Chapter 2 - Emma’s breathing grew shallow.
“He said he was with the insurance office.
He asked whether my mother had a daughter who worked for the Castellanos.”
The room went still.
“Did he give you his name?”
I asked.
“No.
I told him I didn’t discuss my employer with strangers.”
“What happened then?”
“He apologized.
He said he had the wrong family.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Because I thought he was embarrassed.
People make mistakes.”
“Emma.”
She looked at me, and the guilt in her eyes was immediate.
“I saw the blue thread on his coat,” she said.
“It was sewn near the cuff.
And when he reached for his papers, his sleeve pulled back.”
Her fingers tightened around the blanket.
“There was a snake tattoo around his wrist.”
Marco went completely still.
Emma looked at me.
“He wasn’t asking about your house,” she whispered.
“He was asking about me.”
“He wasn’t asking about your house,” Emma whispered.
“He was asking about me.”
For several seconds, no one moved.
The hospital room seemed to shrink around us.
The muted sounds of carts rolling through the corridor, nurses speaking behind closed doors, and distant telephones all faded beneath the weight of her words.
I kept my voice calm.
“Start at the beginning.”
Emma looked toward Lucia.
“I’m not trying to frighten you,” Lucia said gently.
“But we need to understand what happened.”
Emma nodded, though her fingers had begun twisting the corner of the blanket.
“He came to the clinic on Tuesday afternoon,” she said.
“My mother had an appointment with her oncologist.
I was waiting near the reception desk when he approached me.”
“Did he know your name?”
“No.
He asked whether I was Emma Carter.
I said yes, but I didn’t tell him anything else.”
“What did he look like?”
“Mid-forties, maybe.
Brown hair with gray near the temples.
Thin.
He wore a navy coat and carried a leather folder.”
“Was he alone?”
“I think so.
I didn’t see anyone with him.”
“You think?”
Emma lowered her eyes.
“There was a woman sitting near the elevators.
She had a newspaper open, but she wasn’t reading it.
When the man walked away, she followed him outside.”
Marco exchanged a glance with me.
“Could you describe her?” he asked.
Emma shook her head.
“I only saw the side of her face.
Dark hair.
Beige scarf.”
“Did the man show you identification?”
“He showed me a card, but I didn’t take it from him.
It had a logo at the top.
I thought it was an insurance company.”
“Did he say your mother’s name?”
“Yes.”
“Did he mention mine?”
Emma hesitated.
“He asked if I worked for the Castellanos.
I told him I cleaned your house.
Then he asked whether you knew about my family.”
Something cold settled in my stomach.
“What did you say?”
“That you were my employer and nothing more.”
Her words were careful, almost apologetic.
I understood why.
Emma believed every answer she gave might somehow create a problem for someone else.
“What did he say then?”
“He said he had made a mistake.
But before he left, he asked whether my mother had ever worked for your family.”
Lucia’s expression changed.
I looked at her.
She shook her head slowly.
“I don’t know.”
Emma noticed.
“My mother said she never had,” she added.
“But she looked upset when I asked her.”
“Did you ask her why?”
“She said she was tired and didn’t want to discuss it.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
“You were approached by someone asking personal questions about your mother and your employer,” I said.
“That matters.”
Emma’s shoulders drew inward.
“I’m sorry.”
I forced myself to soften my tone.
“I’m not blaming you.
I’m trying to understand what you were dealing with alone.”
Her eyes lifted to mine.
“I’m used to dealing with things alone.”
The quiet resignation in her voice affected me more than anger would have.
Lucia moved closer to the bed.
“You don’t have to do that anymore,” she said.
Emma gave her a doubtful look.
“People say that when they mean they’ll help for a little while.”
“Then I’ll say it differently,” Lucia replied.
“You can decide what help you want.
But you don’t have to hide information to protect us from inconvenience.”
Emma looked between us.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted.
Lucia reached out and rested her hand on the bedrail.
“Neither do we,” she said.
“We’ll learn.”
For the first time, Emma’s expression softened completely.
I stepped toward the window, needing a moment to think.
My instinct was to send people to the clinic, question every employee, and place guards outside Emma’s family’s apartment.
But Detective Bell’s warning remained fresh in my mind.
If I turned concern into control, Emma would only feel more trapped.
I took out my phone and called Bell.
He answered quickly.
“Castellano.”
“Emma remembered an additional detail about the man who approached her at the clinic.”
“Is she willing to speak with me again?”
“She will be.
But I want to give you the information first.”
I described the man, the leather folder, the woman near the elevators, and the question about Emma’s mother.
Bell was silent for a moment.
“Did the man identify himself as an insurance representative?”
“No.
Emma assumed that from the card.”
“Then we’ll request the clinic’s visitor records and security footage.”
“There’s more.
He had a snake tattoo around his wrist.”
Bell exhaled slowly.
“That matches the description from the assault.”
“Which means he may have been watching Emma before last night.”
“Possibly.”
“Can you put an officer at her mother’s apartment?”
“I can arrange a patrol check.
If the family wants continuous protection, they’ll need to request it.”
“I’ll make sure they understand.”
“And Dominic?”
“Yes.”
“Do not send your own people to question the clinic staff.”
“I won’t.”
He paused.
“Thank you.”
The words were unexpected.
“I want the same thing you do,” I said.
“The truth.”
“No,” Bell replied.
“You want the truth and the ability to control what happens after you find it.”
I looked through the glass at Emma.
He wasn’t entirely wrong.
“I’m working on the difference,” I said.
After the call ended, Marco stepped closer.
“I’ve already sent someone to the clinic.”
