Chapter 3 - Someone Inside the Office
The police were never called.
That told me everything I needed to know about how serious the situation was.
Dominic locked the executive floor before midnight.
Four men I had seen around the building but never officially met appeared within twenty minutes.
One checked security footage.
Another collected access logs.
The third stood near the elevator with his jacket open just enough for me to understand why no one argued with him.
Dominic sat across from me in the conference room.
“Who knew?”
“The delivery schedule?”
“Yes.”
“You. Me. Legal. Marcus.”
“Anyone else?”
“The courier service received the pickup request.”
“From your account?”
“Yes.”
“Password?”
“Changed every thirty days.”
His gaze stayed on me.
I knew what he was asking.
“No one has it.”
Dominic nodded.
“I believe you.”
It should not have mattered.
It did.
Marcus arrived fifteen minutes later.
“What happened?”
Dominic told him.
Marcus swore under his breath.
Then he looked at me.
“Diana, you should go home.”
“She stays,” Dominic said.
Marcus frowned.
“She’s exhausted.”
“She is also the only person who knows every revision made to that letter.”
“I can speak for myself.”
Both men looked at me.
“I’m staying.”
Marcus raised his hands.
“Fine.”
For two hours, we reconstructed the day.
At 1:04 a.m., Dominic’s security chief, Anthony Russo, entered with a laptop.
“Found something.”
He turned the screen.
Someone had accessed my calendar at 12:16 the previous afternoon.
Seven minutes after Dominic told me to take lunch.
My skin went cold.
“From where?”
Anthony looked at Dominic.
“Conference room three.”
Marcus straightened.
“I used that room yesterday.”
Dominic’s gaze shifted to him.
“So did half the executive team,” Marcus added.
Anthony continued.
“The login used Diana’s credentials.”
“That’s impossible,” I said.
“Unless somebody copied the authentication token from her machine.”
Dominic stood.
“Who had physical access?”
Anthony looked uncomfortable.
“Everybody on this floor.”
Dominic ordered everyone out except me.
Marcus paused at the door.
“Dom, don’t make the mistake of treating her like a suspect.”
Dominic’s voice became glacial.
“I said out.”
When the door closed, I folded my arms.
“Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Think I did this?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
“How can you know?”
“Because if you wanted to betray me, you could have done far more damage than stealing a delivery schedule.”
That was disturbingly logical.
Dominic came closer.
“I need you away from your apartment tonight.”
My stomach tightened.
“You think I’m in danger?”
“I think whoever did this used you.”
He picked up his phone.
“You’re coming with me.”
His penthouse occupied the top two floors of a building overlooking Central Park.
I had expected luxury.
I had not expected loneliness.
Everything was dark stone, glass, leather, expensive art.
Nothing looked touched.
Nothing looked loved.
“You live here?”
Dominic removed his coat.
“No, Diana. I commute from Ohio.”
I stared at him.
He sighed.
“Sorry.”
“Was that a joke?”
“Don’t spread it around.”
For the first time that night, I laughed.
His eyes stayed on me a second too long.
A housekeeper had prepared a guest room.
I should have gone directly there.
Instead, I found Dominic in the kitchen at two-thirty, making coffee.
“You’re drinking coffee now?”
“I wasn’t planning on sleeping.”
“Neither was I.”
He made a second cup without asking how I took it.
He already knew.
We stood in silence.
Finally, I asked, “Why did you tell me I was replaceable?”
His hand stopped.
“That question again?”
“I’m trapped in your penthouse because someone used my computer in connection with a murder. I think workplace feedback is fair game.”
He leaned against the counter.
“Because I was angry.”
“At me?”
“At myself.”
I waited.
Dominic looked toward the windows.
“Eighteen months ago, I hired an assistant.”
“Yes.”
“Six months later, I realized I knew the sound of her footsteps.”
My breath caught.
“Twelve months later, I started scheduling late meetings because she stayed for them.”
“Dominic.”
“I knew it was inappropriate.”
His expression hardened against his own confession.
“So I became harder on you.”
“You called me incompetent because you liked me?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds idiotic.”
“It is idiotic.”
“I know.”
I almost smiled.
Then my phone buzzed.
Marcus.
Are you safe?
I showed Dominic.
His face closed immediately.
“You tell him where you are?”
“No.”
“Don’t.”
I typed that I was safe.
Three dots appeared.
Then:
I’m glad. And Diana? Be careful who Dominic convinces you to trust.
I frowned.
“What?”
Dominic held out his hand.
I gave him the phone.
He read the message.
His jaw tightened.
“Predictable.”
“What does he mean?”
Dominic handed it back.
“You should ask Marcus.”
“Ask him what?”
“Why he left Chicago eight years ago.”
I stared.
“You know something.”
“I know many things.”
“Then tell me.”
“No.”
Frustration flared.
“You just told me not to trust him.”
“I told you to ask him a question.”
“Why the games?”
“Because if I tell you, you’ll think I’m trying to turn you against him.”
“Aren’t you?”
His eyes held mine.
“Yes.”
The honesty stunned me.
“But that doesn’t make the information false.”
The next morning, I did exactly what Dominic suggested.
Marcus met me at a café.
When I asked about Chicago, his smile disappeared for half a second.
“My brother died there.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Dominic tell you that?”
“He told me to ask.”
Marcus leaned forward.
“My brother worked for Dominic’s father. There was an internal dispute. People died.”
“Was Dominic involved?”
“He always says he wasn’t.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Marcus looked down.
“When you grow up around men like Dominic, Diana, innocence becomes a matter of definition.”
He reached for my hand.
I let him.
“I don’t want you caught between us.”
“Then tell me everything.”
His thumb moved gently over my fingers.
“One day.”
“Why not now?”
“Because I’m trying to protect you.”
I pulled my hand away.
“I’m getting tired of powerful men deciding what I can handle.”
Marcus’s face softened.
“You’re right.”
Then he smiled.
“You know what? Forget all this for one hour.”
He stood and offered his hand.
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere you can breathe.”
I should have refused.
Instead, I followed him.
Across the street, hidden inside a parked SUV, Anthony Russo photographed us.
But the photograph he sent Dominic was not the important part.
The important part was what Anthony discovered fifteen minutes later.
The café’s security system had captured Marcus arriving forty minutes before me.
And meeting someone in the alley behind the building.
A man Dominic recognized immediately.
May you like
Enzo Vitelli.
The dead courier’s older brother.
