Chapter 3 - The Woman He Was Supposed to Distrust
By morning, Cersa was moved to one of Declan's private residences.
She objected immediately.
“I have an apartment.”
“You're not going there.”
“I have work.”
“You're not going there either.”
“You don't control my life.”
“No.”
Declan placed a cup of coffee beside her.
“But until we know who followed you, I control who gets through that door.”
Cersa wanted to hate his arrogance.
Instead, annoyingly, part of her felt safe.
Declan spent the morning investigating.
The deeper Remy searched, the worse things became.
Someone had accessed Cersa's personnel records three weeks earlier.
Someone had obtained her home address.
Someone had photographed her entering Declan's office during their first meeting.
Most disturbing of all, someone inside Declan's organization had requested the information.
There was a leak.
That afternoon, Patrick Maher arrived.
He was sixty-two, silver-haired, elegant and warm in the practiced way of men who had spent decades learning how to make people trust them.
He walked directly toward Declan.
“I heard what happened.”
Then he noticed Cersa.
His expression softened.
“My God.”
Cersa watched him carefully.
Patrick seemed genuinely horrified.
Maybe too genuinely.
He asked if she needed anything.
She declined.
Then Patrick turned toward his nephew.
“We need to speak privately.”
Declan didn't move.
“You can speak here.”
Patrick looked toward Cersa.
“It's about her.”
“Then she should hear it.”
Patrick sighed.
He produced a folder.
Inside were financial records.
Bank transfers.
Payments.
All connected to Cersa.
Thousands of dollars had entered an account bearing her name shortly before she discovered the discrepancies.
Cersa stared at the pages.
“That isn't my account.”
Patrick gave her a sympathetic look.
“Of course you'd say that.”
Declan's expression became unreadable.
Cersa looked at him.
And for the first time since entering his office the previous night, she felt truly frightened.
Not because Patrick accused her.
Because Declan might believe him.
“Declan.”
He looked at her.
“I didn't take that money.”
Patrick stepped forward.
“She's manipulating you.”
Cersa's voice cracked.
“I brought you the evidence.”
“Evidence she manufactured.”
Declan remained silent.
Cersa's heart sank.
She pushed herself upright despite the pain.
“Fine.”
She reached for her coat.
Declan blocked her path.
“Move.”
“No.”
“You believe him.”
“I didn't say that.”
“You didn't have to.”
Declan stared at her for several seconds.
Then he turned toward Patrick.
“When did you get these records?”
Patrick paused.
“This morning.”
“From whom?”
“My accountant.”
“Which accountant?”
Another pause.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
But Declan saw it.
So did Cersa.
Declan smiled.
There was no warmth in it.
“Interesting.”
Patrick's face hardened.
Declan picked up one of the bank statements.
“The account was opened six months ago.”
“Yes.”
“Cersa didn't meet me until two weeks ago.”
Patrick said nothing.
Declan continued.
“So whoever created this evidence knew six months ago that someday I would hire an engineer named Cersa Van.”
Patrick's eyes changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Cersa felt the entire room shift.
Declan stepped closer to his uncle.
“You didn't come here to warn me about her.”
Patrick's friendly expression disappeared.
“You came here to find out whether she survived.”
And suddenly—
Patrick smiled.
Not kindly.
Not nervously.
Almost proudly.
May you like
“You always were smarter than your father.”
Then the lights went out.
