Chapter 3 - “My Future Wife”
Nora Bennett opened her apartment door wearing plaid pajama pants, one sock, and an expression that moved from irritation to alarm in less than three seconds.
“Grace?”
“I need to stay here tonight.”
Nora stepped aside immediately.
No questions.
That was why Grace had called her.
Nora worked with her at Marlowe Books and possessed the rare gift of understanding that questions could wait until a person stopped shaking.
Unfortunately, Adrian Vale apparently did not believe waiting was an option.
Grace’s phone rang eleven minutes after she arrived.
She stared at his name.
She had saved the number during the rideshare.
That irritated her.
“What?” she answered.
“You got inside.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Are you following me?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“The driver confirmed the trip ended.”
“You tracked my rideshare?”
“No. I watched you leave, and you haven’t called me screaming.”
“That’s your system?”
“It’s been effective.”
Despite everything, Grace almost smiled.
Almost.
Nora mouthed, Who is it?
Grace covered the microphone.
“The man from the train.”
Nora’s eyes widened.
“The hot one?”
Grace glared.
Nora shrugged.
Trauma had apparently not damaged her observational abilities.
Grace turned away.
“What do you want, Adrian?”
“You asked about Daniel.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll answer tomorrow.”
“You called me to tell me you’ll answer tomorrow?”
“I called to tell you not to open the door for anyone.”
Grace closed her eyes.
“You don’t get to order me around.”
“I know.”
“Then stop.”
A pause.
“Please don’t open the door for anyone.”
The adjustment was so immediate that Grace had no response.
Adrian continued.
“And Grace?”
“What?”
“The thing I said on the train.”
“My future wife?”
Nora’s mouth fell open.
Grace turned farther away.
“Yes.”
“I apologize.”
“You already did.”
“I’m apologizing properly.”
“Why?”
“Because I used you as part of a threat without asking.”
The sentence should not have mattered.
But it did.
Marcus had spent four years teaching Grace that men did not apologize for making decisions about her.
They explained why she had deserved them.
“Goodnight, Adrian.”
“Goodnight.”
She ended the call.
Nora waited approximately one second.
“Your future what?”
Grace dropped onto the couch.
“It’s a long story.”
“I have coffee.”
“It’s ten at night.”
“I have wine.”
“That sounds worse.”
“I have ice cream.”
“Perfect.”
Twenty minutes later, Grace had told her everything except the details about Marcus that she still could not say aloud.
Nora sat cross-legged in the armchair.
“So the Adrian Vale?”
“Apparently.”
“The one who owns Vale Logistics?”
“Yes.”
“The one people online claim has a private elevator because he doesn’t trust other humans?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“The one whose father—”
“Nora.”
“Right. Sorry.”
Grace stared at her phone.
Marcus’s message remained open.
Ask Adrian what happened to Daniel Voss.
“He knew where I was,” Grace whispered.
Nora’s teasing vanished.
“Marcus?”
“He took a picture of my building.”
“We call the police.”
Grace shook her head.
“You have proof.”
“I have a photograph anyone could have taken.”
“And messages.”
“From an unknown number.”
“Grace.”
“I tried this before.”
Nora fell silent.
Six years earlier, there had been one police report.
One.
Marcus had followed Grace to her mother’s house.
He had stood across the street for three hours.
Never approached.
Never threatened.
Just watched.
Grace had called.
By the time officers arrived, he was gone.
No crime.
No direct threat.
Document everything, they had told her.
She did.
Then Marcus disappeared.
For six years.
Until now.
At 11:17 p.m., Nora fell asleep in her bedroom.
Grace remained awake on the sofa.
At 12:03, a car alarm sounded outside.
At 12:21, footsteps passed in the hallway.
At 12:44, the building’s pipes rattled.
At 1:06, Grace’s phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She stared.
No message.
Another buzz.
This one was from Adrian.
Are you awake?
She almost ignored it.
Instead:
Unfortunately.
His reply came immediately.
So am I.
Grace hesitated.
Tell me about Daniel.
A full minute passed.
Then:
My younger brother. Four years younger than me. He used our mother’s surname professionally.
Grace sat straighter.
Why?
He didn’t want the Vale name opening doors for him.
Another message.
Or closing them.
Grace typed slowly.
What happened?
This time Adrian called.
She answered quietly.
“He died eighteen months ago,” he said.
Grace waited.
“Officially, single-car accident on Lake Shore Drive.”
“Officially?”
“He had no alcohol in his system. Clear weather. Dry road. New vehicle.”
“You think Marcus killed him?”
“I think Daniel discovered something he wasn’t supposed to discover.”
“What?”
