Chapter 7 - The Woman in the Red CoatThey found Garrett forty-eight hours later.
Or rather, Garrett found them.
The package arrived at the Wentworth Grand at 9:13 on Friday morning.
No courier remembered accepting it.
No camera showed anyone delivering it.
It simply appeared on the security desk inside the executive office.
A plain cardboard box.
No postage.
No return address.
Wren was eating breakfast when Marcus entered the suite carrying it inside a transparent evidence bag.
Silas looked up from his coffee.
“What?”
“Addressed to Wren.”
Her fork stopped.
Silas’s expression changed.
“No.”
Wren looked at him.
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“That’s exactly why the answer is no.”
Marcus placed the box on the far end of the table.
“Bomb team cleared it.”
Wren stared at him.
“You have a bomb team?”
Marcus looked confused.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
She looked at Silas.
“Your friends are strange.”
“They’re employees.”
“Even worse.”
Silas did not smile.
Wren approached the package.
Her name had been handwritten across the top.
WREN CALLOWAY.
She knew the handwriting.
Her stomach twisted.
“Garrett.”
Silas stood.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
She had seen those letters on birthday cards, grocery lists, apologies taped to the refrigerator after nights when he hurt her.
I’m sorry.
I love you.
You know I would never really hurt you.
The handwriting had once meant home.
Now it looked like a threat.
Marcus opened the box.
Inside was a phone.
Old model.
Prepaid.
Nothing else.
The screen lit immediately.
One message.
CALL ME.
A number followed.
Silas reached for the phone.
Wren took it first.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“This is mine.”
“Wren—”
“My name is on the box.”
“Which means whoever sent it intended to manipulate you.”
“Garrett sent it.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know his handwriting.”
“That doesn’t mean he wrote it voluntarily.”
She paused.
Silas was right.
She hated that he was right.
“What do we do?”
Marcus answered.
“Trace the number. Monitor the call.”
Silas nodded.
Wren looked between them.
“And I talk.”
“No.”
She stared at Silas.
He sighed.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I’m learning.”
Marcus coughed.
Silas looked at him.
“Something?”
“Nothing.”
Twenty minutes later, Wren sat inside a communications room with headphones over her ears.
Silas stood behind the glass partition.
Marcus sat beside her.
Lena monitored six screens.
“Ready?” Marcus asked.
No.
Wren nodded.
Marcus dialed.
The phone rang twice.
Then someone answered.
Silence.
Wren’s hands turned cold.
“Garrett?”
A breath.
Then:
“Wren.”
Her entire body reacted.
Her heart hammered.
Her shoulders tightened.
Her lungs forgot how to work.
The voice had not changed.
That seemed unfair.
Garrett should have sounded monstrous.
Broken.
Different.
Instead, he sounded like the man who had once proposed to her on a stairwell.
“Where are you?”
Garrett laughed softly.
“So he has you.”
Wren looked through the glass.
Silas’s face became unreadable.
“No one has me.”
“You always did that.”
“Did what?”
“Defended people who didn’t care about you.”
Wren closed her eyes.
Old patterns.
Old bait.
“You sent the phone.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I need help.”
The words almost made her laugh.
Garrett asking her for help.
How many nights had she needed help while he stood over her?
She kept her voice steady.
“What happened?”
“I made a mistake.”
Silas leaned closer to the glass.
Wren said, “What mistake?”
“A woman found me.”
Wren’s eyes met Silas’s.
“The woman you left Tampa with?”
A pause.
“How do you know that?”
“Who is she?”
Garrett breathed heavily.
“She said her name was Evelyn.”
Lena started typing.
“What did she want?”
“At first? Nothing. That’s what I thought.”
Garrett sounded tired.
“I met her at a bar. She knew who I was. Knew about the investigation. Said her brother went through something similar. She listened.”
Wren almost felt sick.
He always needed an audience.
“She told you someone ruined your life.”
“Yes.”
“And you believed her.”
“Someone did ruin my life.”
The old anger entered his voice.
“You know that.”
Wren looked at Silas.
Silas did not look away.
“Keep going,” she said.
Garrett was silent.
Then:
“She knew about Wentworth.”
Silas’s hand tightened against the desk.
“What did she know?”
“That he was involved.”
“How?”
“She showed me things. Emails. Financial records. Calls between people at my company and companies connected to him.”
Wren’s stomach twisted.
“Garrett, where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Then why call me?”
“Because Evelyn isn’t who she said she was.”
“What happened?”
Another pause.
When Garrett spoke again, his voice had changed.
Fear.
Real fear.
“She wanted me to help her.”
“With what?”
“You.”
Wren’s blood went cold.
Silas stepped toward the door.
Marcus raised a hand.
Wait.
Wren forced herself to speak.
“What about me?”
“She asked what scares you. What makes you panic. What Garrett used to do that made you freeze.”
He referred to himself in the third person when nervous.
She remembered that.
“Did you tell her?”
Silence.
“Garrett.”
“I didn’t know what she was going to do.”
Wren closed her eyes.
