Chapter 9 - The Second Plate
Norah ran.
Not toward the stairs.
Toward the kitchen.
She had no idea why.
Instinct chose the room where she felt safest.
She slipped through the swinging doors and pressed herself against the wall.
Footsteps entered the hallway.
Slow.
Martin was not rushing.
That frightened her more.
“Norah?”
His voice.
Friendly.
She covered her mouth.
“Is that you?”
Closer.
Norah looked around.
Knives.
Pans.
An exit into the service corridor.
She moved.
The door opened before she reached it.
A hand caught her wrist.
Norah nearly screamed.
Vincent.
He placed one finger against his lips.
She stared.
He pulled her into the pantry and closed the door quietly.
Through the narrow crack, they watched Martin enter.
He looked around.
Waited.
Then left.
Vincent remained still for another thirty seconds.
Norah whispered, “How did you—”
“Security camera.”
“You watch the kitchen at one in the morning?”
“I don’t sleep much.”
“Martin said my name.”
“I heard.”
“He said I’m the problem.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“He’s correct.”
Norah stared.
“That was reassuring.”
Vincent looked at her.
“You’re the reason I recovered.”
She realized what he meant.
“If they need you weak,” she whispered, “they need me gone.”
“Yes.”
Norah’s face lost color.
Vincent stepped closer.
“That will not happen.”
“You cannot promise that.”
“I just did.”
“You’re not God.”
“No.”
His eyes were cold.
“But in this house I have advantages.”
Vincent contacted Enzo.
Within minutes, Martin had been escorted out under the excuse of a security breach.
They did not confront him.
Not yet.
Martin believed he had escaped suspicion.
Vincent wanted it that way.
The next morning, Norah prepared breakfast.
Pancakes.
As promised.
Vincent entered.
She placed a plate in front of him.
He looked down.
“Those are enormous.”
“You requested pancakes.”
“I requested breakfast, not architecture.”
“Eat.”
He did.
But something had changed.
Two guards now remained outside the kitchen.
Another stood near Norah whenever she crossed the house.
She hated it.
“This is ridiculous.”
Vincent poured syrup.
“Agreed.”
“Then remove them.”
“No.”
“I cannot go to the bathroom without somebody knowing.”
“They’re not following you into the bathroom.”
“One waited outside.”
“Professional dedication.”
Norah glared.
Vincent kept eating.
“Stop enjoying this.”
“I’m eating pancakes. Hard not to.”
She folded her arms.
Vincent put down his fork.
“Norah.”
“What?”
“They mentioned removing you.”
“I know.”
“I’m not negotiating security.”
The seriousness in his voice ended the argument.
Norah looked away.
“Fine.”
He resumed eating.
Then gently:
“Thank you.”
She turned.
“For what?”
“Not leaving.”
Norah said nothing.
That afternoon, Enzo found something.
Martin’s company had purchased the bittering agent used in Vincent’s coffee.
The order had been routed through three businesses.
But one employee had made a mistake.
A corporate credit card.
Martin’s.
“Enough to confront him?” Enzo asked.
Vincent looked at the report.
“No.”
“Vincent.”
“I want Mercer.”
“If Mercer is involved.”
“He is.”
“You’re assuming.”
Vincent looked toward him.
“I don’t assume.”
Enzo raised one eyebrow.
“You’ve been assuming Norah is staying here.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
Vincent did not answer.
Enzo smiled.
“That’s what I thought.”
Vincent threw a pen at him.
Enzo ducked.
In the kitchen, Norah was preparing dinner when Liam entered.
“Can we talk?”
She kept slicing potatoes.
“That depends.”
“On?”
“How expensive the conversation becomes.”
He sighed.
“I deserve that.”
“Yes.”
Liam leaned against the counter.
“Vincent paid the debt.”
Norah stopped.
“What?”
“He paid Crane.”
Her face changed.
“When?”
“Today.”
Norah put down the knife.
She marched upstairs.
Vincent was in the study.
The door slammed open.
Enzo looked up.
Then immediately stood.
“I suddenly remembered somewhere else I need to be.”
He disappeared.
Vincent looked at Norah.
“You paid Liam’s debt.”
“Yes.”
“You told Enzo you weren’t going to.”
“That was before it became leverage.”
“You should have asked me.”
“Would you have said yes?”
“No.”
“Then asking would have been inefficient.”
Norah stared in disbelief.
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
“I’ve spent more on watches.”
“That does not help.”
“It was not intended to help.”
She stepped toward his desk.
“I will pay you back.”
“No.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“You don’t have it.”
“Exactly.”
“Norah.”
“No.”
Vincent stood.
They were now facing each other.
“You cannot fix my life because you have money.”
“I didn’t fix your life.”
“You erased fifty thousand dollars.”
“I removed a threat.”
“To me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Silence.
Norah waited.
Vincent had answers for everything.
Not this.
“Why?”
His voice lowered.
“Because I couldn’t eat for six months.”
She frowned.
“You gave me food.”
“That isn’t worth fifty thousand dollars.”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“It’s worth considerably more.”
Norah’s breath caught.
Vincent continued.
“You gave me something I had started believing I would never have again.”
“What?”
“A normal day.”
The anger inside her shifted.
He looked almost embarrassed by the admission.
Vincent Rossy.
The man everyone feared.
Embarrassed by gratitude.
Norah’s expression softened.
“You still should have asked.”
“Yes.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“You’re right.”
“That was suspiciously easy.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
She almost smiled.
Then Vincent said, “You can repay me.”
Norah’s face hardened again.
“How?”
“Make dinner.”
She laughed despite herself.
“That’s manipulation.”
“Yes.”
“At least you admit it.”
That night Norah made two plates.
One for Vincent.
One for herself.
They ate in the kitchen instead of the dining room.
No business.
No ledgers.
No questions about Martin.
For twenty minutes, Vincent Rossy was simply a man eating roast chicken across from a woman who had somehow made him feel safe.
Then his phone rang.
Enzo.
Vincent answered.
His expression changed immediately.
“What happened?”
Norah stopped eating.
Vincent listened.
Then stood.
“I’m coming.”
“What?” Norah asked.
Vincent ended the call.
“Liam is gone.”
Her chair scraped backward.
“What do you mean gone?”
“He left the property.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Security footage shows him walking through the west gate.”
“Why would they let him?”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“Because he wasn’t alone.”
He turned the phone toward her.
A security still showed Liam entering a black sedan.
Beside him stood Martin Vale.
Norah stared.
Her brother had either betrayed them—
or someone had found a way to make him leave willingly.
Then Norah saw what Liam was holding.
A folder.
The same folder containing printed copies of the ledger photographs.
And suddenly Martin was no longer running from the evidence.
May you like
He had it.
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