’re being followed by a man who was supposed to be dead.”
“And you’re kidnapping my cat.”
“Protective custody.”
“For the cat?”
“For both of you.”
She stared.
Then something occurred to her.
“My father.”
Vincent looked at her.
“What about him?”
“You reacted when I mentioned his storage unit.”
Silence.
“My father was a construction estimator.”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“You put it on your employment paperwork.”
“No.”
Mave’s voice went quieter.
“I wrote ‘deceased’ under parent information.”
Vincent froze.
She continued.
“You knew his job.”
Nobody spoke.
Mave’s stomach sank.
“You investigated me.”
Vincent’s expression changed.
“I investigate everyone who works close to me.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Yes.”
“You knew who my father was before you hired me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Vincent looked toward the rain-streaked window.
“Because your father’s name was already in my family’s files.”
Mave stopped breathing.
“What files?”
“Old financial records.”
“My father never worked for you.”
“No.”
“Your father?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Vincent rubbed one hand over his face.
For the first time that night, he looked tired again.
Not dangerous.
Tired.
“Your father, Thomas Avery, audited subcontracting bids for the city.”
“Yes.”
“Thirteen years ago, he found discrepancies involving trucking permits.”
Mave stared.
“What kind?”
“Ghost vehicles. False maintenance invoices. Shell companies.”
The exact kind of discrepancy she had found that morning.
Thirty thousand dollars.
Belize.
New Jersey trucking.
Her skin went cold.
“You knew.”
Vincent looked at her.
“That spreadsheet today?”
“Yes.”
“You knew I found something.”
“I knew you probably would.”
Mave stood mentally still even though the car kept moving.
“You gave me the file intentionally?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
“It was supposed to be clean.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“No.”
“Was my father looking at the same companies?”
Vincent did not answer.
Mave’s heart began pounding.
“Vincent.”
“Yes.”
Thirteen years disappeared.
Her father dying in what police called a single-car accident on the Kennedy Expressway.
Rain.
Guardrail.
No witnesses.
Her mother saying he had been distracted for weeks beforehand.
Mave remembered one thing.
Three days before he died, Thomas Avery had emptied his home office into boxes.
Said he was reorganizing.
Then the boxes vanished.
“What did he find?”
Vincent answered carefully.
“A company called North Crown Logistics.”
Mave stared.
“That’s one of your old companies.”
“Yes.”
“You own it.”
“Not anymore.”
“Did your father?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
“And my father was investigating it.”
“Yes.”
“Then he died.”
“Yes.”
The car felt too small.
“You hired me knowing this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Vincent looked at her.
The answer was not what she expected.
“Because someone submitted your résumé to my office three years ago.”
“So?”
“It came with no referral.”
“Okay.”
“I almost rejected it.”
Mave felt insulted despite everything.
“Thanks.”
“Then I saw your surname.”
“Avery.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I checked your background.”
“Invaded my life.”
“Yes.”
“Why hire me?”
Vincent hesitated.
“Because I wanted to know whether you knew what your father had found.”
Her face went cold.
“So I was bait.”
“At first.”
The words hurt more than they should have.
“At first.”
“Yes.”
“And after?”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“You became the best person in my office.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I can give without lying.”
Mave looked away.
Three years.
Coffee.
Calendars.
Late nights.
Quiet conversations.
Vincent leaving food on her desk when she worked through dinner.
The one Christmas he gave every employee generic gifts and somehow hers included a first edition of a novel she had mentioned once.
She had thought he noticed her.
Maybe he had simply monitored her.
“Did you ever find out whether I knew?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“First month.”
“How?”
“You didn’t know anything.”
“So why keep me?”
Vincent looked genuinely confused by the question.
“Because you were good.”
“That simple?”
“No.”
Again.
Complicated.
The SUV entered an underground garage beneath one of Vincent’s buildings.
Private elevator.
Penthouse safe residence.
Mave stepped out.
Then stopped.
“I want my apartment.”
“No.”
“My files.”
“Leo will retrieve them.”
“My father’s storage unit.”
Vincent froze.
“What?”
“My mother kept one.”
“Where?”
“Queens.”
“Did you know what was inside?”
“No.”
“She never opened it?”
“Dad paid ten years in advance. Mom couldn’t bring herself to empty it.”
Vincent stared.
“Ten years.”
“Yes.”
“He died thirteen years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Then the rental expired three years ago.”
Mave’s face changed.
Exactly when she started working for Vincent.
“Mom renewed it.”
“How?”
“She got a notice.”
“From who?”
“I don’t know.”
Vincent looked toward Leo.
“Find the facility.”
Mave stepped closer.
“No.”
Both men looked at her.
“You’re not going without me.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“This is not negotiation.”
“It absolutely is.”
“The man from the gala is watching you.”
“And apparently this entire thing is about my father.”
“Mave.”
“You hired me because of him.”
“Yes.”
“You lied to me for three years.”
His face tightened.
“Yes.”
“You do not get to suddenly decide I’m too fragile for the truth.”
That landed.
Vincent looked away.
Then nodded once.
“You stay beside me.”
“I decide where I stand.”
He looked at her.
“Fair.”
They went to the storage facility at midnight with police? No.
Vincent did not call police.
That bothered Mave.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know who Adrian Vale is working with.”
“That includes police?”
“Yes.”
“Convenient Mafia answer.”
“Accurate Mafia answer.”
The facility manager was terrified when Vincent arrived.
Unit 318.
Thomas Avery.
Mave inserted the old key her mother kept.
The lock opened.
Inside:
Cardboard boxes.
Old tax files.
Winter coats.
A broken lamp.
Nothing dramatic.
Then Mave found a steel document case beneath a tarp.
Locked.
Vincent recognized it.
His face changed.
“What?”
“That case.”
“What about it?”
“It belonged to my father.”
Mave went cold.
“Why would your father’s case be in my father’s storage unit?”
Vincent said nothing.
They broke the lock.
Inside were ledgers.
Photographs.
Permit records.
And a cassette recorder.
Mave picked up an envelope.
On front:
IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO ME, GIVE THIS TO VINCENT COSTA.
Her hands began shaking.
“My father knew you?”
Vincent stared at the handwriting.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Mave opened the envelope.
One page.
Thomas Avery’s handwriting.
Vincent,
If your father is dead when you read this, you may be the only person left who can correct what he allowed.
Do not trust Adrian Vale.
Do not trust the trucking accounts.
And above all—
do not trust Leo Marino.
Mave slowly lifted her eyes.
Leo stood three feet away.
May you like
His face had gone completely blank.
Then the lights in the storage facility went out.
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