Of course he told her.
“What else?”
“She wanted details about the hotel. Your shifts. Places you used to hide.”
Silas looked at Lena.
Lena began typing faster.
“The break room?”
“Yes.”
“Service stairwells?”
“Yes.”
“My old apartment?”
“Yes.”
Wren swallowed hard.
“What did she promise you?”
Garrett’s voice sharpened.
“That Wentworth would pay.”
There it was.
Not remorse.
Not concern.
Revenge.
“You wanted that.”
“Yes.”
Wren felt strangely calm.
“Then why are you calling?”
Garrett said nothing.
“Because she turned on you?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“I gave her everything I knew.”
“And then?”
“She asked me to meet someone.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Man or woman?”
“Man.”
“Name?”
“No.”
“What did he look like?”
“Older. Sixties. Gray hair. Expensive clothes. Walked with a cane.”
Silas went still.
Wren saw recognition.
“Silas knows him,” she said.
Garrett became quiet.
Then bitter.
“Of course he does.”
“Where did you meet?”
“A restaurant in Boston.”
Marcus began writing.
“What restaurant?”
“Marcellino’s.”
Silas mouthed something to Marcus.
Wren continued.
“What did he want?”
“He asked me questions about you.”
“What questions?”
“Whether you trusted Wentworth. Whether you were sleeping with him.”
Wren’s face heated.
Silas’s expression did not change.
Marcus looked very carefully at his notes.
“What did you say?”
“That you were probably stupid enough to.”
Something old rose inside Wren.
Not fear.
Anger.
For years she had believed anger was dangerous because Garrett’s anger had always been dangerous.
Therapy had taught her something else.
Anger was information.
Her anger now said enough.
“Why are you calling, Garrett?”
“I told you.”
“No. You told me you’re scared.”
Silence.
“You didn’t call to protect me. You didn’t call because you regret helping these people. You called because whatever game you joined stopped making you feel powerful.”
Garrett breathed sharply.
“You don’t know what I’ve been through.”
Wren almost laughed.
“I know exactly what you’ve been through. You lost a job. You lost money. You lost friends.”
Her voice remained calm.
“You know what you didn’t lose?”
Silence.
“Your teeth because someone hit you. Your ability to sleep because footsteps outside the bedroom made you wonder what version of your spouse was coming home. Your sense of reality because someone spent years convincing you every injury was your fault.”
Garrett’s breathing changed.
“Wren—”
“No.”
The word came easily.
It astonished her.
“You don’t get to make yourself the victim in my story anymore.”
Silas’s eyes stayed on her.
Garrett whispered, “I said I was sorry.”
“You said it hundreds of times.”
“I loved you.”
“No.”
The room went completely still.
Wren realized it was the first time she had ever said the truth aloud.
“You didn’t love me.”
Garrett’s voice hardened.
“You think he does?”
Wren looked at Silas.
His face gave her nothing.
But his hands were clenched.
“This isn’t about Silas.”
“It’s always about him.”
“No. That’s what you can’t understand. My life stopped being about men deciding what I deserved.”
Garrett laughed bitterly.
“You sound different.”
“I am.”
Silence.
Then Garrett whispered, “They’re going to kill me.”
Wren closed her eyes.
There it was.
The real reason.
“What do you want?”
“Protection.”
Silas shook his head.
Marcus watched Wren.
Her choice.
She appreciated that.
“Give us your location.”
“No.”
“Then no one can help you.”
“Promise me first.”
“I can’t.”
“You can ask him.”
“No.”
Garrett became angry.
“You owe me.”
Wren almost smiled.
“No, Garrett.”
Her voice was very soft.
“I don’t.”
She ended the call.
For several seconds, no one moved.
Wren removed the headphones.
Her hands were trembling.
Silas entered.
He stopped several feet away.
“Are you all right?”
Wren laughed.
A real laugh.
Small and stunned.
“Yes.”
Silas looked surprised.
“I think I am.”
She stood.
Her knees felt weak.
“I thought hearing him would destroy me.”
“It didn’t.”
“No.”
She looked at the phone.
“He sounded smaller.”
Silas understood.
“He always was.”
Wren met his eyes.
For once, the words did not feel cruel.
They felt true.
Lena interrupted.
“I have something.”
They gathered around the screen.
She displayed security footage from the Boston restaurant Garrett named.
“Three weeks ago.”
A camera angle showed Garrett entering.
Five minutes later, a woman followed.
Red coat.
Dark hair.
Tall.
Wren leaned closer.
“That must be Evelyn.”
Then the older man entered.
Gray hair.
Cane.
Silas went completely still.
“Who is he?”
Marcus whispered, “Jesus.”
Wren looked between them.
“Who?”
Silas stared at the screen.
“Alistair Wentworth.”
“Family?”
“My father’s older brother.”
Wren frowned.
“Your uncle.”
“Yes.”
“Why is everyone acting like you’ve seen a ghost?”
Silas’s voice was flat.
“Because Alistair Wentworth died twelve years ago.”
