Chapter 3 - Eleven Missing Minutes
I shoved the phone face down before Naomi could see the message.
Leon noticed.
He said nothing.
Naomi approached the table.
“The blood results came back.”
Leon’s attention shifted.
“And?”
“It belongs to a man.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know yet.”
I looked between them.
“You have enough DNA information to know it’s male but not who it belongs to?”
Naomi nodded.
“Correct.”
Leon’s face hardened.
“Run it through every database we legally can.”
“We already started.”
She glanced at me.
“Abigail, your employer called. They’re asking why you didn’t return after the event.”
“I’ll deal with it.”
“They fired you.”
I stared.
“What?”
Naomi’s tone stayed clinical.
“You violated building security procedure by disabling an elevator and restraining a guest.”
“A guest who was drugged.”
“They don’t know that officially.”
“They know now.”
Leon stepped forward.
“Who fired her?”
Naomi named the catering contractor.
Leon took out his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Buying the company.”
I blinked.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“No?”
“You are not buying my employer because they fired me.”
“Former employer.”
“That makes it worse.”
His expression almost softened.
“I was joking.”
Naomi and I looked at him.
He sighed.
“Mostly.”
I rubbed my forehead.
Leon Cooper was easier to deal with when he was tied to a railing.
Naomi left to make calls.
The second the door closed, Leon picked up the phone again.
TRUST ABIGAIL. NOT NAOMI.
I whispered, “Why would you write that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You trust her.”
“She has been my attorney for nine years.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
He looked toward the door.
“She knows everything about my company.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.”
He gave me a sharp look.
“I’m not accusing her.”
“You sent yourself a warning.”
“Assuming I sent it.”
I had not considered that.
“Could someone access your phone?”
“Potentially.”
“Face recognition?”
“Disabled.”
“Password?”
“Six digits.”
“Who knows it?”
He was silent too long.
“Naomi?”
“Yes.”
That landed badly.
I stood.
“I should go.”
He looked surprised.
“You’re leaving?”
“I’ve been awake almost twenty-four hours.”
“You were asleep for ninety minutes.”
“Which famously fixes everything.”
“I need your help.”
I laughed once.
“You don’t even remember me.”
“That may be exactly why.”
I stopped.
He continued.
“Whoever did this expects me to rely on people I already trust.”
“And you think I’m safer because you don’t trust me?”
“I think you have no obvious reason to manipulate me.”
“I tied you to an elevator.”
“That is technically manipulation.”
“See?”
“But you could have photographed me. Sold the footage. Called reporters.”
“I was trying to keep you alive.”
His eyes held mine.
“I believe you.”
That was the first time he said it.
Strangely, it mattered.
I sat again.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“I’ll stay until we understand what happened.”
He nodded.
“But I have conditions.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Of course you do.”
“No billionaire nonsense.”
“Define billionaire nonsense.”
“Buying companies because they annoy you.”
“Restrictive.”
“No threatening people.”
“Also restrictive.”
“No telling me what to do.”
“Impossible.”
“Then I leave.”
He almost smiled.
“Fine.”
“And you pay me.”
That surprised him.
“For what?”
“My time.”
He nodded immediately.
“Name your rate.”
I thought of my rent.
Then of my pride.
“Double what the event company paid me.”
He almost laughed.
“Done.”
“Don’t look so happy.”
“I expected extortion.”
“I’m from Maine.”
“That still explains nothing.”
For the next four hours, we reconstructed the evening.
Leon had arrived at the gala at 8:10.
Spoken at 9:00.
Met investors at 9:30.
Drank champagne at 10:45.
At 11:14, he entered the private lounge.
At 11:18, cameras showed Naomi entering.
At 11:22, David Keller entered.
At 11:27, Leon left alone.
At 11:31, the impossible photograph was taken with me.
Except I had been downstairs handling a floral delivery dispute.
I had proof.
Three staff members remembered me.
Security footage showed me in the ballroom at 11:30.
Leon stared at the timeline.
“So the woman in the photograph isn’t you.”
“It looks exactly like me.”
“Almost.”
He zoomed in.
Something bothered me.
Then I saw it.
“My belt.”
“What?”
“My belt buckle faces the other way.”
Leon looked closer.
“You’re sure?”
“I’ve had it six years.”
