Chapter 3 - The Black Car Across the Street
Selian’s safe place was not what Saraphene expected.
She had imagined a hotel.
Maybe a guarded apartment.
Instead, the SUV left downtown, crossed the river and climbed a private road lined with old oak trees until an enormous stone house appeared behind iron gates.
Calling it a house felt ridiculous.
It was an estate.
Not flashy in the way new wealth often was.
Old limestone.
Tall windows.
Dark slate roof.
Security cameras so discreet she noticed them only because she was now looking for danger everywhere.
The gates opened before the SUV stopped.
Saraphene turned toward Selian.
“You live here?”
“Yes.”
“This is your idea of somewhere inconspicuous?”
“It’s secure.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“I know.”
Adrian hid a smile from the front seat.
Selian noticed.
“Something amusing?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Saraphene almost smiled despite herself.
Almost.
Inside, the estate felt surprisingly human.
Books lined the walls.
A fire burned in the library.
There were photographs on tables rather than museum-quality objects behind glass.
An older woman appeared from a hallway.
She wore a gray cardigan and carried herself with the calm authority of someone who had ignored rich men’s moods for decades.
“Mr. Ashford.”
“Mrs. Vale.”
Her eyes moved to Saraphene.
No surprise.
No judgment.
“You must be freezing, dear.”
Saraphene glanced down at her wet coat.
“A little.”
“Kitchen. Tea.”
Selian opened his mouth.
Mrs. Vale held up one finger.
“You too.”
He closed it.
Saraphene stared.
Mrs. Vale walked away.
“Who is she?”
Selian removed his coat.
“The only person in this house who considers my instructions optional.”
“I like her already.”
“I assumed you would.”
The kitchen was enormous but warm.
Mrs. Vale placed a mug in front of Saraphene and another in front of Selian.
Then she left without asking a single question.
That kindness nearly undid Saraphene.
People had been asking questions about Trent for months.
Why had she dated him?
Why hadn’t she left sooner?
Why had she answered his messages?
Why was she still afraid?
Mrs. Vale only gave her tea.
Selian sat across from her.
The silence between them stretched.
Finally Saraphene put her phone on the table.
The anonymous message remained open.
Do not trust Selian Ashford either.
“Explain.”
Selian read it.
His face revealed nothing.
“Could be Morrison.”
“Could be someone else.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have enough enemies that we need a category system?”
“A few.”
“How comforting.”
Selian leaned back.
“You should know several things before deciding whether to remain here.”
“Remain?”
“The gates are not locked from the inside.”
Saraphene looked toward him.
“You can leave whenever you want. Adrian can take you to a hotel. I can arrange police protection if you prefer. You are not a prisoner.”
She believed him.
And that bothered her because trust had become a dangerous instinct.
“Tell me the several things.”
Selian folded his hands.
“My legitimate businesses include antiquities, private sales, shipping, commercial property and security.”
“And the illegitimate ones?”
A small pause.
“I grew up in a family that solved problems outside conventional systems.”
“That sounds like a polished way of saying crime.”
“It is.”
Saraphene’s fingers tightened around the mug.
“Mafia?”
Selian’s gaze remained steady.
“That’s the word newspapers prefer.”
She almost stood.
He didn’t move to stop her.
“Are you a criminal?”
“I have been.”
“Have been?”
“I have spent the last five years moving every enterprise under my control into legitimate operations.”
“That is not the same answer.”
“No.”
“Have you hurt people?”
Selian’s face changed slightly.
“Yes.”
The answer landed heavily.
Saraphene stared at him.
He could have lied.
Somehow, the truth frightened her less than a lie would have.
“Why tell me?”
“Because someone has already told you not to trust me. Half-truths would make their job easier.”
“You expect me to sleep here after hearing this?”
“No. I expect you to make an informed decision.”
Saraphene stood.
She walked toward the window.
Rain streaked the dark glass.
Beyond it stood the walls and cameras and iron gates.
Trent had a key to none of them.
That mattered.
“You said your brother disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“Was he part of this world?”
“No. Elias hated it.”
A softness touched Selian’s voice.
“He studied architecture. He wanted to restore old neighborhoods. He was better than all of us.”
“What happened?”
“He invested money through Halden Ridge. Not family money. His own. He discovered inconsistencies in several accounts. Two days before he planned to meet federal investigators, he disappeared.”
Saraphene turned.
“And Trent worked there.”
“Yes.”
“Why wasn’t Trent charged?”
“No direct evidence.”
“Do you think he killed Elias?”
Selian’s jaw tightened.
“I think Morrison delivered information to someone who had reason to stop him.”
“That’s a careful answer.”
“It’s the only one I can prove.”
Saraphene remembered Trent’s obsession with secrecy.
His strange phone calls.
The nights he vanished and told her never to ask about work.
At the time he had claimed he was handling investment clients overseas.
Her stomach turned.
“Why was my name in your investigation?”
Selian hesitated.
“Morrison began searching for you after your breakup. At first we assumed it was personal.”
“It was personal.”
“I believe you.”