Wren stared at the screen.
The man walking into the restaurant looked very much alive.
“Are you sure?”
“I attended his funeral.”
“Body?”
“Closed casket.”
Marcus cursed softly.
Silas looked at him.
“My father insisted.”
“Why?”
Silas’s expression darkened.
“He said the body had been badly burned.”
Wren felt the pieces shifting.
“Your father lied.”
“Possibly.”
“And your uncle has been alive this entire time.”
“Possibly.”
“Why would he fake his death?”
Silas looked at the screen.
“Because twelve years ago, Alistair tried to remove my father from control.”
Marcus added, “Family civil war.”
Wren looked at him.
“How bad?”
Silas answered.
“Fourteen men died.”
The room went silent.
“Your father won.”
“Yes.”
“And Alistair supposedly died.”
“Yes.”
“But if he survived…”
Silas stared at the frozen image.
“He spent twelve years waiting.”
“For what?”
Silas’s eyes moved to the photo of Elias.
“For my father to die.”
Wren understood.
“And then you inherited everything.”
“Yes.”
“You became the obstacle.”
“Yes.”
Lena enlarged the image of the woman in red.
“I’m running facial recognition.”
A result appeared.
Name: Evelyn Cross.
No criminal record.
Former corporate attorney.
Age thirty-eight.
Wren frowned.
“Cross.”
Silas looked at her.
“What?”
She stared at the surname.
“Garrett’s pharmaceutical company.”
Lena understood first.
“Crosswell Distribution.”
Wren nodded.
“Was there an owner named Cross?”
Lena searched.
Her face changed.
“Founder: Harrison Cross. Died eight years ago.”
“Children?”
“One daughter.”
The image appeared.
Evelyn Cross.
Silas leaned back.
“So this isn’t random.”
Wren looked at him.
“What happened to her father?”
Lena pulled financial records.
“Crosswell nearly went bankrupt fourteen years ago. Wentworth Capital acquired a controlling interest.”
“Your father?”
Silas nodded slowly.
“My father stripped the company, separated profitable divisions, sold the remains.”
“And Harrison?”
“Lost everything.”
Lena read quietly.
“Suicide, six years later.”
Silence.
Wren stared at Evelyn’s photograph.
A woman with her own grievance.
An uncle believed dead.
Garrett.
Elias.
Pieces of broken people connected by resentment to the Wentworth family.
“Alistair is building an army out of people your family hurt.”
Silas’s expression hardened.
“Yes.”
Wren looked at him.
“Did your father hurt Evelyn’s family?”
“Yes.”
No excuses.
No hesitation.
“Were you involved?”
“No. I was nineteen.”
“But you inherited what came from it.”
“Yes.”
Wren sat down.
This was larger than revenge.
It was inheritance in another form.
Debt.
Pain.
Consequences passed down through bloodlines.
The Wentworth empire had not only inherited money.
It had inherited enemies.
Marcus’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
Then looked at Silas.
“We traced Garrett.”
“Where?”
“Boston.”
Wren’s stomach tightened.
“Still?”
“Phone hit a tower near the waterfront.”
Silas reached for his coat.
Wren stood.
“Where are you going?”
“To get him.”
“Why?”
“Because he knows Alistair’s operation.”
“He also helped them target me.”
“Yes.”
“You still want to save him?”
Silas looked at her.
“No.”
The answer was cold.
“I want information.”
Wren should have expected that.
Yet something in her resisted.
“Bring him here.”
Silas stared.
“What?”
“If you get him, bring him here.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You don’t need to see him.”
“That’s my decision.”
Silas’s jaw tightened.
Wren added, “And I need him to see me.”
Silence.
Not the frightened woman from Queens.
Not the wife who apologized for being hit.
This woman.
The one standing beside Silas Wentworth without hiding.
“I need him to understand that I survived him.”
Silas’s expression softened.
“He doesn’t deserve that from you.”
“It isn’t for him.”
Wren looked at the phone on the table.
“It’s for me.”
Silas considered her for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
“If we find him.”
“You will.”
A faint expression touched his mouth.
“You sound very confident.”
“I’ve seen what happens when you decide to find someone.”
Silas put on his coat.
At the door, he paused.
“Wren.”
“Yes?”
“You were right.”
“About what?”
“Garrett.”
She waited.
Silas looked directly at her.
“He never loved you.”
The words should have hurt.
Instead, they felt like the final lock on an old door breaking.
Silas continued.
“But that was never because you were difficult to love.”
Wren’s throat tightened.
Before she could answer, he left.
Three hours later, security cameras at Boston Harbor captured a black SUV racing through Gate Seven.
Four minutes after that, gunfire was reported inside an abandoned shipping warehouse.
At 2:21 that afternoon, Marcus called Wren.
“We have Garrett.”
She closed her eyes.
“Is he alive?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“And Silas?”
Another pause.
Wren’s heart stopped.
“Marcus.”
“He’s alive.”
Something in Marcus’s voice turned her blood cold.
May you like
“But?”
“He was shot.”
