Chapter 2 - Forty-Seven Messages
Celia backed into the kitchen.
“Someone’s trying the handle.”
“Is it locked?”
“Three locks.”
“Stay away from the door.”
Lorenzo’s voice had lost every trace of casualness.
Celia grabbed the heaviest thing within reach, an iron skillet, and immediately felt ridiculous.
Then the handle moved again.
Not ridiculous.
Terrifying.
“Did you call the police?” Lorenzo asked.
“I’m calling after you.”
“Do it. Keep me on the other line.”
She activated emergency calling.
The dispatcher told her officers were coming.
Outside, silence returned.
Then Celia heard footsteps moving down the hall.
“Someone’s leaving.”
“Don’t follow.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good.”
“How far away are you?”
A pause.
“Four minutes.”
“You know where I live?”
Another pause.
Celia’s fear sharpened.
“Lorenzo.”
“I know the building.”
“That is not an answer.”
“No.”
Four minutes later, someone knocked.
Celia almost stopped breathing.
Her phone buzzed.
Lorenzo.
“I’m outside. Look through the peephole before you open anything.”
She did.
Lorenzo stood alone.
Celia unlocked the door.
He entered, rain still clinging to his shoulders.
His eyes immediately scanned the apartment.
Windows.
Hallway.
Balcony door.
Fire escape.
“You always do that?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Count exits.”
“Yes.”
“So do I.”
“I noticed.”
He crouched near the door.
Small scratches marked the lock.
“Someone tried something.”
“Can you tell what?”
“Not from this.”
Police arrived minutes later.
Celia gave her statement.
She showed the messages.
The officers photographed the scratches and promised to request security footage.
After they left, Lorenzo remained near the window.
“You should stay somewhere else tonight.”
“I’m not being chased out of my own apartment.”
“That principle could get expensive.”
“So could living in hotels forever.”
“Then stay with somebody.”
Celia laughed without humor.
“Travis isolated me from most of my friends before I realized that was what he was doing.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
The admission embarrassed her more than it should have.
“I had friends,” she said. “I still do. Technically. But after you cancel enough dinners because your boyfriend doesn’t like somebody, invitations stop.”
“You can call them again.”
“Seven months later?”
“Yes.”
“You make everything sound simple.”
“Simple and easy aren’t the same thing.”
That shut her up.
She sat on the couch.
The Halcyon file lay on the table.
Lorenzo noticed.
“Tell me about it.”
“You first.”
“About what?”
“417.”
He remained silent.
Celia folded her arms.
“You recognized it.”
“Yes.”
The admission surprised her.
“What is it?”
“An old account designation.”
“Whose?”
“My father’s.”
Celia stared at him.
“Your father worked for Halcyon?”
“No.”
“Owned it?”
“No.”
“Then why would his account number be handwritten on my case?”
“That is what concerns me.”
Celia opened the file.
Halcyon had purchased seventeen distressed buildings through intermediaries over eleven years. Several were later sold to city-backed redevelopment programs at significantly higher valuations.
“The numbers don’t make sense,” she explained. “Properties were appraised, sold, reappraised, then transferred again. Money moves through consulting companies with almost no employees.”
Lorenzo scanned a page.
“Where did this come from?”
“Internal audit.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“My supervisor, Elaine Mercer.”
“And before her?”
“Daniel Price.”
“The investigator who resigned?”
Celia looked up sharply.
“How do you know that?”
Lorenzo’s expression hardened.
“You said another investigator resigned.”
“I never said his name.”
Silence.
Celia stood.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Lorenzo Duca.”
“That answer is getting old.”
“My family owns several businesses.”
“What kind?”
“Property. Logistics. Restaurants. Investment holdings.”
“And Halcyon?”
“No.”
“Travis?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know Daniel Price?”
“I don’t.”
“You knew his name.”
“Because I saw it yesterday.”
“Where?”
Lorenzo hesitated.
“On a document delivered to me.”
Celia felt the room become smaller.
“What document?”
“An envelope containing copies of financial transfers involving my late father.”
“Who sent it?”
“No return address.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because until I saw your file tonight, I didn’t know whether the documents were real.”
Celia sat again.
Lorenzo removed his phone.
He showed her a photograph.
A transfer record.
Recipient: VANTAGE MUNICIPAL CONSULTING.
Reference: 417.
Authorization initials:
T.H.
Celia stared.
“T.H.”
“Yes.”
“Travis Hail?”
“I don’t know.”
But she did.
Travis worked in commercial risk analysis.
He had spent years telling Celia his work was too complicated and confidential to discuss.
She remembered something.
Six months earlier, before she left him, Travis had asked about her department’s active cases.
She had refused.
He had laughed and said he was only making conversation.
Then three weeks ago, he had sent one of his forty-seven messages:
YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE GETTING INVOLVED IN AT WORK.
She had assumed it was another attempt to scare her.
Celia pulled up the message.
Lorenzo read it.
“When did he send this?”
“Tuesday.”
“When were you assigned Halcyon?”
“Thursday.”
Neither spoke.
Travis knew about the case before Celia did.
Lorenzo’s phone rang.
He checked the screen.
His jaw tightened.
“What?”
He answered.
Listened.
Said nothing for nearly twenty seconds.
Then:
“Where?”
Another pause.
“I’m coming.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” Celia asked.
“Your building has security cameras.”
“Yes.”
“My associate got access through the building manager.”
“That quickly?”
“Yes.”
Celia decided she would ask about Lorenzo’s definition of “associate” later.
“Did they see who was outside my door?”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Travis?”
“No.”
“Who?”
Lorenzo turned his phone toward her.
A still image showed a man entering the hallway at 9:58.
He wore a hood.
His face was partly visible.
Celia had never seen him.
But he was holding something.
A folder.
The same distinctive red compliance folder used by Celia’s office.
Her pulse jumped.
“He works with me.”
“You recognize him?”
“No. But that folder came from my department.”
Lorenzo enlarged the image.
Something protruded from the man’s jacket pocket.
An identification badge.
Only part of the name was visible.
Celia zoomed farther.
Three letters.
MER.
She stopped breathing.
Mercer.
Her supervisor.
“No,” Celia whispered.
Her phone vibrated.
Elaine Mercer was calling.
Celia and Lorenzo stared at the screen.
“Answer it,” Lorenzo said.
Celia did.
“Hello?”
Elaine’s voice came quietly.
“Celia, I need you to listen carefully. Daniel Price didn’t resign.”
Celia stood perfectly still.
“Then where is he?”
Elaine breathed into the phone.
“I think I know why he disappeared.”
A violent noise sounded on Elaine’s end.
May you like
Then a man said her name.
The call went dead.
