Chapter 2 - The Dance That Silenced the Ballroom
Darkness swallowed the ballroom.
Someone screamed.
Glasses shattered.
Clare felt Leandro's hand close around hers.
“Stay with me.”
His voice was calm.
She could hear chairs moving and people demanding explanations.
Emergency lights came on several seconds later, washing the room in dim amber.
Leandro's security associate appeared beside them.
“Mr. Vitali.”
“Doors?”
“Locked electronically.”
“Find another exit.”
The man nodded.
Clare looked toward Wesley's table.
Empty.
Blair remained there.
She was pale.
Leandro noticed.
“Where is Harkort?”
“I don't know,” Blair said.
“You were standing beside him thirty seconds ago.”
“He said he needed to make a call.”
Clare held up her phone.
“Someone sent me this.”
Leandro read the messages.
His expression hardened.
“Why you?”
“I was hoping you knew.”
He looked around.
Guests were crowding toward the exits.
The charity director tried to reassure everyone that the outage was technical.
Leandro clearly didn't believe it.
Neither did Clare.
“Give me the photographs,” he said.
She handed them over.
He stared at the image of Wesley beside the SUV.
“Do you remember him from that night?” Clare asked.
“No.”
“Did you know him then?”
“Barely.”
“What happened?”
Leandro was silent.
Then he said, “I was driving home from a project meeting. A truck crossed into my lane. I swerved.”
“And crashed?”
“Through a guardrail.”
Clare looked at his scars.
“I woke up eleven days later.”
She regretted looking immediately, worried he might interpret it as pity.
But Leandro simply continued.
“The police never found the truck.”
“Could Wesley have been involved?”
“I don't know.”
“That's not a no.”
“No.”
The lights returned.
Applause broke out nervously.
The ballroom doors clicked open.
Leandro's security man approached.
“Security system was manually overridden from the service corridor.”
“Cameras?”
“Offline for ninety seconds.”
Leandro looked toward the entrance.
Wesley walked back into the ballroom.
Perfect timing.
He appeared annoyed rather than frightened.
“What happened?”
Nobody answered.
Wesley noticed the photograph in Leandro's hand.
His expression flickered.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
But Clare saw it.
So did Leandro.
“Interesting picture,” Leandro said.
Wesley approached.
“What is it?”
Leandro showed him.
The color drained from Wesley's face.
“Where did you get that?”
“Why?”
“Because it's fake.”
Leandro hadn't accused him of anything.
Clare noticed that too.
Wesley realized his mistake.
“I mean, obviously it's fake. Look at it.”
“I'm looking.”
“Someone's trying to stir up trouble.”
“Who?”
“How would I know?”
Leandro stepped closer.
Wesley unconsciously stepped backward.
Clare watched Blair.
She looked terrified.
Not confused.
Terrified.
That mattered.
Clare crossed toward her.
“Blair.”
“I need to leave.”
“You knew about the photograph?”
“What? No.”
“You knew something.”
Blair grabbed her purse.
“Don't do this.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend tonight means something.”
Clare frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Blair looked toward Leandro.
Then back at Clare.
“Wesley moved your place card.”
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
Blair lowered her voice.
“He didn't move it because he wanted to embarrass you.”
Clare felt cold.
“Then why?”
Blair glanced toward Wesley.
“He needed Leandro distracted.”
“Distracted from what?”
Before Blair could answer, Wesley called her name.
“Blair.”
She froze.
His tone was friendly.
His face wasn't.
“Car's here.”
Blair swallowed.
“I have to go.”
Clare caught her wrist lightly.
“Tell me.”
Blair whispered, “Ask him about North Star.”
Clare released her.
“What?”
But Blair was already walking away.
North Star.
Clare's employer.
Why would Wesley care about her nonprofit?
Leandro joined her.
“What did she say?”
“Ask him about North Star.”
His expression changed.
“You work for North Star Housing Initiative.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“You remembered?”
“I listen.”
Under different circumstances, that might have made her smile.
Not now.
“Does the name mean something to you?”
Leandro hesitated.
“My company has been trying to purchase an abandoned industrial property in North Minneapolis.”
Clare knew immediately.
“The Calder site.”
“Yes.”
North Star had been fighting for eighteen months to preserve part of that property for affordable housing.
“You're the competing developer?”
“Apparently.”
Clare stared.
“You could have mentioned that during dinner.”
“You could have mentioned your organization was opposing my acquisition.”
“I didn't know you were the buyer.”
“And I didn't know you were North Star's project coordinator.”
They stared at each other.
Then Clare laughed once.
“This night is ridiculous.”
Leandro almost agreed.
His security associate interrupted.
“Sir. We found something.”
They followed him into the service corridor.
A smashed phone lay beside an emergency exit.
Clare recognized the case.
Blair's.
The screen was cracked but illuminated.
A message remained visible.
WESLEY: You were supposed to keep Clare away from him.
Another message.
WESLEY: If she tells Vitali what North Star found, we're finished.
Clare's pulse accelerated.
“What did North Star find?” Leandro asked.
“I don't know.”
“Think.”
Clare did.
Then remembered.
Three days earlier, her supervisor, Evelyn Shaw, had called her into the office about archived property records.
Evelyn had seemed nervous.
She had asked Clare whether anyone outside the organization knew they were reviewing the Calder site.
Clare had said no.
Evelyn had replied, “Keep it that way.”
Clare hadn't understood.
Now she did.
“My supervisor found something.”
“What?”
“She didn't tell me.”
“Where is she?”
Clare checked her phone.
Three missed calls.
All from Evelyn.
Her stomach dropped.
The last call had come during the dance.
There was a voicemail.
Clare played it.
Evelyn's voice emerged in a whisper.
“Clare, don't go home. Don't call me back. The Calder records connect to Vitali's crash. I was wrong about everything. Find Leandro and tell him—”
A loud noise interrupted the recording.
Evelyn gasped.
Then another voice spoke somewhere behind her.
A man's voice.
“Give me the phone.”
The voicemail ended.
Clare looked at Leandro.
“That's Wesley.”
Leandro's expression became stone.
They hurried toward the lobby.
Then Clare received another message.
This time it came from Evelyn's number.
A photograph.
Evelyn was sitting in her office.
Alive.
Terrified.
Holding a yellow file folder.
Beneath the photograph was one sentence.
COME ALONE, CLARE.
A second message followed.
AND DON'T BRING THE MAN WITH THE SCARRED FACE.
Clare stared at the screen.
Then a third message appeared.
It contained an address.
Leandro looked over her shoulder.
His entire body went rigid.
“What?”
Clare showed him.
He knew the address.
She could see it.
“Leandro?”
His voice was barely audible.
“That isn't Evelyn's office.”
“Then where is it?”
May you like
He looked at her.
“The building where I had my final meeting before the crash.”