“Money moving through freight companies. Stolen pharmaceuticals. Counterfeit invoices. Insurance settlements.”
Grace felt cold.
“Marcus worked in insurance.”
“I know.”
“You said you didn’t know him.”
“I knew the name after Daniel died.”
“And you’ve been investigating him?”
“Yes.”
“For eighteen months?”
“Yes.”
Grace rubbed her forehead.
“Why does Marcus think I know something?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t.”
“I believe you.”
“You believe me very quickly.”
“No. I believe Marcus may think you know something without you actually knowing it.”
That sounded exactly like Marcus.
Suspicion had always been stronger than facts.
“Why pay Wade Mills to find me?”
“Wade works occasionally for a man named Victor Sloane.”
Grace waited.
“Sloane?”
“One of Marcus’s business partners.”
“What kind of business?”
Adrian was silent.
Grace understood.
The kind nobody put on tax forms.
“Does Wade work for you too?”
“No.”
“Then why was he afraid of you?”
A quiet exhale.
“Years ago Wade stole from someone under my protection.”
Grace stared at the dark window.
“You say things like that as if they’re normal.”
“In my life, they are.”
“That’s the problem.”
“Yes.”
Again, no defense.
“Why were you on that train?”
Adrian did not answer immediately.
Grace’s stomach tightened.
“You weren’t there by accident.”
“No.”
She stood.
“You followed me.”
“No.”
“You knew my name.”
“I had seen your photograph.”
“Where?”
“Daniel’s files.”
Grace stopped.
“What?”
“There was one photograph.”
“Of me?”
“Yes.”
“With Marcus?”
“No.”
“Then where?”
“Outside a bookstore.”
Marlowe Books.
Grace lowered herself slowly onto the couch.
“When was it taken?”
“Seven months ago.”
Before Marcus’s message.
Before tonight.
Before she knew anyone was watching.
“Why did Daniel have it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because pretending certainty would put you in more danger.”
Grace pressed her hand against her mouth.
Seven months.
Someone had known where she worked for seven months.
“Was there anything written on it?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Adrian hesitated.
“Tell me.”
On the other end, his voice changed.
Softer.
“Grace, I don’t think tonight is the right—”
“Tell me.”
Silence.
Then he did.
“Daniel wrote one sentence on the back.”
Grace gripped the phone.
“What sentence?”
“‘She doesn’t know what he left with her.’”
The apartment became painfully quiet.
Grace whispered, “What does that mean?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“What did you take when you left Marcus?”
“Clothes. Documents. Some photographs. My mother’s necklace.”
“Anything belonging to him?”
“No.”
“Computers?”
“No.”
“Files?”
“No.”
“USB drives?”
Grace opened her mouth.
Then stopped.
Six years ago.
The night she ran.
She had grabbed a cardboard box from the hall closet because her passport and birth certificate were inside.
A box Marcus used for old paperwork.
She had never unpacked most of it.
After her mother died, it went into storage.
Grace stood so quickly the blanket fell from her lap.
“Grace?”
“I have a storage unit.”
Silence.
“What’s in it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where?”
She almost answered.
Then every instinct she had rebuilt over six years stopped her.
“No.”
“Good.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“Don’t tell me over the phone.”
“You asked.”
“And you correctly decided not to answer.”
“You are an incredibly irritating person.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“Frequently?”
“Daily.”
For the first time that night, Grace laughed.
A real laugh.
Small.
Brief.
But real.
Adrian went quiet.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Expecting what?”
“You to laugh.”
The softness in his voice unsettled her more than the danger.
Grace changed the subject.
“If Marcus wants something in that storage unit, why wait six years?”
“Maybe he didn’t know you had it.”
“Until Daniel?”
“Maybe.”
“And Daniel died eighteen months ago.”
“Yes.”
“So why start searching seven months ago?”
Adrian went silent again.
Grace’s fear returned.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“I found another file tonight.”
“After the train?”
“Yes.”
“What was in it?”
“A payment record.”
“To Wade?”
“No.”
“To whom?”
Adrian’s next words erased the fragile sense of safety she had begun to feel.
“To Marcus.”
Grace frowned.
“From who?”
“A company.”
“What company?”
“It’s registered in Delaware. Shell structure. No employees.”
“So?”
“The transfer happened six years ago.”
Grace felt her pulse in her throat.
“What date?”
Adrian told her.
She closed her eyes.
It was the exact date she had fled Marcus.
“What was the payment for?”
“The memo only contained two words.”
Grace already knew she would hate them.
Adrian said:
“Asset recovery.”
And for the first time, Grace wondered whether Marcus had spent six years wanting more than her back.
May you like
Maybe he had been searching for something she had taken without ever knowing it existed.
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