Chương 5
“I’m in the library all the time.”
“For what?”
“Books, Roman.”
He turned.
She laughed softly.
It was a good laugh.
Warm, lightly irritated, exactly calibrated to make his question seem ridiculous.
He had heard that laugh for years.
For the first time, he listened to the machinery inside it.
“What did you read?”
She stared at him.
“Are you serious?”
“No.”
Roman started downstairs.
“That’s the problem.”
He went straight to his office and locked the door.
The first security report took four minutes to retrieve.
The second required a password he had not used in months.
The third showed the south gate.
Three entries.
2:13 a.m.
1:47 a.m.
3:06 a.m.
Each associated with Sabrina’s archived credential.
Each removed from the visible household log by an administrator account.
Roman opened the administrator details.
The account belonged to Marco.
He stared at the screen.
Then his phone rang.
Marco.
Roman answered on the first vibration.
“Where are you?”
“At County General.”
Roman stood.
“What happened?”
“I’m fine.”
Marco sounded breathless.
“My wife fell at work.”
Roman pressed two fingers to his temple.
“You called Sabrina?”
A pause.
“What?”
“Did you call Sabrina and tell her I was looking for you?”
“No.”
Roman’s eyes settled on the office door.
“Marco.”
“I haven’t spoken to Sabrina in two days.”
Roman lowered his voice.
“Did you delete three south gate entries from the estate security log?”
The pause this time was longer.
“No.”
“The administrator history says you did.”
Marco swore softly.
“Roman, I changed that password in July.”
“Who knew it?”
“You.”
“Who else?”
“Elena had the emergency sheet.”
Roman closed his eyes.
“Anyone else?”
“Not unless somebody photographed it.”
A knock sounded on the office door.
Sabrina’s voice came through the wood.
“Roman, dinner’s ready.”
He looked at the handle.
Marco said his name.
Roman muted the call.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten all day.”
“I said no.”
Sabrina waited.
Then her footsteps moved away.
Roman unmuted the phone.
“Marco.”
“Yeah.”
“Do not come back to the estate tonight.”
“What’s going on?”
“Stay with your wife.”
“Roman.”
“And don’t call anyone here.”
Silence.
Then Marco said, “Elena?”
Roman looked down at the letter in his hand.
“What about her?”
“She asked me two weeks ago whether the library corridor camera covered the safe door.”
Roman’s grip tightened.
“What did you tell her?”
“That it doesn’t.”
“Does it?”
“No.”
“Why did she ask?”
“She said she dropped an earring.”
Roman looked toward the dark window.
Marco exhaled.
“She never loses earrings.”
“No.”
“So what the hell is happening?”
Roman disconnected without answering.
He opened the financial system.
Vincent’s reconciliation archive was still accessible.
The suspicious transfer Elena had mentioned was there.
Eighty-seven thousand dollars.
Small by Marino standards.
Small enough that Roman would never have personally reviewed it.
The authorization string carried Sabrina’s initials.
The credential source carried his.
Roman opened the authentication metadata.
Remote login.
2:41 a.m.
The location field was blank.
He checked the date.
He had been in Boston that night.
Elena had been home.
Sabrina had told him she was in Connecticut with her mother.
Roman pulled up his messages from that week.
He found one from Sabrina sent at 2:46 a.m.
Can’t sleep.
Wish you were here.
He stared at the timestamp.
Five minutes after somebody used his credentials.
He called Vincent.
No answer.
He called again.
Still nothing.
Then a message appeared from Elena.
It was the first direct response she had sent since leaving.
Roman’s pulse jumped before he opened it.
The message contained only seven words.
Do not come here.
They are watching you.
Roman stood so abruptly that his chair struck the wall.
He called her.
The line rang once.
Twice.
Then disconnected.
He tried again.
Straight to voicemail.
Another message arrived.
Not from Elena.
From an unknown number.
A photograph loaded slowly.
Elena was standing outside an apartment building in White Plains, one hand beneath her stomach, speaking to Vivien beside a parked car.
The photograph had been taken from across the street.
Roman’s phone vibrated again.
This time the message contained four words.
Ask your wife what she stole.
Roman stared at the photograph until the pixels blurred around Elena’s face.
The angle had been taken from inside a vehicle or from behind glass.
There was no reflection clean enough to identify the shooter.
No license plate.
No visible street sign.
Just Elena, Vivien, a dark sedan, and the knowledge that somebody had been close enough to watch.
He forwarded the image to a secure number belonging to Luis Ortega, one of the few security contractors Roman used outside his household chain.
Then he typed three words.
Trace if possible.
Luis called immediately.
“You want me to pretend I didn’t see who’s in that picture?”
“I want you to tell me where it came from.”
“The number’s probably disposable.”
“Probably isn’t useful.”
“Fine.”
Luis paused.
“You want a team on Mrs. Marino?”
Roman looked at Elena’s message again.
Do not come here.
They are watching you.
“Yes.”
“Visible or invisible?”
“Invisible.”
“Armed?”
Roman hesitated.
“Yes.”
“No contact unless necessary?”
“Correct.”
“What counts as necessary?”
Roman walked to the office door and locked it again.
“If anyone approaches her with a weapon.”
“That’s easy.”
“If anyone tries to force her into a car.”
“Also easy.”
“If she sees your people and tells them to leave, they stay far enough away that she doesn’t know they stayed.”
Luis sighed.
“That one’s less easy.”
“Make it work.”
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you staying home?”
Roman looked through the wall as if Sabrina might somehow hear the question.
“For now.”
“Good.”
Luis sounded relieved.
That irritated him.
“Why?”
“Because if someone sent that photo to make you run to her, don’t reward them.”
Roman said nothing.
Luis continued.
“You taught me that.”
Roman ended the call without thanking him.
May you like
Then he opened the bottom drawer of his desk and removed a second phone.
It was old, encrypted, and used only for people whose names did not belong in ordinary call records.
