Chapter 4 - The Man Who Signed Her Name
A key fell into Clara’s palm.
Not an apartment key.
Not a car key.
A small brass key stamped with a number.
Noah stared at it.
“What is that?”
“I don’t know.”
Damian was still on the phone.
“Clara?”
She told him.
His response was immediate.
“Don’t touch anything else.”
“I already touched the envelope.”
“Of course you did.”
“Don’t start.”
“Marcus is coming.”
“I said—”
“This time I’m ignoring you.”
“Then I’m hanging up.”
“Clara.”
She did.
Twenty minutes later Marcus arrived alone.
No bodyguards.
No convoy.
That was probably Damian’s version of compromise.
Marcus examined the envelope.
“317 could be a locker.”
“Where?”
“No idea.”
Noah turned the key over.
“There’s engraving.”
Tiny letters ran along the edge.
UNION STATION.
Clara closed her eyes.
“Of course.”
Marcus called Damian.
An hour later they were inside Chicago Union Station.
Damian came personally.
Clara saw him crossing the concourse in the same black shirt he had worn at breakfast.
No coat again.
“You own coats,” she said.
“Good to see you too.”
“I didn’t invite you.”
“You opened an anonymous package after being threatened.”
“I thought you liked initiative.”
“Not this kind.”
Noah looked between them.
“So you’re Damian.”
Damian extended his hand.
“You’re Noah.”
“You fired my sister.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t like you.”
“Reasonable.”
Clara blinked.
Damian Cross had just accepted criticism without threatening anyone.
Perhaps the apocalypse really was coming.
Locker 317 stood near the far end of a bank of storage compartments.
Marcus checked the surrounding area.
Clear.
Clara inserted the key.
Inside was a black folder.
Nothing else.
Damian reached for it.
Clara slapped his hand.
“My key.”
“Clara.”
“My mystery.”
“Someone threatened you.”
“And someone forged your signature. We’re both having a difficult day.”
Noah muttered, “I see why you hired her.”
Damian almost smiled again.
Clara opened the folder.
Bank statements.
Invoices.
Copies of company records.
She didn’t understand most of them.
Damian did.
His face changed.
“What?”
He flipped pages faster.
“Vincent.”
“What about him?”
“These are transfers.”
“To where?”
“Companies that don’t exist.”
Marcus took the documents.
His expression darkened.
“How much?”
“Millions.”
Clara stared at Damian.
“This is why he wanted me gone?”
“I don’t know.”
Then she found a photograph.
It showed her standing in Damian’s kitchen.
Taken through the window.
Another showed her entering the hospital.
Another showed Noah leaving campus.
Clara’s blood went cold.
Noah stopped joking.
Damian looked through every photograph.
There were dozens.
Months of surveillance.
Then he found one taken almost a year earlier.
Clara was sitting alone on the mansion’s back steps.
Vincent stood inside the kitchen watching her.
On the back was a handwritten date.
And a sentence.
SHE HEARD TOO MUCH.
Clara read it twice.
“I didn’t hear anything.”
Damian looked at her.
“Think.”
“I cook while you people discuss things I actively try not to understand.”
“Last year. March.”
Clara frowned.
Then remembered.
A late night.
Vincent in the study.
A man she didn’t recognize.
Voices through the service corridor.
Vincent saying something about moving money before Damian found the discrepancy.
She had walked away.
She had never mentioned it.
Until one morning Vincent asked whether she had enjoyed her evening.
“I heard him,” Clara whispered.
Damian went still.
“What?”
“Vincent. He was talking about money.”
Marcus swore.
Damian took the folder.
“We go back.”
“No.”
Damian looked at Clara.
“I’m not going to your mansion.”
“You can’t stay at your apartment.”
“Watch me.”
“They know where Noah goes to school.”
That stopped her.
Damian lowered his voice.
“I won’t ask you to trust me. But trust Marcus. Let him put you somewhere secure until we know who else is involved.”
Clara looked at her brother.
Noah tried to appear brave.
He was nineteen.
For the first time, Clara saw the frightened sixteen-year-old she had promised their dying mother she would protect.
“Fine.”
Damian nodded.
“Not your mansion.”
“Fine.”
“And you don’t pay for my surgery.”
His jaw tightened.
“We weren’t discussing that.”
“I know your face.”
“You know my face?”
“Yes. That’s your I-can-fix-this-with-money face.”
“I have such a face?”
“You have several annoying faces.”
Marcus turned away to hide a smile.
They left the station through a private exit.
Damian’s vehicle waited outside.
As Clara climbed in, her phone buzzed.
Hospital.
She answered.
“Ms. Bennett?”
“Yes?”
“This is Dr. Shah’s office. We need to speak with you about your surgery.”
Clara’s stomach dropped.
“Did something change?”
A pause.
Then:
“Someone canceled it this morning.”
Clara looked at Damian.
“I didn’t cancel anything.”
“We know.”
The receptionist lowered her voice.
“Ms. Bennett, the person who called gave your security information.”
“What information?”
“Everything.”
Then Clara heard another voice in the background.
The receptionist stopped talking.
“Hello?”
No answer.
“Hello?”
May you like
A man took the phone.
And said Clara’s full name.
