Chapter 7 - The Woman in the Photograph
At sunrise, Chicago looked innocent.
The river turned silver beneath the first pale light. Office towers reflected pink clouds. Delivery trucks moved through streets washed clean by the night's rain.
From Declan's penthouse, you could almost believe the city had no secrets.
Almost.
I had slept twenty-three minutes.
Declan hadn't slept at all.
At 6:17 a.m., I found him standing before the windows holding a cup of coffee he hadn't touched.
“You look terrible,” I said.
He turned.
“You're in a medical boot, have one eye swollen shut, and your face is three different colors.”
“Yes, but I'm charming.”
“Debatable.”
Progress.
I maneuvered into the room using crutches the doctor had left.
Declan immediately moved toward me.
“Don't.”
“I was going to help.”
“I know.”
“You're impossible.”
“So you've mentioned.”
On the table lay three photographs.
One was Patrick Morrow.
One was Daniel.
The third showed a woman I didn't recognize.
Mid-thirties.
Dark hair.
Professional clothes.
Standing outside the LM-317 warehouse.
“Who's she?”
“That's what we're finding out.”
“From the surveillance?”
“Yes.”
The photograph had been taken three weeks earlier, same day as Patrick's supposedly destroyed car.
The woman appeared in two frames.
In the first, she entered the warehouse.
In the second, she left carrying a document box.
“Could be employee.”
“She isn't.”
“How do you know?”
“Facial search.”
“That sounds legally questionable.”
“So does most of my life.”
Fair.
Declan handed me a printout.
Name:
Elena Farris.
I looked up.
“Farris?”
“Sheldon's daughter.”
“I thought he didn't have children.”
“So did I.”
Elena Farris was thirty-eight.
Attorney.
Former federal prosecutor.
Current occupation unavailable.
No social-media presence.
No recent residential address.
A person designed to be difficult to find.
“She was a prosecutor?”
“Financial crimes.”
My eyebrows rose.
“That feels relevant.”
“Very.”
“Does Sheldon know we're looking?”
“No.”
“Daniel?”
“Probably.”
As though summoned by the mention of his name, my recovered phone buzzed.
Message.
THE WOMAN IS WHY YOUR FATHER DIED.
My stomach turned.
Declan took the phone.
“What does that mean?”
“I assume Daniel enjoys dramatic texting.”
Another message arrived.
NOT WHAT YOU THINK.
I sighed.
“Of course.”
Then:
ASK ELENA WHAT THOMAS SAVED HER FROM.
Declan made a call.
Within thirty minutes, we had an address.
Oak Park.
Small brick house.
Owned through a trust.
Elena Farris had visited twice in the previous month.
“We go there,” I said.
“No.”
“Declan.”
“You can barely walk.”
“I can barely walk very successfully.”
“No.”
“Daniel is contacting my phone.”
“I'll take your phone.”
“No.”
“I wasn't asking.”
I stared at him.
He stared back.
Then I smiled.
“You realize I know where your financial bodies are buried.”
“That expression is particularly unfortunate today.”
“I can freeze your corporate expense system before you reach the elevator.”
“You wouldn't.”
“Try me.”
He considered that.
“You stay in the car.”
“We'll negotiate.”
Forty-eight minutes later, I was in the passenger seat of an armored SUV.
I did not stay in the car.
The Oak Park house looked aggressively ordinary.
Small lawn.
White porch.
Blue recycling bin.
No guards.
No cameras visible.
Declan rang the bell.
No response.
Again.
Nothing.
The door opened six inches.
A woman looked out.
Same face as the photograph.
Elena.
Her eyes moved from Declan to me.
Then widened.
“Gemma Cole.”
Not a question.
My skin prickled.
“You know me?”
She opened the door.
“Come inside before someone sees you.”
Declan didn't move.
“Why?”
“Because the people who attacked her believe she's dead.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
Elena looked annoyed.
“You didn't tell her?”
“Tell me what?”
Declan turned toward me.
“I didn't know.”
Elena studied him.
“Then Daniel failed to explain.”
