Chapter 2 - The Message Evan Never Meant Her to See
Celeste stood twenty feet away from Maren’s door, gripping Evan’s phone as if it might explode.
Dante’s two men shifted instinctively between her and Maren.
Celeste stopped.
“I’m not here to hurt anyone.”
Maren’s eyes stayed on the phone.
“Why do you have that?”
“He left it in my purse.”
“Where is he?”
“Downstairs.”
Dante glanced toward one of his men.
The man immediately took out his own phone and stepped away.
Celeste looked at Maren.
“I didn’t know.”
Maren almost laughed.
“You knew he had a girlfriend.”
Celeste swallowed.
“Yes.”
“You knew I was injured.”
“Yes.”
“You came into my apartment wearing the dress he probably bought with my money.”
Celeste looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
“Then what exactly didn’t you know?”
Celeste’s eyes filled.
“That he tried to kill you.”
Silence.
Maren stopped breathing.
Dante moved first.
“Inside.”
Celeste hesitated.
“Now.”
The authority in his voice left no room for debate.
They entered the apartment.
Maren sat slowly at the dining table.
The food she had prepared now looked absurd.
A domestic scene from another life.
Celeste placed Evan’s phone on the table.
“It unlocked with my face.”
Maren frowned.
Celeste looked embarrassed.
“He added me to it.”
“Of course he did.”
“I saw a message notification after I got downstairs.”
She opened the phone.
Dante stood beside Maren.
The screen displayed a conversation with someone saved only as R.
Celeste scrolled.
Most messages were financial.
Transfers.
Account numbers.
Investment instructions.
Then she stopped.
A message from five months earlier.
Evan:
She’s still inside.
R:
Then leave.
Evan:
She went back for me.
R:
Wasn’t part of plan.
Maren’s vision blurred.
Her fingers tightened around the table.
Celeste scrolled further.
Evan:
Fire dept coming.
R:
Don’t say anything about the accelerant.
Evan:
What if she survives?
R:
Then improvise.
Maren pushed back from the table.
Her chair scraped loudly across the floor.
“No.”
Dante reached toward her but stopped before touching her.
“Maren.”
“No.”
She stood too quickly.
Pain shot through her left side.
She caught the table.
Celeste looked horrified.
“I didn’t know these existed.”
Maren stared at the screen.
Five months of memories rearranged themselves.
The smell in the apartment before the fire.
Sharp.
Chemical.
She had thought it was cleaning fluid.
Evan insisting she go shower while he took a phone call.
Smoke appearing from the hall.
Evan screaming.
But something had always bothered her.
He had been near the bedroom when she last saw him.
Then somehow he ended up trapped in the back storage room.
She had never understood why.
The doctors told her trauma affected memory.
She stopped asking.
Dante lifted the phone.
“Who is R?”
Celeste shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve never heard the name?”
“No.”
“Think.”
“I said I don’t know.”
Dante watched her.
Celeste rubbed her forehead.
“Evan had a business partner.”
“Name?”
“Ryan something.”
Maren looked at her.
“Ryan Keller?”
Celeste snapped her fingers.
“Yes.”
Maren knew him.
Not well.
Ryan had appeared at parties.
He and Evan had started a small development company two years earlier.
Maren never trusted him.
Too charming.
Too interested in money.
Too many questions about her grandmother’s property holdings.
Dante handed the phone to one of his men.
“Copy everything.”
The man began working immediately.
Maren stared at Dante.
“You think Evan started the fire?”
“I think the messages justify involving law enforcement.”
“Then call them.”
“I already did.”
She blinked.
“You called police?”
“A detective I trust.”
She studied him.
“Mafia bosses have detectives they trust?”
A faint smile appeared.
“Good detectives dislike being lied to regardless of who pays taxes.”
Despite everything, a short breath of laughter escaped her.
It vanished immediately.
“What was the motive?”
Dante placed the settlement document on the table.
“Money seems likely.”
“But the insurance was for me.”
“Exactly.”
Maren thought of the papers Evan had placed before her hospital bed.
“Sign here.”
“What is it?”
“Routine.”
“I can’t focus.”
“I’ll explain later.”
She had trusted him.
The memory made her nauseous.
Dante noticed.
“Sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re white as the wall.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Then the apartment buzzer sounded.
Everyone froze.
Dante’s man checked the intercom.
“Lobby says a Detective Lena Ortiz is coming up.”
Dante nodded.
Two minutes later, a woman in her early forties entered the apartment.
Dark blazer.
Hair tied back.
Sharp eyes.
She introduced herself to Maren.
“I’m sorry we’re meeting this way.”
Maren nodded.
Ortiz looked at Evan’s phone.
“I need to take possession of that.”
Dante’s man handed it over.
Celeste said, “I found it.”
Ortiz turned.
“You’re Celeste Rowan?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to need to come downtown.”
Celeste looked frightened.
“Am I under arrest?”
“Not currently.”
“Currently?”
Ortiz did not answer.
She looked at Maren.
“I reopened the fire file this morning.”
“Why?”
“Mr. Moretti’s investigator gave us enough inconsistencies to justify another look.”
Maren glanced at Dante.
Ortiz continued.
“The original fire investigator retired three weeks after your case.”
“That matters?”
“Maybe.”
“Was he involved?”
“We don’t know.”
Maren sat.
“What do you know?”
Ortiz pulled out a small notebook.
“The accelerant traces were documented in an initial field report.”
