Chương 7
The way she did not pretend to have every answer.
The way she had kept the flowers even though they were cheap.
Those things mattered.
“Then maybe ask yourself why this person wants you to distrust her,” Margaret said.
Callum looked at her.
“That is a very editor thing to say.”
“It is also a very human thing to say.”
She picked up a stack of papers from his desk.
“Just do not confuse curiosity with responsibility.”
He frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you are the kind of person who sees someone struggling and immediately starts looking for ways to help.”
“That is not a bad quality.”
“No.”
Margaret looked at him.
“It is also how people end up carrying things that were never theirs.”
The sentence followed him all afternoon.
At five thirty, Callum stood outside his apartment door with grocery bags in both hands.
He had almost forgotten about the message.
Almost.
Then his phone buzzed again.
Same number.
This time, no message.
A missed call.
He stared at the screen.
Then he put the phone away.
Inside, Ruby was sitting on the floor surrounded by homework papers.
“Bad day?” she asked.
Callum placed the groceries on the counter.
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
“Because you have the face.”
He sighed.
“The face again?”
“Yes.”
She held up a math worksheet.
“Can you help me?”
“Of course.”
For the next forty minutes, billionaires and suspicious strangers disappeared.
There were fractions.
There were complaints about fractions.
There was an argument about whether handwriting could be considered a personality trait.
Ruby insisted it could.
Callum insisted she was avoiding the homework.
She insisted those things could both be true.
And somehow, she won.
After dinner, while Ruby brushed her teeth, Callum stood in the kitchen washing dishes.
His phone sat on the counter.
He could hear the television playing quietly in the living room.
A cartoon.
Something with animals.
He smiled.
This was the part of life he understood.
Plates.
Homework.
Bedtime routines.
Not boardrooms.
Not billionaires.
Not people using polite voices to threaten each other.
When Ruby walked back in wearing pajamas two sizes too small because she refused to admit she had grown, she picked up his phone.
“Hey.”
Callum turned.
“Do not touch my phone.”
“I was just looking.”
“That is touching.”
She placed it down.
“There was a name.”
“What name?”
“Helena.”
His stomach tightened.
“Ruby.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She studied him.
“You like her.”
Children had a remarkable ability to walk directly into emotional landmines without fear.
Callum dried his hands.
“She is nice.”
“That means yes.”
“That means she is nice.”
Ruby nodded like she had just confirmed a scientific theory.
“Mom says people say ‘nice’ when they do not know what else to say.”
Callum froze slightly.
“Your mother said that?”
“A long time ago.”
He looked away.
There were moments when children accidentally opened doors adults had carefully closed.
“Go brush your hair,” he said.
“I already did.”
“Your hair disagrees.”
She ran back toward the bathroom.
Callum smiled.
Then the smile faded.
Because the message was still there.
Because Helena had warned him.
Because some part of him knew he should let the situation remain hers.
And another part of him hated the idea that someone could intimidate her simply because everyone else was too cautious to push back.
The next morning, he met the sender.
Not because he trusted him.
Because he wanted to know what he was dealing with.
The meeting took place at a small coffee shop three blocks from the newspaper office.
Nothing dramatic.
No dark corners.
No secret parking garages.
Just people drinking coffee and working on laptops.
That made it more believable.
The man sitting near the window stood when Callum approached.
He was probably in his forties.
Average clothes.
Average appearance.
The kind of person most people would forget five minutes after seeing.
“Mr. Hayes.”
Callum remained standing.
“You know my name.”
“Yes.”
“That is not reassuring.”
The man looked uncomfortable.
“My name is Daniel Mercer.”
Callum sat.
“Why did you contact me?”
Daniel looked around.
Not nervously.
Carefully.
“I worked with Helena.”
“That could mean anything.”
“I was part of her legal team.”
“Was?”
Daniel looked down at his coffee.
“I left.”
“Why?”
“That is complicated.”
Callum almost smiled.
Everyone had started using that word around Helena.
Complicated.
A convenient word.
A way to avoid saying dangerous.
“Try me.”
Daniel hesitated.
Then he reached into his bag.
He did not pull out anything dramatic.
No folder full of secrets.
No evidence that would instantly change everything.
Just a printed email.
He placed it on the table.
Callum did not touch it.
“What is this?”
“A warning.”
“From who?”
Daniel looked at him.
“From someone who knows Garrett Phelps better than you do.”
Callum glanced at the paper.
The email was short.
A request for information.
About Helena.
About people close to her.
About potential pressure points.
Callum's expression changed slightly.
“When was this sent?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Why show me now?”
Daniel looked away.
“That is the question I have been asking myself.”
Callum studied him.
“You are afraid.”
Daniel did not deny it.
“Yes.”
“Of Garrett?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
The honesty mattered.
Callum folded his hands.
“Why me?”
Daniel looked at him.
“Because everyone else around Helena is already part of her world.”
“And I am not?”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
“That is why you are dangerous.”
Callum frowned.
“I am dangerous?”
“To people like him.”
Daniel leaned closer.
“You do not need anything from her.”
The words landed harder than Callum expected.
Because they were true.
He had not thought about it that way.
Everyone around Helena probably wanted something.
Money.
Access.
Approval.
Power.
Callum wanted something much simpler.
He wanted to know if the woman who laughed at his bad jokes was real.
Daniel pushed the paper slightly closer.
“Be careful.”
Callum looked at the document.
May you like
Then back at him.
“Are you telling me Helena is in danger?”