“That's becoming a pattern.”
Inside, the house contained almost no furniture.
Temporary.
Safe house.
Elena closed the curtains.
“My father sent you?”
“Your father is missing,” Declan said.
“He's not missing.”
“You know where he is?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I won't tell you.”
Declan's expression darkened.
Elena didn't care.
That impressed me.
She looked at my injuries.
“I told him not to use the Huron garage.”
“Who?”
“Daniel.”
I gripped the crutch.
“Daniel knew I would be attacked?”
“He knew someone was watching you.”
“And he didn't warn me?”
“He tried.”
“I received nothing.”
“They intercepted it.”
“Who?”
Elena looked at Declan.
“The second organization.”
I felt sick.
My father's exact phrase.
“You know about that?”
“I've spent eleven years investigating it.”
“Federal?”
“Not anymore.”
“Why?”
“I was forced out.”
“By Sheldon?”
She laughed bitterly.
“My father tried to keep me alive.”
That was not the answer I expected.
“Elena,” Declan said, “did Sheldon order the attack on Gemma?”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“I heard his voice.”
“I believe you.”
“Then explain.”
“He was negotiating.”
“With men who broke my leg?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because they called him after taking the phone.”
“That means he knew.”
“He knew they wanted it. He didn't know they'd already found you.”
She opened a drawer.
Removed an old digital recorder.
“My father has been feeding information to Daniel for years.”
Declan stepped forward.
“What?”
“Sheldon isn't the architect. He's an unwilling participant.”
“Thirty years of unwilling participation?”
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
Elena looked at me.
“Your father discovered the network in 2008.”
“I know.”
“He also discovered my father was trapped inside it.”
“How?”
“They had me.”
The room went quiet.
“I was twenty.”
She swallowed.
“I had made stupid choices. Gambling debt. Wrong people. Someone used that leverage to force my father into cooperating.”
“Who?”
“We never identified the person at the top.”
“You expect me to believe—”
“Listen.”
She pressed play.
Sheldon's voice filled the room.
Recorded recently.
“They're going after Gemma. Her audit is too close. Daniel says he can pull her out if they move. I need the phone taken first. If she keeps carrying it, they'll kill her for it.”
My knees felt weak for reasons unrelated to injury.
Another voice asked:
“Who will take it?”
Sheldon answered.
“Two contractors. They have instructions not to hurt her.”
I laughed once.
Bitter.
“They missed that part.”
Elena's face tightened.
“The men who appeared weren't the men my father hired.”
Declan understood first.
“Someone replaced them.”
“Yes.”
“So Sheldon arranged the theft.”
“To get the device away from you before the real network came.”
I stared.
“That is the worst rescue plan I've ever heard.”
“Yes.”
“But why not tell me?”
“Because you would tell Declan.”
I looked at him.
“Why is that a problem?”
Elena's eyes settled on Declan.
“Because until last night, nobody knew whether Declan Morrow was part of the network.”
Declan didn't react.
I did.
“That's ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“His name is on half the companies.”
“Because he owns them.”
“Exactly.”
Declan lifted one hand.
“Gemma.”
“No.”
I looked at Elena.
“He hired me to find irregularities.”
“Maybe.”
“He gave me access.”
“Maybe he wanted to know how much an outsider could uncover.”
My anger rose.
Then Elena said something that killed it.
“Thomas Cole trusted Daniel Morrow.”
“Yes.”
“He trusted Sheldon eventually.”
“Yes.”
“But there is one person your father specifically warned Daniel never to trust.”
She opened a safe.
Removed a letter.
Handed it to me.
Dad's handwriting.
Gemma,
If you're reading this, you're old enough to understand that good people can inherit terrible systems.
Never confuse love with trust.
Never trust a Morrow simply because he seems different from Patrick.
Especially the younger son.
My eyes stopped.
Younger son.
Declan.
The letter had been written when I was fifteen.
Before Declan and I ever met.
I looked up at him.
His face was unreadable.
Then Elena said quietly:
May you like
“Your father believed Declan would eventually become the most dangerous Morrow of them all.”
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