Chapter 2 - The Woman Adrian Wouldn't Hide
Adrian pushed the office door open.
“Stay behind me.”
Emily immediately frowned.
“I don't take orders well.”
“Tonight would be a useful time to experiment.”
Despite everything, she almost laughed.
Then the office lights came on.
Empty.
Frank entered behind them.
His large private office smelled faintly of leather, old paper, and the peppermint candies he kept hidden from his doctor.
The desk drawer was open.
Adrian checked the adjoining washroom.
Nothing.
Emily looked toward the second door.
“Where does that go?”
“Service corridor,” Frank said.
Adrian opened it.
Empty hallway.
Whoever had been inside was gone.
Frank hurried to his desk.
Papers had been moved.
One drawer hung open.
“What were they looking for?” Adrian asked.
Frank did not answer.
That was answer enough.
Adrian turned.
“Grandpa.”
Frank closed the drawer.
“Not here.”
Emily folded her arms.
“Apparently this is about me, so ‘not here’ isn't going to work.”
Frank looked at her.
Emily saw the conflict on his face.
He had always treated her kindly.
Too kindly, maybe.
For months, Frank Morello had arrived at Rose & Rye every Thursday at 10:15 a.m.
One espresso.
One sfogliatella.
Then another sfogliatella that he claimed was “for later” and always ate before leaving.
He asked about Emily’s employees.
Remembered their names.
Sent flowers when her oven broke.
He had become, somehow, a friend.
Now Emily wondered how much of that friendship had been coincidence.
“Why did you choose my bakery?” she asked.
Frank sat down.
“Because I knew your father.”
Emily froze.
“My father?”
Adrian looked sharply at his grandfather.
“You never told me that.”
“I wasn't ready.”
Emily’s father, Thomas Carter, had died when she was sixteen.
He had been a quiet man.
An accountant.
A terrible dancer.
A patient father who taught Emily fractions by cutting pies into uneven pieces at their kitchen table.
He had never once mentioned Frank Morello.
“How?”
Frank removed his glasses.
“Thomas worked for the foundation.”
“No, he didn't.”
“For eight months.”
“My father worked for Bellman Accounting for nineteen years.”
“Yes.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
Frank rubbed his face.
“Bellman handled several foundation accounts. Your father discovered irregularities.”
Adrian stepped closer.
“What irregularities?”
“Money moving through charitable vendors that didn't exist.”
Emily stared.
“Why have I never heard this?”
“Because Thomas asked me not to involve you.”
“My father has been dead for eighteen years.”
Frank flinched.
Emily immediately hated that she had shouted.
But she did not apologize.
Not yet.
Frank continued.
“He found the discrepancies. He brought them to me privately. We corrected the accounts, dismissed the people responsible, and turned everything we had over to attorneys and regulators.”
“Who was responsible?”
“One person was never identified.”
Emily felt Adrian move beside her.
Frank looked at the burgundy lipstick smear on Vanessa’s earring.
“And I think that person just came back.”
Emily sat down.
Her knees had suddenly stopped feeling reliable.
Adrian crouched slightly beside her chair.
“You okay?”
“No.”
It was the truthful answer.
He nodded.
No empty reassurance.
No telling her everything would be fine.
She appreciated that more than she wanted to.
Frank opened another drawer.
He removed a faded photograph.
Emily took it.
Her father stood beside a much younger Frank.
Behind them was the old Rose & Rye storefront.
Except the sign did not say Rose & Rye.
It said CARTER & DAUGHTER BAKERY.
Emily stopped breathing.
“My grandmother’s bakery.”
Frank nodded.
Emily’s grandmother Rose had owned a bakery before Emily was born.
It had closed after Rose became ill.
Years later, Emily had leased a storefront across town and named her own bakery Rose & Rye in her memory.
At least, that was what Emily believed.
She turned the photograph over.
Written on the back:
Thomas—
If anything happens, keep Emily away from V.H.
F.
Emily looked up.
“V.H.”
Adrian’s expression hardened.
“Vanessa Hale.”
Frank shook his head.
“Vanessa would have been fifteen.”
“Then who?”
Frank looked toward the office door.
“Her father.”
Emily knew the name.
Victor Hale.
Real-estate developer.
Donor.
Dead six years.
Vanessa had inherited much of his fortune.
Frank explained.
“Victor handled several property acquisitions for the foundation. Thomas suspected he was using shell vendors to inflate costs.”
“Was he?”
“We couldn't prove it.”
“And my father?”
Frank hesitated.
“He left the investigation.”
“Why?”
“Because he had you.”
Emily looked down at the photograph.
A memory surfaced.
Her father checking the locks twice.
Her father changing their phone number.
Her father refusing a promotion.
Things she had interpreted as ordinary caution.
Maybe they hadn't been.
Adrian stood.
“Why invite Vanessa tonight?”
“I didn't.”
Frank looked toward him.
“She came as a donor’s guest.”
Adrian went still.
Emily understood immediately.
“Who invited her?”
Before Frank could answer, the office door opened.
The security chief entered.
“Mr. Morello.”
“What?”
“The footage.”
Adrian’s face tightened.
“What about it?”
“Someone accessed the security server nine minutes before the incident.”
Emily stood.
