Chapter 2 - The Apartment
Adrian read the message three times.
Rosa noticed his expression.
“What happened?”
He locked the phone.
“Nothing.”
“Mr. Cole.”
“I said nothing.”
She folded her arms.
He hated when she did that.
“My father used to make the same face,” she said.
“What face?”
“The one people make when they decide protecting everyone means telling nobody anything.”
Adrian slipped the brass key into his pocket.
“I have a meeting.”
“You’re wearing yesterday’s shirt.”
“I’ll survive.”
“That has never been the concern.”
He ignored her and called Marcus from the elevator.
“Meet me at 312 West Huron.”
Marcus hesitated.
“That address again?”
“You know it?”
“I guarded your father there twice.”
“With whom?”
“No idea. He always made me wait outside.”
Adrian’s grip tightened around his phone.
“Laura gave me a key.”
Silence.
Then Marcus said, “Don’t touch anything until I get there.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Adrian stood outside the old limestone building.
He had not visited since his father’s death.
The apartment remained legally owned by a dormant Cole family entity, but Adrian had never bothered selling it.
He told himself it was because the market timing was bad.
The truth was simpler.
He disliked ghosts.
Marcus arrived in a black SUV.
Former Army intelligence, forty-two, built like someone who considered doorways optional, Marcus had been protecting the Cole family for twelve years.
“You came alone?” Marcus asked.
“Yes.”
“You received a threat.”
“How did you know?”
Adrian showed him the messages.
Marcus’s expression darkened.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Adrian.”
“My father’s apartment. My employee. My problem.”
“Your stubbornness is going to put me out of work.”
They entered together.
The brass key opened the sixth-floor apartment.
Dust covered the entryway.
The rooms were nearly empty.
One sofa.
A dining table.
Boxes.
Nothing suggested anyone had lived there recently.
Marcus checked each room.
“Clear.”
Adrian walked toward his father’s old study.
The desk remained exactly as he remembered it.
Dark walnut.
Brass lamp.
Leather chair.
He searched the drawers.
Empty.
Then he noticed scratches beneath the right drawer.
Three parallel lines.
His father had taught him as a boy to recognize hidden compartments in antique furniture.
Adrian pressed beneath the scratches.
A panel released.
Inside was a black metal box.
Locked.
The brass key fit perfectly.
Marcus stepped closer.
“Maybe we should photograph everything before opening it.”
Adrian turned the key.
Inside were stacks of documents.
A flash drive.
Several photographs.
And a handwritten letter.
The envelope said:
FOR ADRIAN — IF LAURA FINDS YOU FIRST.
His hands went cold.
He opened it.
Son,
If you are reading this, then Laura Hayes has chosen to trust you.
That means I was wrong about at least one thing.
You became a better man than I expected.
Adrian stopped.
His father could insult him from the grave.
Typical.
He continued.
Northstar Custodial Trust was created to protect Cole Meridian from people inside our own family.
Do not assume the threat ended with my death.
Thomas Hayes helped me discover what was happening.
His daughter Laura knows only part of the truth.
She must never be punished for my decisions.
Adrian looked at Marcus.
“Thomas Hayes.”
“Laura’s father?”
“Apparently.”
He continued reading.
If Northstar becomes necessary, Laura will hold temporary authority until the evidence can be delivered safely.
Do not ask her where the final ledger is.
The fewer people who know, the better.
Trust Marcus Reed only after he answers this question:
What did we lose in Detroit?
Adrian slowly lowered the letter.
Marcus stared at him.
“What?”
“My father left a test.”
“For me?”
Adrian nodded.
“What did we lose in Detroit?”
Marcus went completely still.
Then he laughed once, without humor.
“He remembered that.”
“What’s the answer?”
“My left shoe.”
Adrian frowned.
“You’re joking.”
“I wish.”
Marcus leaned against the desk.
“Your father insisted on inspecting an abandoned warehouse himself. A floor collapsed. We landed in six inches of mud. I lost a boot. He spent the next three years telling everyone Detroit stole my shoe.”
Adrian almost smiled.
