Chapter 2 - The Secretary Who Was Already Being Watched
The safe house was on the Upper West Side, hidden above a private medical practice.
I didn't ask who owned it.
I didn't want to know.
Vaughn sat across from me in a dark chair while Ronin stood near the window.
The city moved beyond the glass.
Taxis.
Lights.
People going home.
Normal life.
It felt very far away.
"You said I've been watched before I worked for you."
"Yes."
"How long?"
"We're not sure."
"That's not comforting."
"I know."
I folded my arms.
"Why did you hire me?"
Vaughn didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he asked:
"Where were you six years ago?"
I frowned.
"Boston."
"Doing what?"
"College."
"What did you study?"
"Business administration."
"What happened during your final year?"
I stared at him.
"Nothing."
His eyes didn't move.
"You sure?"
"Yes."
He stood.
"Ronin."
Ronin opened a folder.
Inside was a photograph.
A younger version of me.
I stopped breathing.
I was seventeen.
Standing outside a courthouse.
Beside my father.
But I had no memory of the photograph.
My father had died when I was eighteen.
The official story was a heart attack.
I had accepted it.
"What is this?"
"You were photographed by someone investigating your father."
"Why?"
"Because your father disappeared from a financial audit six weeks before he died."
I looked up.
"My father wasn't important."
Vaughn's expression changed.
"Your father was important enough to frighten people."
I stared at the photograph.
"Why don't I remember this?"
"You were drugged."
I froze.
"What?"
"Someone tampered with your medication after a minor car accident."
My heart pounded.
"You knew this."
"Yes."
"And you hired me anyway?"
"I hired you because I was trying to find out who did it."
I stood.
"So I was an investigation."
"In part."
"What else?"
He looked directly at me.
"The moment you walked into my office, I knew you were carrying a secret you didn't remember."
I laughed bitterly.
"That sounds like something from a bad thriller."
"This is not a thriller."
"No?"
"No."
He crossed the room and stopped in front of me.
"This is my life."
His voice dropped.
"And now it's yours."
I looked away.
"I want to go home."
"You can't."
"Then fire me."
"I won't."
"Why?"
"Because I can't protect you if you leave."
"I didn't ask you to protect me."
"I know."
"Then stop."
He stared at me.
"That's one promise I can't make."
Something about the way he said it made my anger soften.
Only slightly.
That night, I slept badly.
I dreamed of a hallway.
A red door.
My father's voice.
A woman crying.
Then a phrase:
Never trust the man who wears the black ring.
I woke at 4:26 a.m.
Vaughn was standing outside the room.
He had heard me.
"What happened?"
"A dream."
"What did you see?"
I told him.
His expression changed.
"The black ring."
"What?"
He looked down at his hand.
A black signet ring sat on his finger.
I stared.
My heartbeat raced.
"You wear one."
"So did my father."
I stepped backward.
"Take it off."
He slowly removed it.
"I don't wear it because of my father."
"Then why?"
"Because it belonged to my mother."
I looked at the ring.
Inside was engraved one word.
Mercy.
I felt something shift in my memory.
Rain.
A hospital.
My mother crying.
A man in a black coat.
A woman handing someone a ring.
I grabbed my head.
Vaughn moved toward me.
"Easy."
"I remember something."
"What?"
"My mother knew your family."
He froze.
"Are you sure?"
"No."
But I was.
Later that morning, Vaughn brought me to his private archives.
Boxes filled the room.
Old shipping records.
Photographs.
Legal documents.
I found my father's name.
Again.
And again.
He had worked for Mercer Maritime twenty years earlier.
Not as an accountant.
As an investigator.
He had discovered someone inside the company was diverting cargo.
Illegal cargo.
Weapons.
Money.
Sensitive technology.
He had planned to expose them.
Then he died.
My father had been investigating Vaughn's father.
I looked at him.
"Did your father kill mine?"
Vaughn's face became cold.
"I don't know."
"You suspect it."
"Yes."
"Then why are you protecting me?"
"Because my father is dead."
"And?"
"Whoever killed him is still alive."
Ronin entered.
"We found the source of the dress."
Vaughn turned.
"Who?"
"The florist."
"And?"
"Fake delivery order."
"Trace the payment."
"Already did."
Ronin placed a file on the desk.
A shell company.
Crown Harbor Holdings.
Owned by a trust.
The trust beneficiary was anonymous.
But one director appeared on multiple documents.
Claudia Mercer.
Vaughn's aunt.
I looked at him.
"Family."
"Always."
He closed the file.
"We're going to visit her."
"Now?"
"Now."
Claudia lived in a mansion overlooking Long Island Sound.
She greeted Vaughn with a smile.
"My nephew."
Then she saw me.
Her smile disappeared.
"So she's the girl."
I felt a chill.
"What girl?"
Claudia looked at Vaughn.
"You brought her into the house."
Vaughn's eyes hardened.
"She works for me."
"No."
Claudia laughed.
"She works for your future."
I frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Claudia looked directly at me.
"Ask your father."
I whispered:
"My father is dead."
She smiled.
"That's what they want you to believe."
Vaughn stepped between us.
"Enough."
Claudia's expression turned serious.
"Then ask him why he hid the ledger."
"What ledger?"
Claudia looked at me.
"The one sewn into your mother's wedding dress."
My skin went cold.
"What?"
She smiled again.
"Now you understand why someone put a recorder in your new dress."
She had never seen me before.
Yet she knew about it.
Vaughn grabbed her wrist.
"Who told you?"
Claudia laughed softly.
"The same person who knows where Elena is."
I stopped breathing.
My mother's name.
Elena.
Claudia knew it.
Vaughn looked at me.
I could see the question in his eyes.
Who is Elena?
I whispered:
"My mother."
Claudia's expression became triumphant.
May you like
"Your mother isn't dead, Laurel."
And suddenly the world I knew collapsed again.
