Chapter 4 - The Friend in the Hallway
“No.”
Mila said it again.
Stronger.
“No. Claire wasn't involved.”
Luca remained silent.
That irritated her immediately.
“Say something.”
“What would you like me to say?”
“That I'm right.”
“I don't know if you are.”
“She is my friend.”
“I know.”
“She had a reason to be there.”
“Then we'll find it.”
His calm felt unbearable.
Mila pointed at the frozen security image.
“That's not even a clear picture.”
Adrian leaned closer.
“The height matches.”
“Lots of women are that height.”
“The hair matches.”
“Half the building is blonde.”
“The folder—”
“Stop.”
Adrian did.
Mila walked toward the window.
Thirty-eight floors below, traffic moved like tiny streams of light.
Claire had been her friend for four years.
They ate lunch together.
Claire knew Mila's mother's birthday.
Mila knew Claire hated olives, loved terrible reality television, and secretly cried during animal rescue commercials.
People like that didn't suddenly become corporate criminals.
Did they?
Her phone buzzed.
Claire.
Lunch? You disappeared on me yesterday.
Mila stared at the message.
Luca moved beside her.
“Don't answer yet.”
Her anger returned.
“You're telling me who I can text now?”
“I'm asking you not to warn someone who may be involved.”
“She may also be innocent.”
“Yes.”
He said it without argument.
That took some of the heat from her.
“What happens now?”
“Adrian verifies where she was.”
“And if she was there?”
“Then I ask why.”
Mila looked at him.
“And if you don't like her answer?”
Luca's face became very still.
“Then she doesn't work here anymore.”
“That simple?”
“No.”
His tone told her there were layers he wasn't discussing.
But something had changed.
He was at least giving her answers.
For the next two hours, Mila worked from a conference room under the pretense of preparing an executive calendar review.
At noon, Claire entered carrying sandwiches.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“Was that too honest?”
“Probably.”
Claire sat across from her.
Mila studied her friend.
No nervousness.
No suspicious behavior.
Just Claire.
“You left your tote with me Saturday,” Claire said. “I still have your keys, by the way.”
“I know.”
Claire reached into her bag and placed them on the table.
“I would have brought them Sunday, but you said everything was handled.”
Mila touched the keys.
“Did you open my tote?”
Claire blinked.
“What?”
“Saturday.”
“To get your keys?”
“No. Before.”
Claire's expression shifted.
Concern first.
Then hurt.
“Why are you asking me that?”
Mila hated this.
“Just answer.”
“No.”
“Did anyone?”
“Not that I saw.”
“Where was it?”
“Behind my chair most of the night.”
“Most?”
Claire thought.
“When I went to the restroom, maybe five minutes.”
Mila's stomach tightened.
“Who was at the table?”
“Jenna. Paul. Eric from legal.”
Anyone could have touched it.
Or nobody.
Claire leaned forward.
“What is going on?”
Mila looked at her.
She wanted to tell her everything.
Instead she asked, “Were you on the thirty-eighth floor January eighteenth around eight?”
Claire's face drained of color.
That was answer enough.
Mila sat back.
Claire whispered, “Where did you hear that?”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Claire looked toward the glass wall.
“Can we go somewhere else?”
“No.”
“Mila.”
“Tell me.”
Claire pressed her lips together.
Then she opened her handbag and pulled out her phone.
“I wasn't there for Ethan.”
Mila's blood went cold.
“I never said Ethan.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“Damn it.”
“Claire.”
“I was there because I was seeing Daniel.”
“Daniel who?”
“Daniel Reyes. Executive compliance.”
Mila stared.
Daniel was married.
Or had been.
Claire seemed to read her face.
“He was separated. Quietly. It was complicated.”
“Why hide it?”
“Because office relationships become office gossip, and I didn't want that.”
“Why thirty-eight?”
“Daniel was working late on the audit. I brought him food.”
Mila slowly exhaled.
“And Ethan?”
“I saw him.”
Her eyes sharpened.
“What did you see?”
Claire hesitated.
“He came out of the service stairs. He looked angry. Then an older man left Mr. Romano's office.”
“Mercer.”
“I didn't know his name.”
“What happened?”
“Ethan followed him.”
“Why didn't you tell anyone?”
Claire laughed nervously.
“Tell who? ‘Hi, I was secretly visiting the man I was dating when I saw the CFO use a staircase?’ It didn't seem important.”
Mila believed her.
Maybe because she wanted to.
Maybe because the story made sense.
“Did Ethan see you?”
“Yes.”
That mattered.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing then.”
“Then?”
Claire looked down.
“He mentioned it two days later.”
Mila went cold.
“What exactly?”
“He said executive floors were restricted after hours and that Daniel could lose his job if anyone discovered he was bringing visitors upstairs.”
“So he threatened you.”
“He called it advice.”
Mila stood.
“Stay here.”
“Mila—”
“Please.”
She left and went directly to Luca.
He listened without interrupting.
Adrian verified Daniel's employment records and an old building access entry.
Claire's story matched.
Mostly.
At 1:12 p.m., Adrian returned with another detail.
Daniel Reyes had resigned three weeks after January 18.
Abruptly.
Without notice.
Luca frowned.
“Where is he now?”
“Boston.”
“Get him.”
Adrian nodded.
Mila crossed her arms.
“By ‘get him,’ you mean call him, right?”
