Chapter 2 - The Father of Her Child
“Harper Reed.”
The voice came through the elevator speaker.
Mateo moved in front of her instantly.
Liam drew his weapon.
The other guards spread across the office.
Harper's heart hammered.
“That isn't Simon.”
Mateo glanced back.
“You're sure?”
“I worked with him for two years. I'm sure.”
The elevator doors opened.
Empty.
Liam approached first.
A small black phone lay in the center of the elevator floor.
It rang.
Nobody touched it.
Then the speaker activated automatically.
“Mateo.”
A distorted male voice.
Mateo's face became stone.
“You've got something that belongs to us.”
His eyes went to Harper.
The voice continued.
“The woman. The drive. And now, apparently, something much more valuable.”
Harper's hand covered her stomach.
Mateo's expression became murderous.
“Trace it.”
Liam signaled another guard.
The recording continued.
“Simon made the mistake of believing he was a partner. He wasn't. He was an employee.”
Harper stared at the phone.
Mateo said, “Who are you?”
A laugh.
“You'll find out.”
The line disconnected.
Liam grabbed the phone using a handkerchief.
Mateo turned to Harper.
“Sit.”
“I'm fine.”
“You've been standing for ten minutes looking like you're about to collapse.”
“I drove eleven hours.”
His anger vanished.
“You drove here?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Eight months pregnant?”
Harper stared at him.
“Would you prefer I had flown under my real name so whoever framed me could meet me at baggage claim?”
Mateo had no answer.
Liam did.
“She has a point.”
Mateo looked at him.
Liam immediately became interested in the phone.
Harper almost smiled.
Almost.
Mateo pulled out the leather chair himself.
“Please.”
That word surprised her more than his apology.
She sat.
Mateo crouched in front of her.
The most feared man she had ever known lowered himself until they were eye level.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Is the baby healthy?”
Her defenses weakened slightly.
“Yes.”
He exhaled.
“Boy or girl?”
“I don't know.”
“You didn't ask?”
“I wanted one thing to be a surprise.”
A strange expression touched his face.
Then Harper remembered why she was there.
“Mateo, the twenty million wasn't the real theft.”
His attention snapped back.
“What?”
“The money was camouflage.”
She pointed toward the drive.
“Open folder seven.”
Liam connected the drive to an isolated laptop.
Harper supplied the encryption key.
A directory appeared.
She guided them through layers of spreadsheets.
Finally, she opened a file containing thousands of transactions.
Mateo leaned over her shoulder.
“I don't understand what I'm looking at.”
“That's why Simon chose accounting records.”
She enlarged several entries.
“These transfers don't remove money. They move it between subsidiaries.”
“So?”
“So the twenty million eventually comes back.”
Liam frowned.
“Then nothing was stolen?”
“Something was stolen. Just not money.”
Harper opened another file.
Names appeared.
Judges.
Police officers.
Business owners.
Attorneys.
Shipping executives.
Politicians.
Mateo's face darkened.
“What is this?”
“Your network.”
He looked at her.
“Someone was mapping everyone connected to you.”
Harper nodded.
“Bank transfers were being used to identify relationships. Simon wasn't stealing your money.”
“He was selling my organization.”
“Yes.”
“To whom?”
“I never found out.”
Mateo walked toward the window.
Chicago glittered below.
Harper watched him process the betrayal.
She knew his reputation.
Everyone did.
But the Mateo she had known was more complicated than the newspapers suggested.
He had inherited an organization built on violence and spent years forcing much of its revenue toward legitimate construction, logistics, hospitality, and real estate.
Not clean.
Never clean.
But changing.
Simon had opposed that change.
Harper had once heard him tell Mateo that fear lasted longer than respect.
Mateo had replied that graves lasted longer than both.
Harper had never forgotten it.
Liam looked at the screen.
“Simon had access to all of this.”
“Not alone,” Harper said.
Mateo turned.
“What do you mean?”
“The records were altered after I disappeared.”
Silence.
“That can't be Simon,” Liam said.
“Why?”
“Mateo revoked his systems access the night you vanished.”
Harper felt cold.
“Then someone inside restored it.”
Mateo looked around his office.
At his men.
At his assistant.
At Liam.
For the first time, distrust entered the room.
Harper stood.
“I need to leave.”
Mateo stared at her.
“No.”
“That wasn't a request.”
“Someone knows you're here.”
“Which is exactly why I shouldn't be.”
“Where would you go?”
“My hotel.”
“They found you in my building within minutes.”
“Maybe because they were watching you, not me.”
“That makes it worse.”
He came closer.
“You stay here tonight.”
“No.”
“Harper.”
“I spent eight months escaping one prison. I'm not volunteering for another.”
His expression hardened.
Then softened.
“This isn't a prison.”
“Your doors require fingerprints.”
“For security.”
“That's what prison wardens say.”
Liam coughed.
Mateo shot him another look.
Harper picked up her handbag.
“I'm leaving.”
Mateo blocked her path.
Not touching.
Just there.
“You're carrying my child.”
“My child too.”
“I know.”
“Then don't start acting like pregnancy transferred ownership.”
His jaw flexed.
“I am trying to keep both of you alive.”
“Then ask.”
He stared at her.
“What?”
“Ask me to stay.”
Mateo Falcone looked genuinely uncomfortable.
Harper waited.
Finally:
“Will you stay?”
She folded her arms.
“Tonight.”
Relief appeared so quickly that he could not hide it.
“Fine.”
“Separate room.”
“Obviously.”
“No guards inside.”
“Outside.”
“Outside.”
“No taking my phone.”
“Fine.”
“And I'm not telling you where I've been.”
“Yet.”
“Ever.”
“We'll negotiate that tomorrow.”
Harper sighed.
That was Mateo.
For twenty minutes she had almost forgotten.
Liam escorted her toward the private guest wing.
Before she left, Mateo called her name.
She turned.
He was holding something.
The ultrasound photograph had slipped from her handbag.
Harper's stomach dropped.
Mateo stared at the tiny grayscale profile.
His child.
Their child.
His thumb hovered near the image but never touched it.
“When was this?”
“Twenty-eight weeks.”
Mateo looked up.
Something raw lived in his eyes.
“You did all of this alone?”
Harper could not answer.
Liam's phone rang.
He picked up.
Listened.
Then slowly looked at Harper.
“What?”
Liam ended the call.
“The hotel you checked into this afternoon.”
Harper's pulse jumped.
“What about it?”
“There was an explosion six minutes ago.”
Mateo's expression changed.
Harper went cold.
Liam continued.
“Fire department found a body in your room.”
Harper stared at him.
“That isn't possible.”
“They found identification.”
“What identification?”
Liam swallowed.
“Yours.”
Then the office computer chimed.
A new email appeared.
One sentence.
May you like
WELCOME HOME, HARPER.
And beneath it was a photograph taken through the penthouse window less than thirty seconds earlier.
