Chapter 2 - The Apartment Door
“Don’t turn around,” Adrian said.
Claire stared at him.
“What?”
“Your seat belt.”
She fastened it without arguing.
Adrian pressed the intercom.
“Marco, eastbound on Fulton. Don’t lose the car. Don’t let it get beside us.”
“Understood.”
Claire looked through the rear glass.
“You said not to turn around.”
“I say many things.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You chose me as your emergency contact.”
“I was under stress.”
The sedan accelerated.
Behind them, the dark vehicle accelerated too.
Adrian watched its lights through the side mirror.
Professional distance.
No reckless approach.
No horn.
No attempt to force them off the road.
“They’re not trying to hurt us,” Claire said.
“You noticed.”
“They want us to know they’re there.”
“Exactly.”
“Why?”
Adrian looked at the memory card.
“To make sure we go somewhere.”
“Where?”
“Your apartment.”
Claire’s face tightened.
“That text said not to.”
“Which is why they expect us to.”
“You think the warning was bait.”
“I think everything tonight is bait.”
Claire sat back.
“And yet I’m somehow still the one who got arrested.”
“That part was probably genuine.”
She looked offended.
“I was defending myself.”
“With interior lighting.”
“It worked.”
Despite himself, Adrian smiled.
For perhaps half a second.
Then Marco turned sharply.
The following car continued straight.
Gone.
“They let us go,” Claire whispered.
Adrian disliked that more.
He called one person.
Not Dominic.
“Jonah.”
A sleepy voice answered immediately. “Boss?”
“Claire Bennett’s apartment. Quiet entry. No police. Call me when you’re inside.”
Claire’s head snapped toward him.
“You have people who break into apartments?”
“I own several locksmith companies.”
“That did not answer my question.”
“No.”
She rubbed her forehead.
“Of course it didn’t.”
Jonah called seven minutes later.
His voice had changed.
“We’re inside.”
Adrian heard movement behind him.
“What do you see?”
“Nothing stolen.”
“Anything disturbed?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Everything.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Adrian’s voice became colder.
“Explain.”
“Mattress cut open. Kitchen cabinets emptied. Books torn apart. Desk smashed. They weren’t robbing her.”
“They were searching.”
“Looks that way.”
“For what?”
Jonah paused.
“Whatever they wanted, I don’t think they found it.”
Claire slowly lowered her hand.
“How can he know?”
Adrian put the call on speaker.
Jonah answered.
“Because someone painted a question on your living-room wall.”
Claire swallowed.
“What question?”
Jonah hesitated.
“Where is Antonio’s ledger?”
Adrian’s eyes closed.
For one brief second.
Antonio.
His father.
Claire looked at him.
“What ledger?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You paused.”
“I was thinking.”
“You pause differently when you’re thinking.”
Adrian stared at her.
“Three years of employment has given you entirely too much information.”
“Then fire me.”
“Not while you’re under arrest.”
“I’m not under arrest anymore.”
“Then tomorrow.”
“Fine.”
Neither meant it.
Adrian ordered Marco to drive to Vale Tower.
At four-fifteen in the morning, the building looked like a black blade rising above lower Manhattan.
The overnight security staff straightened when Adrian entered.
Claire followed him through the lobby.
Several guards noticed her bruise.
Their expressions changed.
Adrian saw every one of them.
“Not a word,” he said.
They nodded.
On the private elevator, Claire leaned against the mirrored wall.
“You should go to a hospital.”
“I already spent enough time around police tonight.”
“That is not a medical argument.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re limping.”
“I’m wearing heels.”
“You wear those heels every day.”
Claire looked down.
Her left ankle was swelling.
Adrian sighed.
“What?”
“You’re staying in the penthouse.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“I am not sleeping at my employer’s penthouse.”
“You’re not sleeping. We’re looking at the memory card.”
She considered.
“That sounds slightly less inappropriate.”
“Thank you.”
“But only slightly.”
The penthouse occupied the top three floors of Vale Tower.
Claire had been there exactly twice, both times for business dinners.
Tonight, it felt different.
Too quiet.
Too private.
Adrian handed her an ice pack and pointed to the couch.
“Sit.”
“I’m capable—”
“Claire.”
She sat.
