Chương 7
Her schedule disappeared because the restaurant remained closed.
Her checking account balance became a more immediate threat than men in suits.
A reporter left flowers outside the building with a note asking for an exclusive interview.
Leah threw them away because she said journalistic flowers felt “spiritually dishonest.”
Anna received two hundred and sixteen social media messages, including marriage proposals, death threats, requests for money and one woman insisting Anna had used “psychic discernment” to detect the poison.
A man from Ohio offered to sell her a personal protection crystal.
She blocked him.
Vincent’s security team did not return after she told them to leave.
She found herself checking for them anyway.
On the fourth morning, a dark sedan followed her for six blocks.
She noticed it because it matched her pace through two unnecessary turns.
Anna entered a pharmacy and called Torres.
The sedan left before officers arrived.
No plate number.
No useful camera angle.
No proof it had followed her at all.
Torres did not dismiss her.
That helped.
Vincent reacted differently.
“You’re moving.”
“No.”
Anna had called him only because Torres asked whether he knew of any reason someone might surveil her.
“Not permanently,” Vincent said. “Hotel. Secure building.”
“I’m not going into hiding because a car drove slowly.”
“You walked in circles for six blocks.”
“How do you know?”
“Torres called my attorney.”
Anna closed her eyes.
“Everybody in this city talks about me now.”
“You stopped being anonymous when the news printed your name.”
“That is not comforting.”
“It’s reality.”
“I have a cat.”
Silence.
Then Vincent said, “What?”
“My sister has a cat.”
“That’s why you can’t use a hotel?”
“He screams when Leah leaves.”
Vincent seemed to struggle with this information.
“Bring the cat.”
“You sound like a man who has never transported a cat.”
“I have not.”
“Lucky.”
He exhaled.
Anna smiled.
Then the smile disappeared.
“Why would anyone follow me?”
“To see if you’re meeting investigators. To intimidate you. To learn whether you have another copy of the video. Or because it was a random car.”
“That last possibility should’ve come first.”
“It’s the least useful.”
“To you.”
“Yes.”
Anna leaned against the pharmacy wall.
“Daniel?”
“Possible.”
“Craig?”
“Possible.”
“Your cousin?”
A pause.
“Possible.”
“Elise?”
Another pause.
“Possible.”
“You really do trust some people?”
“Fewer every day.”
That afternoon, Anna met Vincent in a coffee shop selected by Detective Torres.
Not one of Vincent’s places.
Not one near Anna’s apartment.
Public. Busy. Cameras. No bodyguards at the table.
Anna arrived first.
Vincent entered wearing a dark coat over his usual white shirt. The shirt was open at the neck enough to show ink at the top of his chest.
He looked less enormous in daylight.
Not smaller.
More human.
He ordered black coffee.
Anna ordered tea and immediately wished she had ordered coffee because tea felt nervous.
Vincent sat across from her.
“For someone who doesn’t trust me,” he said, “you agreed to meet.”
“Torres said it was okay.”
“She doesn’t trust me either.”
“That helps.”
A woman at the next table glanced at Vincent twice.
He ignored her.
Anna wrapped her hands around the paper cup.
“Why did Daniel resign instead of waiting?”
“He says staying would create operational risk.”
“That sounds like corporate language for running away.”
“Daniel likes corporate language.”
“How long has he worked for you?”
“Eleven years.”
Anna stared.
“You suspected a man who protected you for eleven years because of a watch in a seven-second video?”
Vincent’s gaze cooled.
“No. I suspected him because he lied to me in the restaurant.”
“About what?”
“He said he had never touched my food.”
Anna thought back.
“He said that?”
“To me, before you showed the video.”
“So the video proved he lied.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell police immediately?”
“I did.”
“And they didn’t arrest him.”
“Lying is not attempted murder.”
Anna drank her tea.
It was too hot.
She burned her tongue.
Vincent noticed.
He slid a cup of water toward her without comment.
She took it.
“Why was he switching the plate?” she asked.
“He claims he panicked.”
“That’s a bad quality in a security director.”
“He calls it making a field judgment.”
“What do you call it?”
“Lying.”
Anna smiled faintly.
The woman at the next table looked again.
This time she raised her phone.
Vincent turned his face enough that she lowered it.
Not afraid.
Embarrassed.
Anna watched him.
“You’re used to people staring.”
“Sometimes.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Depends why.”
“Why do they usually?”
Vincent looked at his coffee.
“People like stories about men they don’t know.”
“That sounded dramatic.”
“It was an observation.”
“Do you like stories about yourself?”
“No.”
“That’s probably because you’re not always the hero.”
His eyes lifted.
Anna wondered if she had gone too far.
Then he said, “Neither are you.”
Her shoulders stiffened.
Vincent continued, “You think stopping that spoon makes everything after it your responsibility.”
Anna looked toward the window.
Traffic moved through the intersection.
A delivery cyclist slapped the side of a taxi after being cut off.
Nobody inside the café reacted.
“I didn’t ask for therapy.”
“Good. I’m not qualified.”
“Clearly.”
He took a drink.
The dryness of it surprised a laugh out of her.
For ten seconds they sat like ordinary people having coffee.
Then Vincent put a folder on the table.
Anna’s laughter vanished.
“What’s that?”
“Employee access logs from my private dinner.”
“Why are you showing me?”
“Because you noticed Daniel before anyone else did.”
“I’m a waitress, Vincent.”
“Yes.”
“Not an investigator.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He pushed the folder only halfway toward her.
“You don’t have to look.”
That changed the request.
Anna opened it.
The logs showed badge entries from the private hall, service elevator and staff corridor.
Most meant nothing to her.
One name did.
Craig Henson.
May you like
Her manager had used a temporary credential to enter Vincent’s private dining room at 5:52 p.m., more than an hour before Anna began her shift.
“That could be normal,” she said.