I turned toward him.
“Not to question anyone,” he added quickly.
“Just to preserve the exterior footage before it’s overwritten.”
“That’s reasonable.”
“We also found something at Bellwether.”
He opened the folder he had brought earlier.
“The warehouse employee, Jared Pike, returned this morning.”
“Where was he?”
“At his sister’s apartment in Queens.”
“Why did he disappear?”
“He said he panicked when he realized the van had been used in the assault.
He didn’t want to be blamed.”
“Did he know the van was taken?”
“He claims he saw a man near the loading bay two days ago.
The man asked whether Bellwether delivered uniforms to private residences.”
“Description?”
“Brown hair, gray at the temples.
Mid-forties.”
Emma’s description.
“What else?”
“Pike says the man showed him a business card from a company called Northstar Claims Consulting.
He assumed the man was checking on a shipment connected to an insurance investigation.”
I glanced at Emma.
She had heard every word.
“The logo on the card,” she said.
“It was a blue star with a circle around it.”
Marco’s eyes narrowed.
“Northstar.”
“Does that company exist?”
I asked.
“Barely,” he said.
“Registered eighteen months ago.
No proper office listed.
Its address belongs to a virtual mailbox service in New Jersey.”
“Who owns it?”
“We’re tracing that now.”
“Trace the woman as well.”
Marco nodded.
Emma pushed herself higher against the pillows and immediately winced.
Lucia adjusted the bed.
“You need to rest,” she said.
“I need to know why someone is asking about my mother.”
Her voice was steadier than before.
I understood the need.
Uncertainty had a way of becoming its own kind of fear.
“We’ll find out,” I told her.
“People always say that.”
“I don’t say things I don’t intend to do.”
“That must be convenient.”
A faint smile touched her mouth, but it disappeared almost at once.
I sat in the chair beside the bed.
“You were right about one thing,” I said.
Emma looked at me.
“You shouldn’t have had to deal with this alone.”
She seemed uncertain how to answer.
“I didn’t tell you because I thought you would make it bigger.”
“I might have.”
“That’s what I mean.”
“I’m not going to pretend I’m easy to live with.”
“I clean your house.
I don’t live with you.”
“Fair distinction.”
Her eyes moved to the evidence sleeve Marco had placed on the table.
“What is the thread?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“I do.”
Everyone turned toward her.
Emma touched the sleeve carefully without picking it up.
“My mother has a sewing box,” she said.
“There’s a spool of thread in it exactly like that.”
Marco straightened.
“Blue thread?”
“It’s darker than the thread in the sleeve, but the shine is the same.
She used to repair work clothes with it.”
“Your mother was a seamstress?”
“Years ago.
Before I was born, I think.
She doesn’t talk about it much.”
“Where did she work?”
I asked.
Emma hesitated.
“She said she worked for a uniform company.”
“Crown & Stitch?”
Her face went pale.
“I don’t know.
Maybe.”
Marco exchanged another glance with me.
“Do you have access to the sewing box?”
I asked.
“It’s at home.”
“I can send someone to retrieve it.”
“No.”
The refusal came quickly.
I waited.
Emma took a breath.
“I want to ask her first.”
“That’s reasonable.”
“I don’t want strangers going through her things.”
“Then you’ll ask her.”
She looked surprised by my answer.
“You’re not going to insist?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it belongs to your family.”
The room became quiet again, but this silence was different.
Less guarded.
Emma looked toward Lucia.
“He’s learning.”
Lucia smiled.
“Slowly.”
Marco cleared his throat.
“There is one concern.”
“What?”
“If the thread on the uniforms came from Crown & Stitch, then someone may have known about the uniforms long before Bellwether took over.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the blue thread may not have been added recently.
It could connect the old supplier to whoever is watching Emma now.”
I thought of the man at the clinic asking whether Emma’s mother had ever worked for my family.
“Find Elias Venn,” I said.
“I want to speak with him personally.”
“He lives in Connecticut,” Marco replied.
“I can arrange a call.”
“Arrange a meeting.”
Emma glanced at me.
“You think my mother knew him?”
“I think we need to ask.”
That afternoon, Lucia drove to Emma’s apartment with one of the nurses.
I stayed behind at the hospital while Marco worked through the clinic records.
Two hours later, Lucia called.
Her voice was subdued.
“Emma’s mother is awake,” she said.
“She wants to speak with you.”
“About the thread?”
“About everything.”
I looked through the room’s glass wall.
Emma was asleep again, her face turned toward the window.
Bruises shadowed one cheek, but the tension in her brow had eased.
“Did she tell you anything?”
“No.
She said it should come from her.”
“I’ll come to the apartment.”
“Dominic—”
“What?”
“She’s frightened.”
“Of me?”
“No.
Of what remembering might change.”
The words stayed with me as I left the hospital.
Emma’s family lived in a narrow brick building in Washington Heights.
The apartment was modest but orderly, with potted herbs lined along the kitchen window and framed photographs filling the hallway.
Emma’s younger brother, Daniel, sat in a wheelchair near the living room.
His dark hair was cropped short, and his hands rested on the wheels.
He watched me enter with cautious curiosity.
“You’re Dominic Castellano.”
“I am.”
“I expected someone older.”
“I’ve been told I look tired.”
Daniel glanced toward Lucia.
“You brought the scary one.”
Lucia laughed softly.
“He’s trying to retire that reputation.”
“Is it working?”
“Not yet.”
The humor eased something in the room.
Daniel looked toward the bedroom.
“Mom wants to talk to him alone.”
May you like
“I can wait,” I said.
He studied me for a moment.
Related Stories