The woman in the photograph had my face.
My hair.
My clothes.
My body shape.
But not my belt.
I felt sick.
“Someone staged this.”
Leon nodded.
“Deepfake?”
“Possibly.”
“But why?”
“To make me trust you.”
“Or distrust Naomi.”
Leon looked at the message again.
TRUST ABIGAIL. NOT NAOMI.
Somebody had constructed a memory we never had.
Then left instructions inside it.
It was sophisticated.
Personal.
And terrifying.
At 4:40 that afternoon, Leon’s security chief called.
The fake guard had been identified.
His name was Marcus Vale.
Former private contractor.
Dismissed three years earlier by Cooper Global.
Why?
Unauthorized access to executive medical records.
Leon went very still.
“Whose records?”
The security chief hesitated.
“Yours.”
Leon ended the call.
I watched him.
“What medical records?”
“Nothing relevant.”
“That answer means very relevant.”
He paced toward the window.
“I had episodes when I was younger.”
“What kind?”
“Memory loss.”
I stared.
“Like last night?”
“Not exactly.”
“When?”
“After my mother died.”
His voice changed when he said mother.
Quiet.
Controlled.
“Trauma?”
“That was the assumption.”
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen.”
“Did it stop?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After college.”
“Until six months ago.”
He turned.
“Yes.”
Someone had known exactly how to recreate Leon’s deepest fear.
Not merely drug him.
Make him question his own mind.
“What happened to your mother?”
He looked at me.
“Car accident.”
“You were there?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember it?”
His eyes went distant.
“Most of it.”
That answer mattered.
“Most?”
He sat down.
“There are twenty minutes I’ve never remembered.”
Silence filled the room.
“The doctors said trauma.”
“Maybe.”
He looked at me.
“You think last night is connected?”
“I think somebody who accessed your medical records knew exactly what would scare you.”
Leon’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered on speaker.
No voice.
Only breathing.
Then a recording played.
Leon’s voice.
Weak.
Drugged.
“Abigail, if I forget this, make me remember.”
My skin went cold.
Leon stared at the phone.
The recording continued.
“There are two keys.”
A pause.
“One is mine.”
Another pause.
“The other belongs to—”
The recording cut.
A text appeared.
CHECK YOUR MOTHER’S SAFE.
Leon didn’t move.
“What safe?”
He whispered, “It was removed from her house after she died.”
“Where is it now?”
“My family estate.”
“Who can access it?”
He looked toward the hallway.
“My brother.”
That was the first time he had mentioned having one.
“What’s his name?”
“Elliot.”
“Does he work for Cooper Global?”
“No.”
“Does he know Naomi?”
Leon gave me a strange look.
“Naomi was engaged to him.”
Now the message on his phone felt much darker.
TRUST ABIGAIL. NOT NAOMI.
Leon stood.
“We’re going to Connecticut.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
The Cooper family estate looked like the sort of place people put on magazine covers and then claimed they barely used.
We arrived after dark.
No staff.
No lights except the entrance lamps.
Leon unlocked the front door himself.
“Where is Elliot?”
“London.”
“You sure?”
“He spoke at a conference this morning.”
We moved through the silent house.
Leon led me upstairs.
Past portraits.
Past closed rooms.
Past a photograph of two teenage boys beside a dark-haired woman.
Leon stopped.
“My mother.”
She had his eyes.
“Which one is Elliot?”
He pointed.
The younger boy.
Smiling.
Leon wasn’t.
We continued.
His mother’s old bedroom had been preserved.
The safe sat behind a wardrobe panel.
Leon entered the code.
Nothing.
He tried again.
Wrong.
“What code would your mother use?”
“My birthday.”
“Apparently not.”
“Elliot’s?”
“No.”
I looked at the framed photo.
“Try the date she died.”
Leon went still.
Then typed it.
The lock clicked.
Inside were documents.
Jewelry.
An old watch.
And a sealed envelope.
LEON.
His name was written in a woman’s handwriting.
He opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
A medical clinic.
A younger Leon stood outside beside his mother.
On the back, four words were written.
YOU WERE NEVER SICK.
Leon stopped breathing.
Then footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Slow.
Measured.
Coming toward the bedroom.
Leon reached for the door.
May you like
The handle turned first.
Someone was already on the other side.
