Chapter 3 - The Woman in the Security Footage
Roman did not take Alex to a mansion.
He took her to Brooklyn.
That surprised her almost as much as everything else.
The SUV descended beneath an anonymous brick building in Brooklyn Heights and stopped inside a private underground garage.
“Where are we?”
“A place Preston doesn’t know belongs to me.”
“That sounds reassuringly legal.”
Roman stepped out.
“You’re becoming sarcastic.”
“I’m being framed for three million dollars. I’m expanding emotionally.”
His mouth twitched.
Upstairs was a quiet penthouse overlooking the East River.
No gold.
No marble statues.
No men carrying machine guns.
Books covered one wall. An old record player sat beside the fireplace. The kitchen looked used.
Alex stared.
“You live here?”
“Sometimes.”
“I expected something more…”
“Criminal?”
“Pretentious.”
That actually made him laugh.
It changed his face.
For one second, Roman Costa looked younger.
Human.
Then his security chief entered.
“Mr. Costa.”
Roman became unreadable again.
“This is Daniel Mercer.”
Daniel nodded to Alex.
“Ms. Carter.”
Roman removed his jacket.
“Show her.”
Daniel opened a laptop.
The footage from Sabbes appeared.
A woman entered the employee corridor at 2:11 a.m.
Alex leaned closer.
The woman wore Alex’s camel coat.
At 2:13, she used Alex’s security card.
At 2:17, she entered Vault C.
At 2:31, she left carrying a document case.
Her face appeared clearly for four seconds.
Alex felt sick.
It was her.
Almost.
“Stop.”
Daniel froze the frame.
Alex pointed.
“My left ear.”
Roman leaned closer.
“I’m listening.”
“I had reconstructive surgery when I was nine. Bike accident.”
She pulled back her hair.
A thin scar ran behind her ear.
“The cartilage sits slightly differently.”
Roman compared her ear with the image.
The woman in the footage had no scar.
Daniel smiled faintly.
“There.”
Roman looked at Alex.
“You just found our first crack.”
Alex stared at the screen.
“Who is she?”
“We’ll find out.”
Her phone—now stripped of its SIM—lit up through Wi-Fi.
Thirty-seven missed calls.
Preston.
Her boss.
Unknown numbers.
Then a message arrived through iMessage.
From Preston.
Please come home. We can fix this.
Alex stared at it.
Another appeared.
Roman Costa is using you.
Then:
You don’t understand what he is.
Roman saw her expression.
“Hayes?”
She nodded.
“What did he say?”
“That you’re using me.”
Roman poured himself water.
“Reasonable hypothesis.”
“You’re not going to defend yourself?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you should question my motives.”
Alex watched him.
“What are your motives?”
Roman took a drink.
“Preston stole money from people who do not forgive theft.”
“And you?”
“I dislike forgery.”
“That’s it?”
“No.”
He placed the glass down.
“My younger brother bought one of the antiquities authenticated under your forged signature.”
Alex frowned.
Roman’s voice changed.
“Six months later, federal agents seized it.”
“That’s inconvenient.”
“My brother believed I had used him to move dirty money.”
Alex understood.
“He stopped trusting you.”
“He stopped speaking to me.”
For the first time, Roman looked wounded.
Not visibly.
But enough.
“So Preston hurt your family.”
“Yes.”
“And you want revenge.”
“I want the truth.”
“Those aren’t always different things.”
Roman studied her.
“No.”
Alex turned toward the window.
Across the river, Manhattan glittered as if nothing ugly could happen inside it.
“I need to contact Sabbes.”
“You will.”
“And a lawyer.”
“One is coming.”
“My lawyer.”
“Choose anyone you want.”
That surprised her.
“You’re not trying to control this?”
Roman walked closer.
“I don’t want obedience from you, Alex.”
His voice lowered.
“I want Preston to discover what happens when the woman he underestimated stops asking permission.”
Her pulse changed.
Before she could answer, Daniel’s phone rang.
He listened.
Then his expression hardened.
“What?”
Daniel looked at Roman.
“NYPD has a warrant.”
Alex went still.
“For me?”
“Not yet.”
Daniel turned the laptop.
“They searched your office.”
A photograph appeared.
Police evidence bags covered Alex’s desk.
Inside one was a flash drive.
Inside another—
Cash.
Stacks of it.
Alex whispered, “That isn’t mine.”
Roman did not respond.
Daniel continued.
“They found copies of offshore transfers in your locked cabinet.”
“I’ve never seen them.”
“And there’s more.”
Daniel clicked.
An email appeared.
Sent from Alex’s work account to an offshore broker.
Confirming revised valuation. Proceed with transfer. P.H. has approved. Delete after settlement.
Alex stared.
“I didn’t write that.”
“We know.”
“But police don’t.”
“No.”
Alex’s throat tightened.
Then she saw the date.
Her fear disappeared.
“Wait.”
Roman looked at her.
“What?”
Alex pointed at the screen.
“That email was sent at 4:42 p.m. on March fourteenth.”
“So?”
“I was giving a lecture.”
“Where?”
“The Metropolitan Museum of Art.”
Daniel began typing.
“Public lecture?”
“Sold out. Four hundred people. Recorded.”
Roman stared at her.
Alex finally smiled.
“They picked the wrong day.”
Daniel found the museum archive.
Video filled the screen.
Alex stood onstage discussing Roman funerary sculpture.
Timestamp: 4:39 p.m.
4:43.
4:48.
Roman leaned back.
“Our second crack.”
Alex felt something unfamiliar.
Hope.
Then Daniel’s computer chimed.
A new security file had arrived.
He opened it.
Sabbes Auction House.
March fourteenth.
4:41 p.m.
Someone sat at Alex’s computer.
The camera angle showed only the back of a woman’s head.
Then she turned.
Alex stopped breathing.
She knew her.
Roman looked between them.
“Who is that?”
Alex whispered the name.
“Melissa Grant.”
“Who?”
“My assistant.”
Her stomach dropped.
Melissa had worked beside her for eighteen months.
Had attended her birthday.
Had watered her plants when Alex traveled.
Had cried on Alex’s couch after a breakup.
Roman asked the obvious question.
“Why would your assistant destroy your life?”
Alex stared at Melissa’s frozen face.
“I have no idea.”
Her phone chimed again.
A message.
Not Preston.
Melissa.
Only six words.
I’m sorry. He made me do it.
May you like
Then another.
Don’t trust Roman Costa either.
