Chapter 4 - The Woman in the Red Dress
There are moments when fear doesn't feel like fear.
Sometimes, it feels like anger.
Standing outside my destroyed apartment, staring at a photograph of my sleeping mother, I felt something inside me finally snap.
I called Adriano.
He answered immediately.
"Eliza?"
"They were in my apartment."
"Are you inside?"
"No."
"Don't go in. Give me the address."
I told him.
"Stay somewhere public. Marco is nearby."
"What about my mother?"
"She's being moved to a monitored room. Hospital security has been informed."
I pressed my back against the hallway wall.
"Adriano, somebody photographed her while she was sleeping."
His response came after a brief silence.
"I understand."
"No, you don't. Somebody could have walked right up to her bed!"
"Eliza, listen to me. I'm getting the hospital administration and the police involved. You need to stay safe until Marco arrives."
I ended the call before he heard me crying.
The police searched my apartment that afternoon.
Nothing valuable appeared to have been stolen.
My laptop remained on the kitchen counter.
Forty-three dollars in emergency cash still sat inside an old cookie tin.
Whoever had broken in hadn't come looking for money.
They had been searching for something specific.
The brass key.
I knew it instinctively.
Detective Sofia Ruiz took my statement.
She was a composed woman in her forties, with dark hair pulled into a neat ponytail and the tired eyes of someone who had heard too many lies for one lifetime.
"Miss Brennan, has anyone recently contacted you about your father's disappearance?"
I studied her.
"Why?"
"Because the responding officers found damage concentrated around your family photographs, storage boxes, and paperwork."
I hesitated.
Then I told her about Adriano.
Her pen stopped moving.
"Costello?"
"Yes."
She leaned back.
"How do you know him?"
"I served him champagne."
One eyebrow rose.
"That's an unusual beginning."
"Trust me, the rest gets worse."
I showed her the threatening messages.
She photographed them, recorded the sender's information, and recommended that I avoid returning to the apartment until the investigation progressed.
When she left, I sat on the edge of my ruined sofa.
For the first time in years, I had nowhere that felt safe.
Adriano arranged temporary accommodation at a serviced residence with security.
I nearly refused.
Then I remembered the photograph of my mother.
"One night," I told him.
"As long as you need."
"One night."
He didn't argue.
That evening, I went back to the Belmont Hotel with Mrs. Winters's permission to retrieve the personal belongings I'd left in my staff locker.
The gala decorations were already being dismantled.
White roses drooped in their expensive arrangements.
Chairs stood upside down on tables.
A cleaning attendant was removing candle wax from the VIP section.
It was strange how quickly luxury became ordinary when the guests went home.
I was halfway down the service corridor when I heard a familiar voice.
"She was supposed to be frightened, not invited into his private suite."
I stopped.
Vanessa Harrington.
She stood inside a partially open conference room, speaking into her phone.
Her red gown had been replaced by an elegant cream coat, but I recognized her immediately.
"No, Father. I understand what you said."
Silence.
"Adriano is getting too close to the Brennans."
My hand tightened around my locker key.
Brennan.
She knew my name.
Not because she'd read my employee badge.
She knew about my family.
"I don't care what happened seventeen years ago," Vanessa continued. "I am not losing everything because some waitress decided to become interesting."
My pulse accelerated.
She listened for a moment.
Then her voice dropped.
"Find the key before Costello does."
I backed away.
My shoulder brushed a housekeeping cart.
A small metal bucket rattled.
Vanessa stopped speaking.
"Who's there?"
I turned.
Too late.
She stepped into the corridor and saw me.
For one suspended second, neither of us moved.
Then Vanessa smiled.
It was worse than her anger.
"Well. The champagne girl."
I straightened.
"Miss Harrington."
"What an unfortunate coincidence."
"I was collecting my belongings."
"Of course you were."
She ended her call and slipped the phone into her coat pocket.
"Tell me something, Eliza. What exactly has Adriano promised you?"
"Nothing."
"Money? An apartment? A little attention?"
My cheeks burned.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Men like Adriano don't invite ordinary women into private meetings because they admire their personalities."
She stepped closer.
"You're being used."
I met her eyes.
"Then why are you so concerned?"
Her smile vanished.
I continued before courage deserted me.
"Is it because of my mother?"
Vanessa's expression hardened.
"Your mother should have learned when to keep her mouth shut."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"What did you say?"
She leaned forward.
"Go home, little waitress. Take whatever money Costello offered and forget that you ever heard the name Harrington."
"I can't."
"Everyone has a price."
"Maybe that's what you believe."
For an instant, genuine hatred flashed in her eyes.
Then footsteps sounded behind us.
Adriano.
Marco followed him at a discreet distance.
"Vanessa."
She turned, instantly transforming her expression into a pleasant smile.
"Darling. What a surprise."
His eyes moved from her face to mine.
"Is there a problem?"
"Not at all," Vanessa answered. "I was simply apologizing to your new friend."
Adriano looked at me.
"Eliza?"
I could have lied.
For years, my family had survived by staying silent.
But I was beginning to understand what silence had cost us.
"She knows about the key."
Vanessa went still.
Adriano's expression didn't change.
"What key?" he asked.
I kept my eyes on Vanessa.
"The one her father wants."
Adriano didn't confront her in the corridor.
He simply asked Marco to escort me to the car.
Vanessa laughed nervously.
"Adriano, surely you're not taking a waitress's word over mine."
He looked at her.
"Then you'll have no objection to explaining why you're discussing Nora Brennan."
I didn't hear the rest.
Marco guided me toward the staff exit.
Inside the car, I finally let my shoulders collapse.
Ten minutes later, Adriano joined us.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Vanessa claims you misunderstood a private conversation."
"And you believe her?"
"No."
I looked out the window.
"She said everyone has a price."
Adriano watched me in silence.
"Does she?"
"Not everyone."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because your father had a chance to sell the evidence seventeen years ago."
My breath caught.
"He refused?"
"According to Nora, yes."
A strange feeling settled over me.
Pride.
For a man I'd spent most of my life believing had abandoned me.
At the residence, I found a small package waiting on the kitchen counter.
Inside was a clean white shirt, a new pair of comfortable black shoes, and a handwritten note.
Mrs. Winters mentioned your shoes were hurting you. These are not part of any arrangement. — A.C.
I stared at the note for a long moment.
Then my phone rang.
My mother.
"Eliza?"
"Mom! Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, baby. But I remembered something."
"What?"
"The night your father disappeared, he told me that if anything happened, I should look where we first taught you to count."
I frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"He said you would understand."
I closed my eyes and searched my childhood memories.
Then I remembered.
A narrow Brooklyn bookstore.
A small wooden staircase.
And my father teaching me numbers by counting the brass stars embedded in each step.
My eyes opened.
"Mom... was it Bellamy's Books?"
She began crying.
"Yes, sweetheart."
I looked at the brass key in my hand.
For the first time, I knew where to start looking.
But across the city, inside Conrad Harrington's private study, Vanessa was already delivering the same information to her father.
May you like
And Conrad had only one response.
"Then close that bookstore before morning."