“But the final report said electrical.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“That is one of several questions.”
Maren stared at her.
Ortiz turned a page.
“Do you remember arguing with Evan the night of the fire?”
Maren hesitated.
“A little.”
“About what?”
“I think money.”
Dante’s eyes sharpened.
“What money?”
“My grandmother’s trust.”
Maren rubbed her forehead.
“She left several properties to me. Evan wanted me to sell one.”
“Which property?”
“A warehouse near the river.”
Dante went still.
Ortiz noticed.
“So did he.”
Maren looked between them.
“What?”
Dante asked, “Where exactly?”
“Piermont Street.”
Dante’s expression changed.
“What number?”
“Eighty-six.”
He slowly straightened.
One of his men muttered something under his breath.
Maren looked at Dante.
“You know it?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“That building sits beside a redevelopment site worth nearly forty million dollars.”
Maren blinked.
“So?”
“So your warehouse controls the only legal access road from the west side.”
She stared.
“I didn’t know that.”
“Someone did.”
Ortiz looked at Dante.
“Moretti.”
He held her gaze.
“You’re thinking the same thing.”
Maren’s frustration rose.
“Would someone please explain?”
Ortiz pulled out her phone.
She opened a property map.
Several parcels glowed on the screen.
“Three years ago, a group began buying land along Piermont Street.”
She pointed.
“This parcel here belongs to a shell company.”
Another.
“This one too.”
“And this.”
Maren looked.
Her warehouse sat in the center.
“Who owns the shell companies?”
“We’re still tracing them.”
Dante answered.
“Ryan Keller.”
Ortiz frowned at him.
“You confirmed that?”
“This afternoon.”
Maren whispered, “Evan’s partner.”
“Yes.”
The room grew quiet.
Dante continued.
“If Maren dies, what happens to her property?”
Every face turned toward her.
Maren felt cold.
“My will.”
Ortiz asked, “Who inherits?”
“I don’t know.”
“You signed one?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
“Who prepared it?”
“Evan arranged the lawyer.”
Dante closed his eyes briefly.
Maren’s stomach dropped.
“No.”
Ortiz leaned forward.
“Maren, who did you believe inherited your estate?”
“My cousin June.”
“Do you have a copy?”
“In my desk.”
Maren walked toward the study.
Dante followed but stayed several steps behind.
She opened the drawer.
Empty.
She checked another.
Nothing.
“My documents were here.”
“When did you last see them?”
“Before the fire.”
Ortiz came in.
“Did Evan have access?”
“He lived with me.”
Ortiz nodded.
“Then we find the attorney.”
Maren remembered the name.
“Harold Wren.”
Ortiz stopped writing.
Dante’s expression went flat.
“What?”
Ortiz and Dante exchanged a glance.
Maren’s patience snapped.
“Stop doing that.”
Ortiz looked at her.
“Harold Wren died six weeks ago.”
Maren stared.
“How?”
“Car accident.”
Dante said, “Single vehicle.”
Ortiz frowned.
“You’ve researched him too?”
“Yes.”
Maren leaned against the desk.
For the first time, fear rose above heartbreak.
This was no longer just Evan stealing money.
No longer an affair.
Someone had wanted her property.
Someone may have wanted her dead.
Ortiz’s phone rang.
She answered.
“Ortiz.”
She listened.
Her face hardened.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Secure the scene.”
She ended the call.
“What happened?” Maren asked.
Ortiz looked at Dante.
Then Maren.
“Evan’s car was found three blocks away.”
Celeste stepped forward.
“So?”
“It was abandoned.”
“Where is he?”
“We don’t know.”
Maren felt her pulse jump.
Ortiz continued.
“The driver’s door was open.”
Dante asked the question Maren couldn’t.
“Blood?”
Ortiz nodded.
“On the steering wheel.”
Celeste covered her mouth.
Maren stared at the floor.
She didn’t know what she felt.
Fear.
Anger.
Relief.
None of them made sense together.
Ortiz headed toward the door.
“I need everyone to remain reachable.”
Dante said, “Maren shouldn’t stay here.”
Ortiz looked around the apartment.
“I agree.”
Maren immediately objected.
“This is my home.”
“And if Evan’s partner believes you know something, it may not be safe tonight.”
Dante looked at her.
“I have a secure residence.”
Maren gave him a tired look.
“I’m not moving into a mafia mansion.”
“Hotel?”
“Also no.”
Ortiz said, “You need somewhere protected.”
Maren crossed her arms carefully.
“I’m not running.”
Dante studied her.
“You walked into a burning building.”
“So?”
“So I already know convincing you to leave danger is difficult.”
She almost smiled again.
Almost.
Celeste looked at Maren.
“You can stay with me.”
Maren stared at her.
Celeste winced.
“Right. Terrible suggestion.”
Ortiz opened the door.
“I’ll have a patrol car outside for now.”
Then she paused.
Her gaze dropped.
Something lay on the hallway floor.
A white envelope.
It had not been there earlier.
Dante’s men moved instantly.
One pulled Maren backward.
Ortiz crouched without touching it.
Written across the front in black marker were two words.
MAREN VALE.
Ortiz put on gloves.
She opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
She turned it over.
Maren’s breath caught.
It showed her old apartment building on fire.
Taken from across the street.
Someone had circled the window where Maren had been trapped.
May you like
On the back, one sentence had been written.
You should have stayed inside.