He opened a secure laptop.
The memory card contained only one file.
A video.
No title.
No date.
Adrian clicked play.
The footage was grainy.
An underground garage.
Fifteen years earlier.
Claire leaned forward.
A younger Dominic Vale appeared on screen.
Adrian stopped breathing.
Dominic stood beside another man.
Antonio Vale.
Alive.
The timestamp was six days after Antonio’s funeral.
Claire whispered, “That’s your father.”
Adrian said nothing.
Antonio looked thinner than the photographs on Adrian’s office wall, but there was no mistaking him.
Same eyes.
Same posture.
Same habit of touching his cuff before speaking.
The recording had no sound.
Dominic handed Antonio a folder.
Antonio opened it.
Read something.
Then slapped Dominic hard enough to knock him against a car.
Claire glanced at Adrian.
His face had become unreadable.
On screen, Antonio pointed toward the camera.
Then toward himself.
Then toward the folder.
Dominic suddenly looked directly at the lens.
The video ended.
Claire whispered, “Who recorded it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You buried your father.”
“I buried a closed coffin.”
“That is not the same sentence.”
“No.”
Adrian stood.
He walked toward the windows.
For fifteen years he had believed his father died in a warehouse fire.
He had inherited the remnants of the Vale organization at twenty-one.
He had spent the next decade forcing it away from narcotics, trafficking, and the kind of business Antonio had allowed because money made men blind.
Adrian had made enemies doing it.
Many.
But none of them should have possessed footage of his supposedly dead father.
Claire studied him.
“Why would Dominic lie?”
Adrian’s phone buzzed.
Dominic.
Claire stared.
“You didn’t call him.”
“No.”
The phone continued ringing.
Adrian answered.
“Uncle.”
“Where are you?”
Dominic sounded awake.
Too awake.
“Office.”
“At four-thirty?”
“You know me.”
A pause.
“Adrian, I heard there was trouble tonight.”
Claire’s eyes widened.
Adrian’s remained fixed on nothing.
“What trouble?”
“Your secretary.”
“How did you hear?”
“People talk.”
“Very quickly.”
Another pause.
“Is Claire all right?”
“She’s fine.”
Claire mouthed, Don’t tell him I’m here.
Adrian nodded almost imperceptibly.
Dominic continued.
“Police said she attacked a man.”
“She defended herself.”
“I’m sure she did.”
“Do you know Ethan Calder?”
Silence.
Long enough.
Then Dominic said, “No.”
Claire looked at Adrian.
The lie was obvious.
Adrian’s voice remained calm.
“Interesting.”
“Why?”
“He mentioned you.”
“He mentioned me?”
“No.”
Claire nearly rolled her eyes.
Dominic did not speak for three seconds.
Adrian smiled without humor.
“You’re getting old, Uncle.”
“What does that mean?”
“You used to lie faster.”
The call ended.
Claire stared at him.
“You just told him you know.”
“I told him nothing.”
“You told him everything.”
“Dominic always respected intelligence. If he’s innocent, he’ll come explain.”
“And if he isn’t?”
“He’ll run.”
Adrian’s laptop chimed.
An incoming encrypted email.
No sender.
One attachment.
Claire opened it.
A scanned document appeared.
A death certificate.
Antonio Vale.
Adrian leaned closer.
The recorded date of death was not fifteen years ago.
It was three months ago.
Claire whispered, “That’s impossible.”
Adrian stared at the signature of the certifying physician.
Then at the place of death.
St. Catherine’s Private Care Facility.
Upstate New York.
His father had lived fifteen years after his funeral.
And died ninety-three days ago.
Another page loaded automatically.
A visitor log.
One name appeared again and again.
Dominic Vale.
Then Claire froze.
Near the bottom was a second familiar name.
CLAIRE BENNETT.
Adrian slowly turned toward her.
Claire’s face emptied of color.
“I’ve never been there.”
“You signed in six months ago.”
“No.”
“The document says otherwise.”
“I swear to you.”
The penthouse elevator chimed.
Neither had called it.
Adrian closed the laptop.
Claire stood despite her injured ankle.
The elevator doors began to open.
May you like
Someone had entered Adrian’s private floor using a master access code.
And only three people in the city possessed one.