Adrian smiled.
“Yes.”
Luca looked almost offended.
“What exactly do you think I do?”
“I've worked here three years and still don't know.”
“That was intentional.”
She gave him a look.
He sighed.
“I deserved that.”
Progress again.
By evening, Daniel confirmed Claire's story.
He also added something worse.
Ethan had ordered him to remove several internal audit flags related to subsidiary transfers.
Daniel refused.
A week later, someone accused Daniel of mishandling confidential data.
He resigned before formal proceedings began.
The pattern sharpened.
Ethan.
Access.
False records.
People pushed aside.
But Luca wasn't satisfied.
“Too obvious,” he said.
Mila looked up.
“You think he's not involved?”
“I think he is. I don't think he's alone.”
Adrian agreed.
“Vale doesn't have technical access to authentication cloning.”
“So someone in IT?” Mila asked.
“Or compliance. Or executive systems.”
Luca checked the time.
“Enough.”
Mila frowned.
“Enough what?”
“You've been here twelve hours.”
“So have you.”
“Yes.”
“That argument doesn't work when you're doing the same thing.”
“It works when I sign your paycheck.”
“Barely.”
He stared at her.
Mila stared back.
Adrian walked away.
Coward.
Luca picked up his coat.
“I'm taking you home.”
“No.”
“Mila.”
“We did this already.”
“Yes, and your stubbornness was less charming the first time.”
She blinked.
“Charming?”
Luca went still.
Apparently the word had escaped without permission.
Mila felt heat climb into her face.
“Interesting.”
“Don't.”
“I'm merely observing.”
“You do that too much.”
He took her bag.
“Hey.”
“Come.”
“You can't steal my bag.”
“I can carry it.”
“You're impossible.”
“And yet you texted me.”
That silenced her.
They rode downstairs.
Outside, rain had started again.
Not heavy.
A soft August drizzle.
The Mercedes waited at the curb.
Luca opened the door.
Mila stopped.
“I don't want to go home.”
His expression changed.
“Why?”
“I don't know who touched my bag. Someone has my login information. Someone called me. Maybe my apartment is fine, but I'm going to spend the entire night listening to every sound.”
She hated admitting that.
Luca's voice softened.
“Then don't go.”
She looked at him.
“Where?”
“My place.”
Again.
She should have said no.
Instead, she got in.
That night felt nothing like Saturday.
Mila was sober.
Painfully aware of everything.
The quiet elevator.
Luca loosening his cufflinks.
His apartment smelling faintly of cedar and coffee.
The fact that he owned far too many books for someone who claimed to never have time.
They ordered food.
Ate at the kitchen island.
For an hour, they talked about almost nothing.
Then Mila noticed the piano.
“Do you play?”
“Badly.”
“I don't believe you.”
“My mother taught me.”
It was the first personal fact Luca had volunteered.
Mila waited.
He looked at the instrument.
“She died when I was nineteen.”
“I'm sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“That doesn't make it irrelevant.”
His gaze returned to her.
Something unguarded appeared.
“My father changed after she died.”
“How?”
“He started believing control could prevent loss.”
Mila understood instantly.
“And you inherited that.”
A small, humorless smile.
“Apparently.”
“Did it work?”
“No.”
The single word hung between them.
Luca poured water into two glasses.
“My father trusted the wrong person. It nearly destroyed the company.”
“Is that why you keep everyone at a distance?”
“I don't keep everyone at a distance.”
“You absolutely do.”
“Not everyone.”
The room became very quiet.
Mila looked down at her glass.
“Why me?”
Luca did not pretend not to understand.
“You've asked before.”
“You never answered.”
He leaned against the counter.
“When you started working for me, everyone wanted something.”
“Promotion?”
“Money. Access. Influence. Favors. You wanted a better filing system.”
Mila laughed.
“That system was terrible.”
“It was.”
“You approved the software upgrade.”
“You submitted seventeen pages of justification.”
“It was twelve.”
“Fourteen.”
She smiled.
Luca watched her.
Then his expression became serious.
“You never treated proximity to me like currency.”
Mila's smile faded.
“I was terrified of you.”
“No, you weren't.”
“I was.”
“You were cautious.”
“Difference?”
“Fear makes people perform. You never performed for me.”
The words landed deeper than she wanted.
Mila looked away.
“Saturday night, I was scared.”
“I know.”
“Not of you.”
“I know that too.”
She swallowed.
“I think that's why I texted you.”
Luca said nothing.
The space between them seemed smaller.
Mila felt herself move almost imperceptibly closer.
So did he.
Then his phone rang.
The moment broke.
Luca answered.
Adrian's voice was loud enough for Mila to hear fragments.
Apartment.
Door.
Entry.
Luca's face changed.
“What happened?” Mila asked when he hung up.
He looked at her.
“Someone entered your apartment.”
Her stomach dropped.
“What did they take?”
“Nothing.”
“That makes no sense.”
“They weren't there to steal.”
“Then why?”
Luca held her gaze.
“They left something.”
An hour later Adrian sent a photograph.
A single white envelope lay on Mila's kitchen table.
Her name was written across the front.
Inside was a photocopy of the forged transfer.
And beneath it, four words:
You should have stayed invisible.
For twenty-six years, Mila had believed invisibility kept her safe.
Now someone was threatening her for becoming visible.
May you like
And for the first time, she was done hiding.
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