“Then?”
“Six months ago, he accessed archived Halden Ridge storage.”
Saraphene felt suddenly cold.
“He contacted you the same evening.”
Her mind searched backward.
Six months.
A voicemail.
Trent had been crying.
He said he missed her.
He said he had made mistakes.
He begged to meet.
Saraphene had deleted it.
“You think he wanted something.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
She sat again.
Selian slid a folder across the table.
Inside was a photograph.
Trent leaving a warehouse.
Another man beside him.
Saraphene recognized the second man immediately.
Her hand jerked away.
Selian noticed.
“You know him.”
She nodded.
“His name is Victor Lane.”
Selian became very still.
“How do you know Victor Lane?”
“He came to our apartment twice when Trent and I were together.”
“Did Morrison introduce him?”
“He called him a business partner.”
Selian leaned forward.
“What did they discuss?”
“I don’t know. Trent always made me leave.”
“Think.”
Saraphene closed her eyes.
A kitchen.
Two glasses.
A door half-open.
Trent’s angry voice.
Victor replying quietly.
One phrase surfaced.
“Something about a ledger.”
Selian’s expression sharpened.
“What ledger?”
“I don’t know.”
“What exact words?”
Saraphene concentrated.
“Trent said, ‘The ledger dies with Ashford.’”
Silence filled the kitchen.
Selian stopped breathing.
Saraphene opened her eyes.
“What?”
“When was this?”
“Maybe a year before we broke up.”
“Are you certain he said Ashford?”
“Yes.”
Selian stood.
He crossed toward the counter, then stopped as if forcing himself not to move too quickly.
“Elias kept handwritten records,” he said.
“Records of what?”
“Everything he found at Halden Ridge.”
“You think Trent was talking about your brother’s ledger.”
“Yes.”
Saraphene’s heartbeat accelerated.
“I don’t have it.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“But Trent thinks I do?”
Selian turned.
“That may explain why he never stopped following you.”
Fear changed shape inside Saraphene.
For eight months, she had believed Trent wanted control.
Her attention.
Her return.
Now another possibility appeared.
“What if he hid something with me?”
Selian’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think about anything he gave you before you left. Anything unusual.”
Saraphene’s mind raced through a life she had tried very hard to forget.
Jewelry.
Clothes.
A laptop.
Books.
Then she remembered.
“The music box.”
“What music box?”
“Three weeks before I left him, Trent gave me an antique music box. He said it belonged to his grandmother.”
Selian came closer.
“Where is it?”
“My apartment.”
His expression hardened.
Saraphene reached for her phone.
“There’s another thing.”
“What?”
“Trent hated antiques.”
Selian stared at her.
Then Adrian appeared in the kitchen doorway.
His face was serious.
“Selian.”
“What?”
“We checked the camera system at Winters’s building.”
Saraphene stood.
Adrian looked at her.
“Someone entered her apartment twenty-two minutes ago.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Trent?”
“We can’t confirm.”
Selian was already reaching for his coat.
Saraphene stepped in front of him.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“It’s my apartment.”
“It may be a crime scene.”
“And that music box may be the reason I’ve been followed for eight months.”
Selian’s eyes locked with hers.
For a moment, the old authority returned.
Then he stopped himself.
“You stay in the vehicle unless I say otherwise.”
Saraphene crossed her arms.
“That sounded suspiciously like an order.”
“It was.”
“You said I wasn’t your prisoner.”
“You aren’t.”
“Then try asking.”
Adrian looked away, clearly enjoying this.
Selian exhaled.
“Saraphene, would you please remain in the vehicle until we know the apartment is safe?”
She considered it.
“Yes.”
Selian glanced at Adrian.
“Not one word.”
“I said nothing.”
Twenty-five minutes later, the SUV stopped outside Saraphene’s building.
Police lights painted the brick walls red and blue.
Her apartment door had been forced open.
Drawers emptied.
Furniture overturned.
Mattress cut apart.
Nothing expensive was missing.
Then Saraphene entered her bedroom.
The shelf beside the window was empty.
The antique music box was gone.
On the wall behind it, someone had written four words in black marker.
WHERE IS THE SECOND KEY?
Saraphene stared.
Selian stopped beside her.
“Second key?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“I don’t know what that means.”
Then she remembered the bottom of the music box.
A tiny brass key permanently attached underneath.
At least—
she had always assumed it was decorative.
Saraphene looked at Selian.
“What if the first key was inside the box?”
His expression darkened.
“Then whoever broke in believes you have another.”
“I don’t.”
Selian studied the words on the wall.
Behind them, Adrian opened a closet.
Something fell from the top shelf.
A small wooden frame hit the floor.
Saraphene bent and picked it up.
It was an old photograph.
Not hers.
Not Trent’s.
A young man stood beside a restored brick building, smiling at the camera.
On the back, written in faded blue ink, were two words.
Elias Ashford.
Saraphene’s hands began to shake.
Selian stared at the photograph of his missing brother.
Then at Saraphene.
May you like
And neither of them had an explanation for how it had ended up inside her apartment.
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