“Sounds like him.”
Then Marcus looked at the letter.
“Apparently he trusted me.”
“Apparently he trusted Laura more.”
They searched the box.
The photographs showed Richard Cole with a younger Thomas Hayes.
Thomas wore an electrician’s uniform in several.
Another picture showed Laura at perhaps seventeen years old, standing beside her father at a hospital fundraiser.
Richard Cole stood behind them.
Adrian felt something twist inside him.
Laura had known his family long before she entered his home.
Why pretend otherwise?
The flash drive was encrypted.
Marcus pocketed it.
“I’ll have my team work on this.”
“No.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
“The threat mentioned Laura. We keep the circle small.”
“My team is small.”
“Smaller.”
Marcus nodded reluctantly.
They continued.
A document near the bottom stopped Adrian cold.
TRANSFER OF BENEFICIAL CONTROL.
Northstar Custodial Trust.
Laura Hayes.
Effective upon the death of Richard Cole.
Adrian reread the date.
Laura would have been twenty-one.
“She’s controlled it for eight years.”
Marcus shook his head.
“Not necessarily. Beneficial control and voting authority can be different.”
Adrian found another page.
Voting authority activates upon—
The rest had been torn away.
A noise came from the hall.
Marcus immediately raised a hand.
Adrian stopped.
Footsteps.
Marcus moved toward the door.
“Stay here.”
The study window exploded.
Adrian hit the floor.
Glass showered across the desk.
Marcus dragged him behind a wall.
“Shooter!”
A second impact struck the bookcase.
Adrian’s ears rang.
“Rear stairwell,” Marcus said.
“What about the documents?”
“Forget them.”
“No.”
“Adrian!”
He grabbed the black box.
They ran.
By the time they reached the alley, the shooter was gone.
Police arrived eight minutes later.
Marcus refused to trust the responding officers with the documents.
“This wasn’t random,” he said.
“No kidding.”
“Who knew you were coming?”
“Rosa. You.”
“And Laura.”
Adrian looked at him.
“No.”
“I’m not accusing her.”
“You sounded like you were.”
“I’m listing facts.”
Adrian’s phone rang.
Laura.
He answered instantly.
“Where are you?”
Her voice was breathless.
“You went there.”
“Yes.”
“I told you not to.”
“You sent the threat?”
“What threat?”
Adrian’s stomach tightened.
“Laura, where are you?”
Silence.
Then:
“My apartment.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“Someone shot at me.”
A sharp inhale.
“What?”
“Someone knew I had the key.”
Laura went quiet.
“Listen to me carefully,” she said. “Do not bring those papers to your office.”
“Why?”
“Because your uncle has people inside Cole Meridian.”
Adrian’s blood chilled.
“How do you know?”
“My father found them first.”
“Laura—”
A pounding sound came through the phone.
She gasped.
“What was that?”
“Someone’s at my door.”
“Don’t answer.”
Another pounding.
“Laura.”
She whispered, “They know I’m here.”
The line went dead.
Adrian looked at Marcus.
“Drive.”
They reached Laura’s apartment in twelve minutes.
Her door stood open.
The living room had been torn apart.
Cushions ripped.
Drawers emptied.
A broken lamp lay on the floor.
“Laura!”
No answer.
Adrian ran toward the bedroom.
Empty.
The fire escape window was open.
Marcus examined the frame.
“No blood.”
Adrian’s phone vibrated.
A photograph appeared from an unknown number.
Laura sat in the back seat of a car.
Her hands appeared unbound.
Her face was pale.
A man sat beside her.
Adrian enlarged the image.
His body went rigid.
He knew the man.
Everyone in Chicago business knew him.
Graham Cole.
Adrian’s uncle.
The man who had tried to steal Cole Meridian three years earlier.
A message appeared beneath the photograph.
BRING THE NORTHSTAR BOX TO THE OLD MERIDIAN HOTEL AT MIDNIGHT.
COME ALONE.
Then another message arrived.
Laura herself had sent it.
Adrian opened it.
May you like
There were only four words.
DON’T TRUST THE PHOTO.
