Chapter 6 - THE NINETEENTH FLOOR
Adrian’s relief disappeared.
My father looked at the attorney.
“Find out who controls the subsidiary.”
She stepped aside and began making calls.
I held the brass key tightly.
“Why would a hotel archive have a key with my name attached?”
“It doesn’t,” Adrian said. “Someone planted it.”
“Who?”
He looked at my father.
The accusation was obvious.
My father gave a cold smile.
“If I wanted to plant evidence, Adrian, I wouldn’t choose something that required my daughter to be assaulted before she found it.”
Adrian looked away.
Vanessa remained on the staircase.
“You told me the nineteenth floor was private storage,” she said.
“It is.”
“For what?”
“Old company records.”
“Then why were we there last month?”
My stomach turned.
“What were you doing there?”
Vanessa descended one step.
Adrian pointed toward the stairs.
“Go upstairs.”
“No.”
It was the first time she openly refused him.
“You promised there was nothing illegal.”
He lowered his voice.
“Vanessa.”
She stared at him.
“You made me sign visitor logs under Elena’s name.”
The room seemed to contract around us.
My father’s attorney stopped talking on the phone.
I gripped the chair for balance.
“You used my name?”
Vanessa’s arrogance finally cracked.
“I thought it was about the divorce.”
“What did you remove from the archive?”
Her eyes filled with panic.
“Boxes.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
Adrian charged toward her.
The security officer stepped into his path.
Adrian stopped only inches away.
“Do not answer another question.”
Vanessa’s face changed.
She was not looking at a lover anymore.
She was looking at the man who might let her take the blame.
My father spoke to her.
“Where are the boxes?”
“I don’t know.”
“You carried them out.”
“Adrian’s driver took them.”
“Which driver?”
“Marcus.”
I knew Marcus.
He had driven Adrian for four years.
Quiet.
Reliable.
Always polite to me.
He had resigned two weeks earlier without saying goodbye.
My phone vibrated.
An unknown number had sent a message.
DON’T TRUST THE KEY. THEY KNOW YOU HAVE IT.
Beneath the message was a photograph.
It showed Marcus standing beside a black vehicle in the Halcyon parking garage.
The date was from the night Vanessa claimed they had moved the boxes.
Behind him, reflected in the car window, stood another person.
A woman.
Her face was obscured by glare.
But I recognized the coat.
It belonged to my father’s attorney, Claire Sutton.
I looked up.
Claire was still speaking quietly near the fireplace.
My father noticed my expression.
“What is it?”
I turned the screen toward him.
Claire ended her call.
Her gaze fell on the photograph.
For half a second, she looked afraid.
Then she said, “That image is not what you think.”
My father stood.
“What do we think it is?”
Claire glanced toward Adrian.
May you like
He stared back at her.
They did not look like strangers.
