Chapter 6: What the Note Knew
Renee didn't push her in the plaza.
She waited until they were in the car, doors closed, engine off, the noise of the courtyard muffled behind the windows.
"Show me."
Destiny took the note from her pocket and handed it over.
Renee read it.
Read it again.
Her face didn't change the way most people's faces change — no gasp, no wide eyes.
Her jaw tightened, and she set the note flat on her knee, and she stared through the windshield at the parking structure across the street.
"Someone left this on a table," Destiny said.
"A man in a suit.
He was watching me the whole time, Mom.
Not the woman.
Me.
Like he already knew who I was."
"Did you see his face clearly?"
"Yes."
"Would you recognize him again?"
"Yes."
Renee picked up the note again.
Read the line one more time.
*You don't know what you just walked into.
Don't talk to the police more than you have to.
I'll find you.*
"This isn't about a phone," Renee said.
"I know."
"This was never about a phone."
Destiny turned in her seat.
"Mom.
What is Harwell Financial Group?"
Renee was quiet for a moment.
"It's an investment firm.
Private wealth management.
Very old money, very connected." She paused.
"Why?"
"Because I've seen that building.
On Clement Street.
I pass it on the bus every morning." Destiny hesitated.
"Dad used to work near there.
Before."
Renee went very still.
"Before he died," Destiny said quietly.
"He worked two blocks from that building."
"Destiny—"
"Is that a coincidence?"
Renee didn't answer right away.
She folded the note precisely along its original crease and held it in both hands.
"Your father worked in financial compliance," she said finally.
"He flagged irregularities in client accounts.
He reported them internally.
And then six months later he had a heart att\*ck at forty-one years old with no history of heart disease."
The car was very quiet.
"You never told me that part," Destiny said.
"You were thirteen."
"I'm sixteen now."
Renee looked at her daughter.
Something in her expression shifted — not breaking, but opening.
Like a door she had kept shut for three years finally coming off its hinges.
"I know," she said.
"I know you are."
She started the engine.
"We're not going home yet.
There's someone I need to call first.
Someone your father trusted." She pulled out of the parking space.
"And Destiny — don't tell anyone about that note.
Not the officers.
Not your friends.
No one."
"Who are you calling?"
Renee's hands were steady on the wheel.
"The woman who helped me file the original complaint about your father's case.
May you like
The one that went nowhere." She merged onto the street.
"Maybe this time we give her something she can actually use."
