Chapter 2 - The Snowstorm and the Door He Opened
Clara had expected intimidation.
She had not expected questions.
Adrien sat behind his desk while the silver angel rested between them. He didn't accuse her. He didn't threaten her. He simply asked exactly what had happened, minute by minute.
“What time did you enter the preparation room?”
“Five-oh-two.”
“Who was there?”
“Maria for the first thirty seconds. Then she left.”
“Who had access after that?”
“Anyone with a staff key. But the room was supposed to be locked.”
Adrien nodded.
“And your bag?”
“On a chair in the ballroom.”
“Unattended?”
“For maybe ten minutes.”
“Why?”
“I was moving the donation cards.”
His eyes stayed on her.
“Why did Marco tell everyone not to touch the angel except you?”
“I don't know.”
Adrien leaned back.
Clara studied him.
“You already suspected something.”
“I suspected the evidence was too neat.”
“And now?”
“Now I suspect someone wants me to suspect you.”
She stared.
“That sounds almost like a compliment.”
“It isn't.”
“Then what is it?”
“Caution.”
The door opened.
Luca entered with a tablet.
“We have footage.”
Adrien looked up. “Show me.”
The video started.
At 5:11, Clara crossed the ballroom.
At 5:14, her bag was visible beside a pillar.
At 5:16, Marco approached it.
He did not open the bag.
He simply stood near it.
Then a maid walked past.
Another security officer crossed the frame.
At 5:20, Marco left.
At 5:22, Clara returned.
At 5:31, the angel was reported missing.
Adrien paused the footage.
“Enhance the reflection.”
Luca enlarged the mirrored wall behind Marco.
There was a blurred figure reflected in the glass.
A man.
He wore a black suit.
He had entered the preparation room at 5:08.
Clara leaned forward.
“I've never seen him.”
Adrien shook his head.
“I have.”
“Who?”
“Anthony Rizzo.”
Luca's expression tightened.
“He died three years ago.”
Adrien looked at the screen.
“Apparently not.”
The gala continued around them.
Guests arrived.
Champagne flowed.
Music filled the ballroom.
But Adrien canceled his appearance until the security footage was reviewed.
Clara remained in his study.
At 7:20, Luca returned.
“We can't find Anthony Rizzo in any surveillance after that moment.”
Adrien stood.
“Search the grounds.”
“Already did.”
“What about the old service road?”
“Buried in snow.”
Adrien glanced at the windows.
The storm had intensified.
He turned to Clara.
“You're staying here tonight.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I have an apartment.”
“Do you have transportation?”
“My car is in a garage in Queens.”
“Not tonight.”
“I can call a cab.”
“No.”
Clara folded her arms.
“You can't just decide where I sleep.”
Adrien stepped closer.
“Normally, no.”
His eyes moved toward the windows.
“Tonight, yes.”
The wind slammed snow against the glass.
Clara looked at the storm.
Then at him.
“I'll stay until the roads are safe.”
“That works.”
It was after midnight when the gala finally ended.
The foundation had raised $1.4 million.
Adrien had contributed another $300,000.
Clara stood near the ballroom doors as the last guests left.
Then a young hospital representative approached her.
“Miss Whitmore?”
“Yes?”
“The man in charge of the foundation told me to thank you.”
“Adrien?”
“He said you made the night feel warm.”
Clara smiled.
That sentence would have meant nothing from someone else.
From Adrien, it felt strange.
Personal.
By one in the morning, the mansion was almost silent.
Clara had been given a guest room on the second floor.
She changed into the emergency pajamas Maria had found in storage and lay beneath a mountain of blankets.
But sleep refused to come.
The wind howled.
Branches scratched against the windows.
Then she heard footsteps.
She sat up.
A shadow moved beneath the door.
“Who's there?”
No answer.
The handle shifted.
Clara's breath caught.
She backed away.
Then the door opened.
Adrien stood there.
She nearly screamed.
He raised both hands.
“Sorry.”
“You have got to stop doing that.”
He almost smiled.
“I knocked.”
“I didn't hear you.”
