Chapter 1 - Five Minutes
A little girl grabbed Victor Calder’s sleeve and whispered, “Can you hug me for five minutes?”
Victor looked down and saw the battered gray rabbit hanging from her other hand.
Three crooked stitches crossed the rabbit’s stomach.
One of them was fresh.
Victor knew immediately someone had opened it.
The private breakfast room went silent.
Not gradually.
One second, attorney Martin Reese had been explaining a contract while two financial advisers studied the documents spread across Victor’s walnut table.
The next, nobody moved.
Victor Calder was forty-four years old, wealthy enough to make powerful people return his calls before the second ring, and private enough that even longtime employees knew better than to touch him unexpectedly.
The tattoos visible above his open black collar and beneath his cuffs only strengthened the impression people already had of him.
Victor did not invite familiarity.
He did not tolerate surprises.
And four-year-old Maisie Nolan had just delivered both.
She stood beside his leather chair in yellow leggings and pink sneakers, drowning inside an oversized housekeeping vest.
Her blonde hair had been gathered loosely with a green ribbon.
Bunny, the battered rabbit, hung from her left hand.
Her right hand remained firmly on Victor’s sleeve.
Vincent Hale moved first.
“Maisie.”
Victor’s security chief rose from beside the windows.
“Step away from Mr. Calder.”
Maisie turned toward him.
“No.”
Martin stopped breathing.
Victor almost smiled.
Vincent took one step.
Victor raised one finger.
Vincent stopped.
“Sir?”
Victor kept his attention on Maisie.
She was watching him with the peculiar patience children reserved for adults who were taking too long to understand something obvious.
“You didn’t answer me,” she said.
Victor leaned back slightly.
“Apparently I didn’t.”
“Can you?”
“Can I what?”
“Hug me.”
“I heard that part.”
“For five minutes.”
Victor glanced at the clock.
“Five?”
She nodded.
“Exactly?”
Another nod.
“Why?”
Maisie’s eyebrows pulled together.
“Because shorter doesn’t work.”
Something about the answer landed harder than it should have.
Before Victor could ask what she meant, hurried footsteps sounded from the hallway.
Clare Nolan appeared in the doorway carrying folded pillowcases.
She saw Maisie.
Then she saw Maisie’s hand resting on Victor.
The linens slipped from her arms.
“Oh, God.”
They landed across the floor.
“Maisie!”
The girl looked over.
“Mama.”
“I told you to stay downstairs.”
“I did.”
“No, sweetheart, you very clearly did not.”
“I stayed there first.”
One adviser coughed into his fist.
Clare hurried across the room.
Her key card swung from her wrist.
“I am so sorry, Mr. Calder. My childcare canceled this morning, and Mrs. Conti said Maisie could stay in the employee lounge until my break.”
“I was in the lounge,” Maisie insisted.
Clare stared at her.
“Then how are you here?”
Maisie raised Bunny.
“He left.”
“Bunny left?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Breakfast cart.”
Clare closed her eyes.
“Bunny was accidentally placed on the breakfast cart?”
“Yes.”
“And you followed him?”
“Bunny followed the cart first.”
Martin made the mistake of laughing.
It was barely audible.
Victor looked at him.
The laughter died.
“Leave us,” Victor said.
Martin blinked. “Victor, the Ellison documents—”
“Will exist ten minutes from now.”
The three advisers began gathering their folders.
Victor looked toward Vincent.
“You too.”
Vincent hesitated.
That was unusual.
“I’ll be outside.”
“Good.”
Within seconds, the room emptied.
Only Victor, Clare, and Maisie remained.
Clare immediately reached for her daughter.
“Come on.”
Maisie moved closer to Victor.
It wasn’t fear.
She wasn’t hiding behind him.
She had simply decided she wasn’t finished.
Victor looked at her.
“Why five minutes?”
Clare froze.
“Sir.”
“I asked her.”
“Mr. Calder, she’s four. Her father died last year. Sometimes she says things—”
“Daddy wasn’t silly.”
Clare’s face tightened.
“I didn’t say he was.”
Maisie looked at Victor.
“Daddy said that’s how long.”
Victor’s hand stopped beside his coffee cup.
“How long for what?”
“A sad hug.”
Victor stared at her.
“A what?”
“When somebody’s sad.”
She demonstrated by wrapping both arms around Bunny.
“You hug them.”
Victor felt something cold move through his chest.
“And?”
“You count.”
Her voice became quieter.
“One Mississippi.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed.
“Two Mississippi.”
His breathing stopped.
“Three Mississippi.”
“Maisie.”
Clare’s voice cracked.
But the girl continued.
“All the way to three hundred.”
Victor didn’t move.
There were moments when memory returned gently.
This was not one of them.
Suddenly he was twenty-two again.
Rain hammered against the windshield of an ancient pickup.
Blood ran from his eyebrow.
His hands shook around a steering wheel.
And beside him sat a young man with a crooked grin who refused to let Victor pretend he wasn’t terrified.
Five minutes, Vic.
Victor could hear the voice as clearly as if the man stood in the room.
Five minutes fixes more than people think.
Victor looked at Maisie.
“Who taught your father that?”
She shrugged.
“Daddy knew it.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Clare stepped forward.
