Chapter 2 - The Phone Beneath My Door
Nobody prepares you for the moment a stranger says your dead father's name while another stranger stands outside your window.
I turned so quickly that I nearly dropped the phone.
"Emma?"
Adrian's voice sounded sharper now.
"Are you still there?"
"Someone's at my window."
"Move away from it."
My eyes found the kitchen curtains.
Beyond the thin fabric, a shadow shifted.
I lived on the ground floor. The narrow alley beside the townhouse was accessible from the street, but nobody had any reason to be there.
"Who is that?"
"Listen carefully," Adrian said. "Do not approach the window. Stay on the line."
"What's happening?"
A metallic sound came from the kitchen.
The window latch.
Someone was trying to open it.
I backed toward my bedroom.
"Mr. Russo—"
"Marco."
His voice was suddenly distant, as if he'd turned away from the phone.
"Check the rear entrance. Immediately."
Heavy footsteps thundered through the hallway outside.
The figure behind my curtains vanished.
Seconds later, I heard a man's startled shout, followed by footsteps running away.
I remained frozen.
"Emma."
I raised the phone again.
"Yes?"
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Good. The man outside your apartment works for me. His name is Marco Bellini. Open the door for him when he identifies himself again."
"Why should I trust him?"
"Because whoever was at your kitchen window wasn't sent by me."
That wasn't particularly comforting.
Through the peephole, Marco appeared again, his dark hair damp with rain.
"Miss Shaw. It's Marco. The alley is secure."
I unlocked the door but left the chain attached.
Marco was a broad-shouldered man in his late thirties with a severe face and unexpectedly gentle eyes.
He noticed the chain.
"Keep it on if you prefer."
"What exactly is going on?"
He glanced at my phone.
"Mr. Russo should explain."
"Then he can explain why his employee just turned my apartment into a crime scene."
Marco looked almost impressed.
I heard Adrian exhale through the phone.
"May I come to you?"
"No."
A pause.
"Fair enough."
That answer surprised me more than an argument would have.
Then he added, "Will you at least allow Marco to check whether the person outside damaged your window?"
I considered it.
"Only if I can watch from the doorway."
"Agreed."
Marco inspected the kitchen entrance while I remained near the open front door with my phone pressed against my ear.
The latch had scratches around it.
Someone had attempted to force it.
Marco photographed the damage and quietly contacted another man.
"Who was that?" I asked Adrian.
"I don't know yet."
"Why would someone be watching my apartment?"
"Because of me."
I swallowed.
"You were in my hospital for less than two hours."
"Sometimes two hours is enough to put someone in danger."
He sounded frustrated.
Not with me.
With himself.
I leaned against the wall.
"Tell me what this has to do with my father."
For the first time, Adrian Russo hesitated.
"Your father worked at Halcyon Industrial Storage."
"Yes."
"He died eleven years ago."
"Also yes."
"Did anyone ever explain why the security cameras stopped working the night he died?"
A cold sensation crawled up my spine.
According to the investigation, my father's death had resulted from a mechanical malfunction in an industrial loading area.
A catastrophic equipment failure.
That was what the report said.
But I remembered my mother crying at the kitchen table, insisting that Daniel had called her shortly before the accident.
He had sounded frightened.
He'd told her to keep Emma away from the facility, no matter what happened.
Two weeks later, she stopped discussing it.
"How do you know about the cameras?" I whispered.
"My father owned Halcyon."
The silence that followed seemed to swallow the entire apartment.
I had spent eleven years hating the faceless corporation that had taken my father.
Now its owner's son was speaking to me through a phone somebody had shoved beneath my door.
"Was your father responsible?"
"I believe he covered up what happened."
My throat tightened.
"You believe?"
"I recently found evidence that suggests Daniel Shaw wasn't killed in an accident."
I lowered myself onto the couch.
The words felt unreal.
"Then go to the police."
"I intend to."
"Why haven't you?"
"Because the person who helped conceal that death is currently trying to kill me."
I looked at the scratched kitchen window.
"And apparently, they're interested in me too."
"Yes."
At least he didn't lie.
"Your wound," I said, trying to steady myself. "What's actually happening?"
"Pain. Fever. Some swelling."
"How high is the fever?"
He ignored the question.
"Emma—"
"How high?"
Marco, standing near the kitchen, quietly answered.
"One hundred and three."
I stared at him.
"He's running a fever of one hundred and three, and you're all driving around threatening exhausted nurses?"
Marco looked offended.
"We haven't threatened you."
"Your boss sent men to my house!"
"He sent me to ask for help."
"There's a difference?"
"I'd hope so."
Despite myself, I almost laughed.
Then Adrian spoke.
"I'm going to a medical facility. Marco can arrange transportation for you to a safe location, but you are not obligated to come. If you'd rather stay, he'll help secure the apartment and contact the authorities."
It was the first reasonable thing anyone had said.
I thought about the person at my kitchen window.
About my father's face in the photograph.
About the unanswered questions that had followed my family for eleven years.
"Where would I be going?"
"My residence."
"You're inviting a complete stranger into your house?"
"You're the woman who refused my money while I was bleeding on her shoes."
"That doesn't make me trustworthy."
"No," he said.
His voice softened.
"It makes you different."
I rubbed my forehead.
"I'll come to hear what you know about my father. But I want an independent medical team involved, and I'm not promising to treat you at home."
"Understood."
"And Marco doesn't get to follow me into the bathroom."
There was a brief silence.
Then Adrian laughed.
A real laugh this time.
"Agreed."
I packed a small overnight bag and called Dr. Patel, explaining the situation without disclosing unnecessary patient details.
He immediately instructed me not to become anyone's private emergency department.
I promised I wouldn't.
Before leaving, I took my father's photograph from beside the microwave.
On its back, in his familiar handwriting, were words I had never paid much attention to.
To my Emma. Never let anyone convince you that kindness is weakness.
I tucked it into my bag.
When I stepped outside, Marco held a black umbrella over my head.
A large SUV waited at the curb.
Another was parked behind it.
"These are for me?"
"Just a precaution."
I climbed inside.
We'd traveled less than two blocks when Marco received a call.
His expression changed.
"Sir, are you certain?"
He listened.
Then he looked at me in the rearview mirror.
"What?" I asked.
Marco said nothing until the call ended.
"Miss Shaw, there's been a development."
"What kind?"
He adjusted his earpiece.
"Someone just offered five hundred thousand dollars for information about your current location."
My mouth went dry.
"Who?"
Marco glanced toward the dark street.
"We don't know."
Then another call came through.
This time, he put it on speaker.
Adrian's voice filled the vehicle.
"Marco, change the route. And tell Emma something for me."
"What?"
"Someone knows what her father left behind."
I leaned forward.
"What did he leave?"
May you like
Adrian answered quietly.
"Something my family has been searching for since the night he died."
