Chapter 2 - The Man Beside the Fourth Pillar
The service corridor behind the ballroom smelled nothing like the gala.
No perfume.
No champagne.
No expensive flowers.
Only industrial cleaner, coffee, warm linen, and the faint metallic scent of the freight elevator.
Mara moved quickly but did not run.
Running announced fear.
Fear attracted attention.
She passed two servers carrying trays and a banquet captain arguing into a headset.
Neither looked twice at her.
People saw what they expected to see.
An elegant woman leaving the ballroom probably needed a restroom.
A bride disappeared from her own wedding reception and strangers assumed she was fixing her makeup.
Mara had built half her career around that truth.
She reached the first intersection.
Left led toward the kitchen.
Right toward the service elevators.
Straight toward storage and the orchestra access corridor.
She stopped.
Listened.
A door clicked softly somewhere ahead.
Mara went straight.
Behind her came footsteps.
Heavy.
Controlled.
She did not turn.
“Your definition of staying put needs work,” she said.
Dante’s voice answered.
“I’ve never been gifted with obedience.”
“That must shock everyone who meets you.”
“It explains many disappointed teachers.”
She looked over her shoulder.
He had removed nothing from his formal appearance, yet somehow the ballroom version of him had disappeared.
His shoulders were tighter.
Eyes sharper.
One hand remained near the front of his jacket.
Not reaching for anything.
Just prepared.
“Where is Finn?” she asked.
“Working.”
“Meaning?”
“You’re the consultant. Consult.”
Mara resumed walking.
“You don’t trust people easily.”
“Neither do you.”
“I’m not the one with an entourage.”
“Finn is one man.”
“One very armed-looking man.”
“You didn’t see a weapon.”
“I saw how his jacket hangs.”
Dante glanced at her.
“You notice too much.”
“That’s usually the complaint.”
They reached the orchestra access door.
Mara tested it.
Unlocked.
Inside, musicians’ instrument cases lined one wall.
Several coats hung on a portable rack.
At the far end was another door leading backstage.
Mara crouched beside the floor.
Dante watched.
“What?”
“Wax.”
“Excuse me?”
She touched a faint scrape near the lower hinge.
“Fresh.”
Dante crouched beside her.
A tiny line marked the polished floor.
“Someone moved something heavy?”
“Or forced the door with a flat tool and tried not to damage the lock.”
“That’s specific.”
“Because it’s obvious.”
“To you.”
“Yes.”
Dante gave her a sideways look.
“That must be exhausting.”
“You’re still here.”
“So apparently I enjoy being exhausted.”
Mara rose.
Dante followed.
Behind the door, the stage manager’s voice echoed from somewhere nearby.
The gala presentation was beginning.
Mara walked along a narrow hallway until she reached a utility room.
Its lock had been damaged.
Not broken.
Manipulated.
She pushed the door open.
Inside were electrical panels, stacked folding chairs, and several black equipment cases.
One case sat apart from the others.
Mara stopped.
Dante noticed.
“That doesn’t belong?”
“Different manufacturer.”
She examined the label.
No venue inventory sticker.
No event production marking.
No rental barcode.
Dante moved closer.
“Open it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I enjoy continuing to have fingers.”
His expression sharpened.
“You think it’s explosive?”
“I think opening unknown cases is a terrible hobby.”
Dante touched his earpiece.
“Finn.”
Static.
Nothing.
“Finn.”
Still nothing.
Mara looked at him.
“Lost signal?”
“Apparently.”
“That’s not good.”
“I had gathered.”
She examined the equipment case without touching it.
One narrow cable ran from the back and disappeared behind the utility panel.
Mara followed it visually.
“Signal equipment.”
“For what?”
“Could be audio interception.”
“Or?”
“Network access.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
The Halcyon Grand was hosting more than six hundred donors.
Financial executives.
Judges.
Developers.
Politicians.
Corporate attorneys.
