Chapter 4 - The Man at the Door
I backed away.
“Why?”
“Because Antoine is downstairs.”
That didn't make sense.
I had called him.
No answer.
“Put Antoine on.”
Silence.
Then another voice.
“Della?”
Antoine.
I opened the door only after seeing him through the peephole.
Donovan stood beside him.
I couldn't hide my expression.
Donovan noticed.
“What?”
I handed Antoine the USB drive.
He watched Isabella's recording.
Donovan watched too.
When Isabella said his name, he didn't move.
Antoine did.
He drew a pistol.
I stepped between them.
“Wait.”
Antoine stared at me.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Della.”
“If Donovan wanted me dead, he had twenty opportunities.”
Donovan slowly raised his hands.
“She's right.”
“Don't help,” I snapped.
He almost smiled.
Then explained Black Cypress.
It was his old security company.
Victor had hired it years earlier for Maro Shipping.
The payments Renee found were reimbursements routed through Pelican Meridian.
“Why didn't you tell Antoine?”
“Because I didn't know Pelican Meridian was laundering money.”
Antoine lowered the weapon slightly.
“What did Isabella mean?”
Donovan looked devastated.
“She suspected me because I controlled security.”
“Did you know?”
“I knew someone was accessing cameras. I thought it was an external breach.”
“Her car?”
“No.”
“Her death?”
Donovan's voice broke.
“No.”
For the first time, I believed him.
Then the forensic specialist discovered Isabella's recording had been edited.
The final word—Donovan—had been spliced from another sentence.
Someone wanted us to turn against each other.
Victor became our primary suspect.
But we needed evidence.
So I went back to being invisible.
Victor visited Sunday dinner.
I spilled wine on him deliberately.
While apologizing, I planted a tiny recorder inside his coat pocket.
Renee called it reckless.
Antoine called it suicidal.
I called it laundry.
The recorder captured Victor meeting someone after dinner.
A man's voice.
“You said the waitress would leave.”
Victor answered, “She became attached.”
“Then detach her.”
My stomach tightened.
The unknown man continued.
“The children are starting to remember.”
Remember what?
“They were infants,” Victor said.
“Memory isn't always language.”
The recording ended.
Antoine listened three times.
“Do you recognize the voice?” I asked.
He did.
He wouldn't say.
That angered me.
“No more protecting people.”
“I'm protecting you.”
“No. You're protecting yourself from knowing something painful.”
He stared.
Then finally said the name.
“Julian Cross.”
Maro Shipping's chief financial officer.
Isabella's older brother.
The children's uncle.
Antoine's best friend since college.
The man who had identified Isabella's body after the crash.
Julian arrived at the mansion before we could summon him.
He carried flowers.
For Isabella's birthday.
Either he was innocent or monstrous.
I watched him kneel beside Camille.
She recoiled.
Theo began crying.
Elias hid behind me.
Julian smiled.
“Still shy.”
“No,” I said.
Everyone looked at me.
“They aren't shy anymore.”
Julian's eyes met mine.
For half a second, the warmth disappeared.
There you are, I thought.
Later, I found Camille drawing.
Three children.
A woman.
A black car.
And a tall stick figure.
She colored his hand red.
“Who is that?”
Camille whispered something.
“What?”
She pointed toward the hallway.
Julian stood there.
The crayon dropped from her hand.
She buried her face against me.
That night, Julian left.
Donovan followed.
At midnight, Donovan called.
“Warehouse sixteen.”
“What?”
“Julian went there.”
Antoine and I drove behind Donovan's vehicle.
Warehouse 16 looked abandoned.
Inside, however, lights burned.
We entered through a side door.
Rows of shipping containers stretched into darkness.
Then we found an office.
Photographs covered one wall.
Isabella.
Antoine.
The children.
Me.
The newest photograph showed me asleep.
At the bottom of the wall was a photograph taken eighteen months earlier.
I was sitting in the NICU holding Elias.
Someone had been watching me long before Isabella died.
Then a voice came from behind us.
“You were never supposed to find this room.”
May you like
Julian stepped from the darkness.
And he wasn't alone.