“Victor.”
It was the first time she had ever used his first name.
Victor slowly looked at her.
Clare realized what she had done.
Neither spoke.
Victor stood.
Clare instinctively moved Maisie behind her.
Victor noticed.
His expression hardened.
“Who was your husband?”
Clare swallowed.
“Daniel Nolan.”
The name meant nothing.
That was almost worse.
“Where was he from?”
“Pennsylvania originally.”
“What did he do?”
“Different things.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the answer I have.”
Victor walked toward the windows.
His reflection appeared against the city beyond the glass.
“You’ve worked here fourteen months.”
“Yes.”
“You went through background screening.”
“Yes.”
“Your file said you were widowed.”
“Yes.”
“It said your husband died in a highway accident.”
Clare’s eyes lowered.
“That’s what happened.”
“Then why are you afraid?”
“I’m not.”
Victor turned.
“Clare.”
She looked at him.
“I’ve spent most of my adult life sitting across from people who lie professionally.”
“This isn’t your business.”
“Your daughter just repeated something nobody should know.”
Clare went still.
Victor caught it.
There.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“No.”
“Another lie.”
Maisie peeked around her mother.
“Daddy said Mr. V did it first.”
Clare spun around.
“Maisie.”
Victor’s heart slammed once.
“What did you say?”
Maisie looked uncertain now.
Not frightened.
Confused by the adults.
“Mr. V.”
Victor crouched.
“Who is Mr. V?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did your daddy tell you?”
She nodded.
“What did he say?”
Clare knelt quickly.
“Sweetheart, why don’t we go downstairs?”
Maisie frowned.
“You said never lie.”
Clare’s eyes closed.
Victor waited.
Maisie looked at him.
“Daddy said if I ever met Mr. V, I should give him five minutes.”
Victor felt the room tilt.
“Why?”
“Because he needed it.”
“For what?”
Maisie hugged Bunny tighter.
“For being sad.”
Victor looked at Clare.
Her eyes were wet now.
He stood slowly.
“Who was Daniel Nolan?”
“My husband.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“It’s all I can tell you.”
Victor crossed toward the table and pressed the intercom.
“Vincent.”
The door opened almost instantly.
“Get me everything we have on Daniel Nolan.”
Clare’s face drained.
“No.”
Victor turned.
“No?”
“Please.”
That single word changed the temperature in the room.
Victor released the intercom.
“Why?”
Clare stared at him.
“Because Daniel spent twelve years making sure you never looked for him.”
Victor’s expression emptied.
“Why would your husband care whether I looked for him?”
Clare said nothing.
“Clare.”
Maisie tugged at her mother’s hand.
“Mama.”
“Not now, sweetheart.”
“But Bunny’s hard.”
Clare looked down.
“What?”
“His tummy.”
Victor’s attention immediately shifted to the rabbit.
Maisie squeezed it.
Something rectangular pressed beneath the worn fabric.
Clare grabbed Bunny.
Too quickly.
Victor noticed.
Maisie protested.
“Mommy!”
“I need to fix him.”
Victor extended his hand.
“Give me the rabbit.”
“No.”
Vincent appeared in the doorway again.
Victor didn’t look away from Clare.
“Give it to me.”
Clare held Bunny against her chest.
Her breathing quickened.
“Daniel made me promise.”
“Promise what?”
“That if nothing happened, you would never know.”
Victor stepped closer.
“And something happened.”
Clare’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Victor lowered his voice.
“What?”
She looked at Maisie.
That was answer enough.
Victor held out his hand again.
After several seconds, Clare surrendered the rabbit.
Victor examined the stomach.
Old stitching crossed most of it.
But three stitches near the bottom were different.
Newer.
He pulled gently.
The thread loosened.
Clare covered her mouth.
Victor reached inside.
His fingers touched plastic.
He removed a small transparent pouch.
Inside was an old brass key.
And a folded photograph.
Victor opened the photograph first.
Two young men stood beside a battered pickup.
One was Victor at twenty-two.
The other man had an arm around his shoulders.
Victor stared at the face.
He hadn’t seen it in twenty years.
Clare whispered, “Victor…”
He turned the photograph over.
Four words had been written across the back.
DON’T LET HIM FIND HER.
Victor recognized the handwriting.
His hand began to shake.
Vincent stepped closer.
“Sir?”
Victor ignored him.
He looked at Clare.
“Daniel Nolan wasn’t your husband’s real name.”
Clare started crying silently.
Victor looked down at the smiling young man beside him in the photograph.
A man he had buried in his mind two decades ago.
A man Victor had been told was dead.
His closest friend.
Almost his brother.
“Elias,” Victor whispered.
Maisie’s face brightened.
“You know Daddy’s secret name.”
Victor looked at her.
The brass key suddenly felt heavy in his palm.
Then Vincent’s phone vibrated.
He checked the screen.
His expression changed.
“Victor.”
“What?”
Vincent slowly turned the phone toward him.
Security footage filled the screen.
Someone had entered Victor’s private study three minutes earlier.
Someone who should not have been inside the house.
Victor enlarged the image.
Clare made a small, terrified sound.
The study door opened on the screen.
May you like
A man stepped inside.
And around his neck hung the other half of the brass key.