Founders.
People whose phones contained more information than some intelligence agencies could legally collect.
“Someone is harvesting data?”
“Maybe.”
“From everyone?”
“Maybe.”
He stared at her.
“You use that word often.”
“It keeps people alive when facts are incomplete.”
Dante touched the earpiece again.
“Finn, respond.”
Nothing.
Then footsteps sounded outside.
Mara raised one finger.
Silence.
The footsteps slowed.
Stopped outside the room.
Dante shifted slightly in front of Mara.
She noticed.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Do that.”
“Do what?”
“Stand in front of me.”
“It’s called instinct.”
“It’s called obstructing my view.”
The door moved.
Dante’s posture changed.
The handle lowered.
Then a waiter entered carrying a crate of wine.
He froze.
Dante stared at him.
Mara stared at the wine.
The waiter looked terrified.
“Sorry, sir. I was told to bring this here.”
“By whom?” Mara asked.
The waiter swallowed.
“Banquet manager.”
“What’s his name?”
“I—I don’t know. I’m agency staff.”
Mara approached the crate.
“Put it down.”
He did.
She checked the bottles.
Real labels.
Factory seals.
Nothing suspicious.
Probably.
The waiter backed away.
“Can I go?”
“Yes,” Mara said.
Dante said nothing.
The man left almost at a sprint.
“You frighten catering staff,” Mara said.
“Occupational hazard.”
“Try smiling.”
“I was smiling.”
“No. You were showing him your teeth.”
A faint sound came through Dante’s earpiece.
Then Finn’s voice.
Broken.
“—nte. East—hear me?”
Dante touched the receiver.
“Finn. Repeat.”
Static.
“East stairwell. Found—”
The signal cut.
Dante swore under his breath.
Mara moved toward the door.
“East stairwell.”
“I heard him.”
They crossed the corridor quickly.
At the stairwell entrance, Dante stopped.
The door was propped open with a folded napkin.
Mara pointed.
“That wasn’t accidental.”
Dante pushed through.
The stairwell was empty.
Three flights below, a door slammed.
Mara leaned over the railing.
Footsteps descended.
Fast.
Dante started down.
Mara followed.
“Wait.”
“No.”
“You don’t know who that is.”
“That argument didn’t stop you.”
“It sounded better when I said it.”
They descended two floors.
On the landing below, Dante stopped suddenly.
A man lay against the wall.
Gray tuxedo.
The man from the fourth pillar.
Alive.
Barely conscious.
No obvious blood.
No visible injury.
His eyes fluttered.
Mara crouched.
“Can you hear me?”
The man tried to speak.
Dante scanned the stairs.
“Finn?”
No answer.
Mara checked the man’s pulse.
Fast.
“What happened?”
His lips moved.
She leaned closer.
“Say it again.”
He whispered one word.
“Cavalari.”
Dante’s expression changed.
“What about Cavalari?”
The man’s hand trembled toward his jacket.
Dante intercepted it.
Inside the breast pocket was an envelope.
Dante removed it.
His name was handwritten across the front.
DANTE CAVALARI.
Mara stood.
“Don’t open it here.”
“You really have rules about envelopes too?”
“I have rules about everything.”
He turned the envelope over.
Unsealed.
Inside was a photograph.
Dante pulled it out.
For the first time that evening, his face lost its control completely.
Mara saw recognition.
Then disbelief.
The photograph showed Dante standing beside a younger man outside a warehouse.
It was old.
At least fifteen years.
On the back, three words had been written:
ASK ABOUT LUCA.
Mara looked at him.
“Who’s Luca?”
Dante did not answer.
His attention stayed fixed on the photograph.
The unconscious man murmured again.
This time Mara understood.
“He said they know.”
Dante slowly looked up.
“Know what?”
Before the man could answer, the lights in the stairwell went out.
May you like
And somewhere above them, Finn shouted Dante’s name.
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