“Deleted?”
“No.”
The man looked uneasy.
“Edited.”
He placed a tablet on Frank’s desk.
The video showed the ballroom.
Emily arranging desserts.
Vanessa approaching.
They spoke.
Then the footage skipped.
The next image showed Emily lifting the pie.
Everything before it—the insults, Frank’s warning, Vanessa’s final comment—was gone.
Adrian’s jaw flexed.
“Backup?”
“Checking.”
Emily watched herself on screen.
Without audio and without the missing minutes, she looked exactly like the aggressor someone wanted her to be.
The security chief swiped.
“There’s more.”
A social-media post appeared.
It had already been uploaded.
A still photograph.
Emily pressing the pie into Vanessa’s face.
The caption called Emily an “unstable caterer” who had attacked a guest after a disagreement.
Thousands of shares.
Emily stared.
“When was this posted?”
“Three minutes ago.”
Her stomach turned.
Someone had prepared it.
Maybe even written the caption before the confrontation happened.
Adrian reached for his phone.
Emily stopped him.
“What are you doing?”
“Fixing it.”
“How?”
“I’ll have our communications people—”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“I don't need your people telling everyone I’m harmless.”
“That isn't what I was going to do.”
“What were you going to do?”
“Tell the truth.”
Emily held his gaze.
Something softened in his face.
“Emily, accepting help doesn't mean you're weak.”
“I know.”
“Then let me help.”
She hated how easily he said it.
Because Nathan had used help like currency.
Every favor came with ownership.
Every compliment created debt.
Adrian seemed different.
That frightened her.
“What truth?” she asked.
“All of it.”
He turned to the security chief.
“Release the unedited backup when you find it. No commentary. No attacks on Vanessa. Just the complete footage.”
The man nodded.
“And preserve every access log.”
“Yes.”
Emily looked at Adrian.
“Thank you.”
His eyes returned to hers.
“Always.”
One word.
Too intimate.
She looked away.
Frank noticed.
Of course he noticed.
The old man noticed everything.
“There's another problem,” the security chief said.
Adrian turned.
“The access credentials belonged to someone inside the foundation.”
“Name?”
The man hesitated.
“Your grandfather.”
Frank stared.
“Impossible.”
“The login came from this office.”
They all looked toward the open desk.
Someone had been inside.
Someone had used Frank’s credentials.
Adrian’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His expression changed.
“What?”
Emily stood.
He ended the call.
“That was Rose & Rye’s alarm company.”
Her blood ran cold.
“My bakery?”
“Motion sensor.”
“I need to go.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“Emily.”
“It’s my business.”
“And someone just manufactured a public scandal around you.”
“Exactly. I’m not hiding behind you.”
Adrian stepped closer.
“I didn't ask you to hide behind me.”
His voice lowered.
“Stand beside me.”
Emily could not answer.
Frank handed Adrian his keys.
“Go.”
They left through the private garage.
Adrian drove.
Emily spent the entire ride staring at her phone.
Messages poured in.
Some supportive.
Some cruel.
Strangers called her disgusting.
Fat.
Violent.
Jealous.
A woman who should be grateful any wealthy man looked at her.
That one hurt.
Emily locked the screen.
Adrian noticed.
“Don't read them.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“No.”
He kept his eyes on the road.
“I’ve spent my whole life reading things strangers think they know about my family.”
Emily glanced at him.
“Does it stop hurting?”
“No.”
That answer surprised her.
“You just learn that pain isn't evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“That they're right.”
Emily looked out the window.
Nobody had ever put it that way.
They reached Rose & Rye twelve minutes later.
The front door was locked.
No broken glass.
Adrian parked.
Emily reached for the handle.
He caught her wrist gently.
“Wait.”
She looked down at his hand.
He immediately released her.
“Sorry.”
She nodded.
They approached together.
The bakery was dark.
Emily unlocked the door.
The smell hit her first.
Sugar.
Butter.
Coffee.
Home.
Then she saw the mess.
Drawers opened.
Office papers scattered.
Flour across the floor.
Someone had searched the place.
Not vandalized.
Searched.
Adrian moved through the kitchen.
Emily hurried toward her office.
Her filing cabinet was open.
Cash still sat in the petty-cash envelope.
Her laptop remained on the desk.
“They weren't stealing.”
“No,” Adrian said.
Emily looked toward a small framed photograph beside her computer.
Her father.
It had been moved.
She picked it up.
Something fell from behind the frame.
A brass key.
Emily stared.
“I’ve never seen this.”
Adrian picked up the envelope beneath it.
Her name was written across the front.
EMILY.
The handwriting made her knees weaken.
She knew it.
She had saved every birthday card.
Every note.
Every grocery list she could find after he died.
“My father wrote this.”
Adrian said nothing.
Emily opened the envelope.
Inside was one sentence.
If Frank ever finds you, ask him what Victor wanted from Rose.
Emily read it twice.
Then a third time.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
It showed Emily and Adrian standing inside Rose & Rye.
Taken through the front window.
Seconds ago.
Beneath it was a message.
YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED AWAY FROM THE MORELLOS.
Emily slowly looked toward the dark street.
May you like
A black car across the road turned on its headlights.
And the driver’s door began to open.
