Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Wasn't Supposed to Survive
My father had hidden something in a broken clock.
That was the first thought that crossed my mind when the lights went out.
The second was that someone might have figured it out before I did.
"Stay behind me," Adrian said.
I almost rolled my eyes.
"I'm a nurse, not a decorative houseplant."
"Emma."
Something in his expression silenced me.
He wasn't issuing an order to prove his authority.
He genuinely believed danger was close.
Marco entered through the front door carrying a flashlight.
"Exterior teams are checking the utility disruption. Police dispatch has been notified."
"Any movement?"
"One unidentified vehicle left the rear alley as soon as the lights failed."
Adrian's jaw tightened.
"Description?"
"Dark sedan. Temporary plates."
I remembered the shadow at my kitchen window.
A shiver passed through me.
"The clock," I whispered.
Adrian turned.
"What clock?"
"My father gave me a wooden wall clock when I was little. It stopped working the year before he died. I tried fixing it, but I couldn't."
"Where is it?"
"In my bedroom closet."
I moved toward the hallway.
Adrian followed.
Inside the closet, behind a pile of folded winter blankets, sat a dusty cardboard box.
I pulled it onto the bed.
My childhood treasures filled the box: school certificates, a faded stuffed rabbit, old birthday cards, and a cracked plastic jewelry case.
Beneath everything rested a round wooden clock.
Its face was yellowed.
The hands remained permanently frozen at 8:17.
"That's it."
Adrian lifted it carefully.
"Your father told me something once," he said. "He said people search for secrets inside expensive safes because they never imagine the most valuable thing might be hidden inside something worthless."
I turned the clock over.
The back panel had four small screws.
"Do you have a screwdriver?" Adrian asked.
"Kitchen drawer."
Marco appeared with one approximately fifteen seconds later.
I didn't ask how he'd found it.
My hands shook as I removed the first screw.
Then the second.
The third resisted.
Adrian steadied the clock while I worked.
"Take your time," he said.
I gave him a look.
"There's a small army outside, my electricity is gone, and someone offered half a million dollars to find me. Time isn't exactly feeling generous."
He remained silent.
Finally, the panel came loose.
Inside the mechanism was a narrow compartment my father had apparently carved into the wooden frame.
A small metal case rested within it.
Wrapped around the case was a folded note.
I recognized my father's handwriting immediately.
For Emma, when she's old enough to understand.
My vision blurred.
I carefully unfolded it.
Sweetheart,
If you're reading this, something has happened that I couldn't prevent.
I need you to know that none of it was your fault. I never wanted you involved in the problems I discovered at work, but I couldn't destroy evidence that might protect innocent people.
I have made copies of everything. I placed the most important records somewhere only you would think to look.
You always said broken things deserved another chance.
Maybe people do, too.
I love you more than every star in the sky.
Dad.
For eleven years, I'd believed my father's last words to me were an ordinary reminder to finish my homework.
Now I was holding the goodbye he'd never been able to say aloud.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
A sob escaped before I could stop it.
Adrian stepped back, offering privacy.
That somehow made it worse.
"He's really gone," I whispered.
Adrian lowered himself onto the chair beside the dresser.
"I'm sorry."
"Did you ever try to help him?"
The question came out sharper than intended.
His eyes lowered.
"Not enough."
I wiped my face angrily.
"What does that mean?"
"I believed my father when he told me Daniel was exaggerating. I delayed returning from London. By the time I understood the situation, your father was dead."
I stared at him.
He didn't attempt to defend himself.
Didn't offer an excuse.
Didn't remind me that he'd been young or misinformed.
"I've regretted it every day," he said.
Something shifted in my chest.
I wasn't ready to forgive him.
But I believed him.
I opened the metal case.
Inside were a small encrypted storage device and a photograph.
The photograph showed my father standing beside a woman in a white laboratory coat.
On the back, someone had written:
ELIZABETH VALE — PROJECT NIGHTJAR.
"Who's she?" I asked.
Adrian took one look at the picture.
His face went completely still.
"Where did your father get this?"
"I don't know."
He slowly stood.
"Emma, we need to leave."
"Why?"
"Because Elizabeth Vale was the chief compliance officer at Halcyon."
"And?"
"She disappeared three days before your father died."
My mouth went dry.
"Disappeared?"
"Her husband reported her missing. Her office was cleared overnight. The company said she had resigned."
I looked down at the photograph.
Elizabeth appeared no older than thirty.
She was smiling.
One hand rested protectively over her stomach.
"Was she pregnant?"
Adrian nodded.
"Seven months."
Before I could respond, Marco's radio crackled.
He listened carefully.
Then looked at Adrian.
"We have confirmation. Someone entered the building across the alley shortly before the power outage."
"Police?"
"On their way."
Adrian reached for my overnight bag.
"We're leaving through the front entrance."
I stood.
"No. Not until you explain why someone would come after me for something hidden in an old clock."
He faced me.
"Because the information your father collected could expose a criminal network that has operated for more than a decade."
"And what does Elizabeth Vale have to do with it?"
"I don't know yet."
I clutched the photograph.
For the first time since this nightmare began, Adrian looked genuinely uncertain.
We stepped outside beneath the rain.
Several SUVs waited at the curb. The security personnel had moved farther back to leave the street accessible.
Adrian opened the passenger door for me.
I paused.
"Mr. Russo?"
"Adrian."
"What?"
"My name is Adrian. You don't have to call me Mr. Russo."
I studied him.
"Fine. Adrian."
"Yes?"
"If you ever lie to me about my father, I'll walk away. I don't care how many men you bring."
His gaze held mine.
"Understood."
I climbed into the vehicle.
Marco took the front passenger seat.
As we drove away, I noticed a dark sedan parked beneath a broken streetlight.
A woman sat behind the wheel.
Pale face.
Dark hair.
A silver necklace.
She appeared to be watching me.
Our eyes met.
Then she raised one hand against the glass.
In it was a photograph.
A photograph of me at eight years old.
May you like
Beneath it, written in large black letters, were three words.
YOUR FATHER LIED.
