Chương 2
"What did they want?"
"They wanted records from the waterfront company."
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"Records from four years ago?"
"Yes."
"Why now?"
"We're trying to find out."
I ended the call and looked at Maria.
She was watching me differently now.
Not like I was a dangerous man.
Like I was a man who had just stepped into a problem he didn't know existed.
"I didn't bring trouble here," she said.
I believed that more than I wanted to.
"Maybe not."
She looked hurt by the answer.
"Maybe?"
"Maria, a dead accountant sent his family to my house years later and now the police are suddenly asking about the same records."
"I didn't know they would come."
"I know."
The silence between us was uncomfortable.
Not hostile.
Just honest.
I walked toward the kitchen because standing still had never helped me think.
The staff had already left for the evening except for Maria.
A half-finished cup of coffee sat near the sink.
I noticed the small crack in the mug.
It belonged to my mother.
Nobody used it.
Nobody touched it.
Except somehow Maria had found it.
"Why are you using that cup?"
She followed my gaze.
"I didn't know it was important."
"It is."
She immediately reached for it.
"I'm sorry."
I stopped her.
"No."
The word surprised both of us.
I looked at the chipped porcelain in her hand.
"Leave it."
Maria slowly put it back.
It was a small thing.
Almost meaningless.
But somehow I hated the idea of her being afraid to touch anything in my house.
That was when I understood something uncomfortable.
The problem was not that people feared me.
The problem was that I had built a life where fear was the only thing people felt around me.
A soft sound came from the hallway.
Sofia appeared holding a stuffed rabbit with one ear missing.
She looked at me.
"Are you still cold?"
I almost smiled.
Almost.
"No."
"Good."
She nodded as if she had solved something important.
Then she looked at Maria.
"Can we go home now?"
Maria opened her mouth, but no answer came.
Because both of us knew the same thing.
Going home was no longer simple.
Not after someone had started looking into Adrian Cole.
Not after a dead man's message had reached me through a child who didn't know she carried it.
And not after I had begun to wonder whether the person I had ignored four years ago had been trying to warn me.
The next morning, I found Adrian Cole's name written on a piece of paper inside my office door.
Nobody had seen who left it there.
That was the first thing that bothered me.
The second was the handwriting.
I knew it.
Not because I had seen it often, but because Adrian had signed hundreds of financial reports with the same careful, almost old-fashioned letters.
The paper contained only an address.
A place in Queens.
No explanation.
No warning.
Just a location.
I stared at it for nearly a minute before calling Marcus.
"Nobody enters this house without you knowing."
"I know."
"Then tell me how this got here."
There was silence.
The kind of silence that meant someone was searching for an answer they did not want to give.
"Marcus."
"I don't know."
I looked through the glass wall of my office toward the driveway.
Two security vehicles sat near the gate.
Three men were walking the property.
Everything was exactly where it should have been.
And that made it worse.
People who wanted to hurt me usually announced themselves.
They wanted fear.
They wanted attention.
Someone who could enter my home, leave a message, and disappear wanted something else.
They wanted me to notice.
"I want every camera recording from last night," I said.
"Already pulling them."
"And nobody touches that paper."
"Too late."
My eyes narrowed.
"What do you mean?"
"I scanned it."
"Why?"
"Because I was doing my job."
I almost argued.
Then I stopped.
Marcus was one of the few people in my life who understood that evidence mattered more than pride.
"Send it to me."
A few minutes later, the image appeared on my phone.
There was nothing unusual about the paper.
No fingerprints.
No visible markings.
No obvious clue.
Just an address.
I hated how much I wanted there to be something.
A mistake.
A name.
Anything that would make the world easier.
Instead, I had a dead man's handwriting and a problem that had waited four years to find me.
Maria came into the office while I was still staring at the screen.
She had changed into a plain sweater and jeans.
No makeup.
No attempt to look important.
She looked like someone who had spent the night awake.
"Is that from Adrian?"
I didn't ask how she knew.
Her face answered.
"You recognize the handwriting."
She nodded.
"He used to write notes everywhere."
"Notes?"
"Small things."
She smiled faintly, but the expression disappeared quickly.
"Reminders.
Grocery lists.
Things for Sofia."
I placed the phone down.
"You knew he was worried."
Maria looked at the floor.
"Yes."
"And you didn't tell me."
"I didn't know if I should."
"Why?"
She took a breath.
"Because Adrian wasn't afraid of you."
That surprised me.
Most people who came near my world were afraid.
Some hid it better than others.
Maria continued.
"He was afraid of what would happen if you found out."
"Found out what?"
Her eyes moved toward the window.
"I don't know everything."
That answer annoyed me.
"People keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
She looked back at me.
"You think everyone is hiding something because most people around you are."
The honesty irritated me because it was accurate.
"Then tell me what you do know."
Maria sat down across from my desk.
"Adrian discovered something in the company records."
"What?"
"He never told me."
"That is not useful."
"No."
May you like
She rubbed her hands together.
"But I know he was different after that."
