Chương 6
“That sounds like help.”
“It sounds like planning.”
I looked at the business card again.
If Vincent contacts you again, call me first.
“Dominic.”
“Yes?”
“I found something.”
His voice sharpened.
“What?”
“An old business card.”
“Whose?”
“Elliot's.”
“What does it say?”
I read the seven words.
The line stayed quiet.
“Anna,” he said finally, “when did he give you that?”
“I don't remember exactly.”
“Try.”
The irritation rose again, but underneath it was fear.
I closed my eyes.
The card's worn corners pressed into my thumb.
A smell came back first.
Burned coffee.
Then copier toner.
Then the freezing conference room at Dawson Pike because Dawson believed cold offices made employees work faster.
“It was after my meeting with Vincent.”
“How long after?”
“Maybe a day.”
“What happened?”
“Elliot came to my desk.”
“What did he say?”
“That Vincent was impressed.”
“And?”
“That I shouldn't mistake interest for protection.”
Dominic's breathing changed.
“Those exact words?”
“I think so.”
“You think?”
“It was eleven years ago.”
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
He went quiet.
I hated myself immediately.
Dominic's father had been dead three years.
Whatever Vincent had been to me for six weeks, he had been Dominic's father for a lifetime.
I rubbed my forehead.
“He said Vincent had a habit of making people feel important,” I said more quietly.
“Then he handed me the card.”
“And told you to call him first.”
“Yes.”
“Did Vincent contact you?”
“No.”
“Not once?”
“I got one envelope.”
Dominic didn't say anything.
I had never told anyone about it.
Not Lily's father.
Not the lawyers during the Dawson Pike investigation.
Not the detective who asked whether I had received threats.
At the time, I hadn't known what counted.
“What envelope?” Dominic asked.
“It was delivered to my apartment.”
“By mail?”
“No stamp.”
“When?”
“About two weeks after the meeting.”
“What was inside?”
“A copy of my report.”
“Your report to my father?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“A note.”
“What did it say?”
I opened the bottom kitchen drawer.
Old takeout menus.
Batteries.
A screwdriver.
A tangled roll of tape.
For years, the note had lived inside an envelope taped underneath the drawer because I was frightened enough to hide it and stubborn enough not to destroy it.
I pulled the drawer all the way out.
The tape had yellowed.
“What are you doing?” Dominic asked.
“Finding it.”
“You still have it?”
“I throw away almost everything useful and keep every useless receipt I've ever touched.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“Yes.”
I peeled the envelope loose.
Inside was one folded sheet of unmarked paper.
The handwriting was blocky and unfamiliar.
STOP DIGGING OR PEOPLE WHO DON'T DESERVE IT WILL PAY.
I read it aloud.
Dominic swore again.
“What did you do after that?”
“I stopped digging.”
No shame arrived with the admission anymore.
It had taken years to stop punishing myself for being afraid.
At twenty-six, I had been pregnant and living with a man who was already working twelve-hour shifts because our savings barely covered rent.
Courage had seemed less noble once another heartbeat depended on mine.
“Who knew you were pregnant?” Dominic asked.
“Everybody at work.”
“Did Vincent?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I told him.”
“Why?”
“He asked why I kept getting sick during the meeting.”
Despite everything, Dominic gave a short laugh.
“That also sounds like him.”
“He offered me crackers.”
“Those horrible saltines?”
“You know them?”
“He kept them in every office he used.”
The absurdity of that detail loosened something in my chest.
For one second Vincent became a real man again instead of a dead name attached to unopened letters.
Then the message on my phone dragged the present back.
“Could Elliot have written the note?” Dominic asked.
“I don't know.”
“Did you ever compare handwriting?”
“To what?”
“Anything of his.”
“No.”
I looked at the business card.
The cramped writing on the back was slanted and narrow.
The threat had been printed in capitals.
Different enough to prove nothing.
“Send me pictures of both.”
I did.
This time Dominic didn't thank me.
He was somewhere else mentally now, fitting pieces together.
I heard Marco speaking in the background.
Then Dominic said, “The service elevator was opened at 3:47 with a contractor credential.”
“What contractor?”
“We're checking.”
“That's convenient.”
“For whoever stole the boxes, yes.”
“Can badges be copied?”
“Not easily.”
“Not easily isn't no.”
“No.”
I stood and walked toward the bedroom doorway.
Lily slept diagonally across my bed with one foot sticking out from under the blanket.
The rabbit lay on the floor.
I picked it up.
“What happens if Pike has my personnel file?” I asked.
“I don't know.”
“What could be in it besides employment records?”
“Depends on what my father added.”
“You said personnel exceptions.”
“Yes.”
“What kind of exceptions did he make?”
Dominic hesitated.
“Sometimes he hired people directly.”
“For what?”
“Security.”
“I wasn't security.”
“Legal.”
“No.”
“Accounting.”
“Through normal recruitment?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why bypass it?”
“Because my father didn't trust systems he didn't control.”
“That is deeply ironic.”
“I've had the thought.”
I set the rabbit beside Lily's pillow.
“If he personally arranged my hiring, I didn't know.”
“I believe you.”
“You shouldn't.”
“What?”
“You don't know me.”
“I know enough to know you wouldn't have spent nine days panicking over rent if you knew my father had arranged some special protection for you.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
I looked toward the kitchen where the utility bills were still stained with tea.
“Don't make assumptions about my finances.”
“That wasn't—”
“It was.”
“Fine.”
His voice flattened.
“You're right.”
I leaned against the bedroom frame.
He continued.
“But someone inside the company expected your employment to continue.”
“How do you know?”
“The retention recommendation.”
“That could have been routine.”
“It wasn't.”
“What was it?”
“A protected-status flag.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“In old Moretti Group HR records, certain employees couldn't be terminated without executive review.”
“Executive meaning you?”
“Today, yes.”
“And eleven years ago?”
May you like
“My father.”
I looked at the signed document on the kitchen table.