He looked at the window.
“The storm damaged the west wing. A tree hit the exterior power line.”
“So?”
“Your heater stopped working.”
Clara looked at the thermostat.
The display was dark.
“Wonderful.”
“I have another room.”
“Where?”
“Next to my suite. The fireplace is working.”
She stared.
“You're offering me your guest room?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing strange about that?”
“It's a bedroom, Clara. Not a marriage proposal.”
She laughed despite herself.
“Fine.”
She followed him through the dark hallway.
When they reached the room, a fire burned in the stone fireplace.
There was a soft bed, warm lamps and a tray of tea.
Clara stopped.
“This is nicer than my apartment.”
Adrien looked away.
“Most things are.”
She smiled.
For a few moments they stood in silence.
Then Clara noticed the old photograph on the mantel.
A woman stood beside a young Adrien beneath the same Christmas tree.
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
“She looked kind.”
“She was.”
Adrien's voice changed.
Clara pointed to a tiny silver angel visible at the top of the tree.
“That one?”
He nodded.
“My mother believed there should always be one thing in a room that reminded people they were allowed to hope.”
Clara looked at him.
“I understand why you keep it.”
Adrien studied her.
“You understand more than most people.”
“I was poor before I learned how expensive hope can be.”
Something in her answer made him quiet.
“Who told you to take the job here?”
“I took it myself.”
“Why?”
She hesitated.
“My company failed.”
“How?”
“My business partner stole from me.”
Adrien's expression hardened.
“Is he the man who took the money?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
“I can find him.”
Clara looked at him.
“That wasn't an invitation.”
“I know.”
He moved toward the door.
“Get some sleep.”
As he reached the hallway, Clara called his name.
He turned.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For believing me.”
He didn't answer immediately.
Then he said, “I'm not sure I do.”
Her face fell slightly.
“But I trust my instincts,” he added.
He closed the door.
The next morning, Clara woke before sunrise.
The storm had not stopped.
She dressed quickly and walked toward the kitchen.
Halfway there, she heard voices.
Marco.
A second man.
They were arguing quietly.
“You were supposed to wait,” Marco said.
“I didn't know she'd find the angel.”
“You were told to frighten her, not expose me.”
Clara froze.
She backed away.
The floor creaked.
The voices stopped.
Clara ran.
She ducked into the nearest room and locked the door.
Her heart hammered.
The door handle moved.
“Clara?”
It was Adrien.
She opened it.
His face changed when he saw hers.
“What happened?”
“Marco.”
Adrien's eyes hardened.
“What about him?”
“I heard him talking.”
“Who was with him?”
“I don't know.”
Adrien closed the door.
“Tell me everything.”
She did.
When she finished, Adrien was silent.
Then he pulled out his phone.
“Luca.”
“Yes?”
“Find Marco.”
A pause.
“He just left the property.”
Adrien's eyes turned cold.
“Then find him before he reaches the city.”
He hung up.
Clara whispered, “What happens now?”
Adrien looked at her.
“Now we stop pretending this is about a missing ornament.”
He walked to the window.
Outside, snow covered the grounds.
“Someone has been moving against my family for months.”
Clara stepped closer.
“And you think I'm connected.”
“I think you're caught in the middle.”
“Why me?”
Adrien looked at her.
“That is what I intend to find out.”
Then his phone rang again.
It was Luca.
Adrien answered.
His expression changed.
“Say that again.”
Clara watched his face drain of color.
“What happened?”
He ended the call.
“Marco was found unconscious in his car.”
“Dead?”
“No.”
Adrien grabbed his coat.
“He has been shot.”
Clara's hand went to her mouth.
Adrien opened the door.
“Stay here.”
She followed.
“I'm coming.”
“No.”
“I heard the conversation.”
“That is exactly why you're staying behind.”
“Adrien.”
He turned.
Something softened in his eyes.
“For once in your life, Clara, let someone else protect you.”
Then he disappeared into the storm.
May you like
Clara watched him go.
She didn't know it yet, but those words would become the beginning of the most dangerous night of her life.
