Chapter 3
“It has decorative pillows.”
“You survived attempted murder.”
“Barely. Now this.”
Vincent looked at me.
“Your capacity for suffering is inspiring.”
I turned toward him.
“You made a joke.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“You’re medicated.”
I sat in an armchair by the fire.
On the table beside me, I placed Noah’s wooden dog.
Vincent noticed.
He said nothing.
That was why he had lasted eleven years.
At nine that night, Daniel arrived with Chinese food.
At nine fifteen, Vincent discovered a second problem.
Not with security.
Not with Marcus.
With the paperwork from the meeting that had brought me to West Virginia.
He placed a thin folder on the dining table.
“I went through the original travel authorization.”
“I didn’t authorize travel.”
“Exactly.”
Daniel stopped opening a carton of noodles.
Vincent continued.
“The initial request came from Marcus. But the confirmation wasn’t sent through his office.”
“Whose?”
“Yours.”
Silence.
I opened the folder.
A printed email sat on top.
It appeared to be from my private account.
To Marcus.
Confirming the meeting.
Confirming the route.
Confirming I would travel without my regular detail.
I read it twice.
“I never sent this.”
“We know.”
“How?”
“The digital signature doesn’t match.”
Daniel frowned.
“So somebody accessed his email?”
“No,” Vincent said. “More complicated. They duplicated the format and inserted it into the archived correspondence.”
I looked up.
“Why?”
“That’s the question.”
Daniel sat down.
“If Marcus arranged everything, why would he need a fake message from Adrian?”
“He wouldn’t,” I said.
Vincent nodded.
The room changed.
For days, we had treated Marcus as the center of the betrayal.
Now, for the first time, I saw another possibility.
Perhaps Marcus had not acted alone.
Or perhaps we had misunderstood his role completely.
“What else?” I asked.
Vincent opened the folder farther.
“There was supposed to be a land-development proposal attached to the meeting.”
“I never saw one.”
“Neither did I.”
He slid another page toward me.
The proposed project involved several hundred acres outside Hollow Falls.
Timber rights.
Mineral surveys.
Road access.
At first glance, there was nothing unusual.
Then Daniel leaned closer.
“Wait.”
He pointed to a property boundary.
“Mercer Road.”
My eyes moved to the map.
Mercer.
I looked at Vincent.
“Noah?”
“Possibly.”
“Explain.”
Vincent sat across from me.
“The land was originally divided among several families more than seventy years ago. Most parcels changed hands. One didn’t.”
“Which one?”
He pointed.
A narrow strip running along a creek.
Twenty-six acres.
“Owned by Elias Mercer.”
Daniel stared at the map.
“That can’t be coincidence.”
“It may be,” Vincent said.
I looked at him.
He was right.
Coincidences existed.
Men like me simply distrusted them.
“What’s valuable about twenty-six acres?”
“That’s what I’m trying to determine.”
“Does Elias know?”
“I haven’t spoken to him.”
“Good.”
Daniel looked at me.
“You’re not thinking of involving them.”
“No.”
“Adrian.”
“I said no.”
I folded the map.
“They stay out of this.”
Daniel watched me for a moment.
Then nodded.
Something in his face softened.
I pretended not to notice.
The next afternoon, the Mercers came to us.
Not because we summoned them.
Because Goliath stole a chicken.
The dog appeared on the farmhouse porch at two seventeen carrying a frozen grocery-store chicken in his mouth.
Vincent opened the front door.
Goliath walked inside as though he owned the property.
I was sitting at the kitchen table reading financial statements.
The dog dropped the chicken beside my chair.
I stared at him.
He stared at me.
“What is this?”
His tail hit the cabinet.
Vincent folded his arms.
“You apparently have a visitor.”
“How did he get here?”
“Legs.”
I looked at Vincent.
“That humor again.”
“Medication.”
Twenty minutes later, an old pickup pulled into the drive.
Elias stepped out.
Noah stayed in the passenger seat until his grandfather checked that the path was clear, then climbed down wearing a blue winter coat and wool hat.
Goliath ran to the window.
Noah pointed at him.
“There!”
A few minutes later, they were standing in the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” Elias said. “He got out when I brought firewood in.”
Noah looked at the chicken.
“Is that ours?”
“Apparently.”
“I thought Grandma Ruth bought that.”
Elias sighed.
“She did.”
“Grandma?” I asked.
“My sister,” Elias explained. “She lives next door.”
Noah picked up the chicken.
“It’s still frozen.”
“Put it in the bag,” Elias said.
Goliath sat beside me.
I looked at him.
He leaned his entire weight against my leg.
Noah grinned.
“He remembers you.”
“So it seems.”
Elias looked around the kitchen.
“Nice place.”
“Temporary.”
“Most places are.”
I looked at him.
It sounded philosophical.
Perhaps it was not.
Noah noticed the wooden dog on the table.
“You kept it.”
“Of course.”
He smiled.
That simple expression made something in my chest tighten in a way I did not particularly appreciate.
Elias noticed too.
He noticed everything.
“Coffee?” I asked.
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Black.”
Noah received hot chocolate.
Vincent produced marshmallows from somewhere, which raised several questions about what else he had purchased when stocking the house.
We sat at the kitchen table while Goliath occupied most of the floor.
Conversation with normal people was more difficult than negotiations with criminals.
Normal people asked unpredictable things.
Noah asked the worst.
“What do you do for work?”
Elias nearly inhaled his coffee.
I looked at Vincent.
Vincent looked at the ceiling.
Coward again.
“I own businesses.”
“What kind?”
“Several kinds.”
“Like stores?”
“Some.”
“Restaurants?”
“Two.”
“Do you cook?”
“No.”
“Then how do you own a restaurant?”
Elias closed his eyes.
May you like
“Noah, give the man room to breathe.”
“It’s fine.”
