Chapter 5: Daniel Moves First
She was in a car by nine-thirty — a black sedan Marcus had arranged without ceremony, a driver who didn't ask questions.
Luca was asleep across the back seat with his head in her lap before they reached the first traffic light, one hand still loosely holding the lapel of her uniform.
She didn't move.
She sat very still and looked out the window at the city sliding past and tried not to think about how right it felt, and how dangerous that rightness was.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She let it ring.
It buzzed again.
Same number.
The third time, she picked up.
"You look good, Emma." Daniel's voice was smooth, unhurried, the voice of someone who considered himself to be in complete control of every room he'd ever entered.
"Little thinner, maybe.
The uniform doesn't suit you."
Her hand tightened on the phone.
In her lap, Luca shifted but didn't wake.
"Don't call me that," she said quietly.
"Which part?
Emma, or the comment about the uniform?
Because I thought the uniform was rather apt, actually.
Given the choices you've made."
"What do you want, Daniel."
"I want to have a conversation," he said pleasantly.
"A reasonable one.
Between two adults who both understand the situation they're in."
"I don't have anything to say to you."
"That's interesting, because I have quite a bit to say to you." A pause.
The sound of a car door closing on his end.
"I watched you go into that room with my brother tonight.
I watched you for almost twenty minutes through the corridor window.
Whatever you showed him — I assume it was something you've been collecting, something you think is going to be useful — I need you to understand something, Claire." He used the name deliberately, like a small show of power.
"Whatever you have, I have more.
And my brother loves me.
He has always loved me.
You're a woman he knew for two years.
I'm his family."
The car slowed for a red light.
"He asked me to call a lawyer," she said.
A brief pause.
Shorter than he wanted it to be.
"Gerald Fitch."
"He told you that quickly."
"Marcus tells me most things." The smoothness in his voice had a hairline fracture in it now.
"That's what happens when you're trusted.
When you've been consistent.
When you haven't vanished for five years and turned up in a catering uniform at a private gala." Another pause.
"Here is what I'm offering you.
One conversation.
Tonight.
Somewhere quiet.
And in exchange, those documents you've collected don't become something I have to respond to in a way that makes your life very complicated."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a practical observation," he said.
"You have a copy.
I know where the originals are, because I know which bank you use — I've known for eight months, Claire, I just chose not to act on it.
I'm offering you the courtesy of a conversation before things become unpleasant."
The light turned green.
Luca murmured something in his sleep.
Her hand moved to his shoulder without thinking, steadying him.
"There's a child in this car," she said.
"I know," Daniel said.
"I know exactly where you are."
The warmth went out of the car completely.
She looked at the driver.
Professional, steady, eyes on the road.
She looked at the street signs passing the window.
She memorized the next two intersections.
"If anything happens to this child," she said, her voice absolutely level, "there are three sealed envelopes already in the hands of three separate people with instructions on when to open them.
One of them is Gerald Fitch." A pause.
"Not Marcus's copy of Gerald Fitch.
My copy.
I made my own call six months ago."
Silence on the line.
"You've been busy," Daniel said finally.
"I've had five years to prepare for this conversation," she replied.
"Have the one you want to have.
But have it through lawyers."
She ended the call.
Her hands were shaking.
She pressed them together in her lap and breathed carefully through her nose — four counts in, four counts out, the way she had taught herself to breathe during the worst of those first months alone.
Luca opened one eye.
"Are we home?"
"Almost," she said.
"You're squeezing too tight."
She loosened her grip on his shoulder immediately.
"Sorry, sweetheart."
He closed the eye again.
"S'okay," he mumbled.
"You can still hold on."
She looked out the window and held on.
She texted Marcus from the driveway of her building.
Four words: *Daniel called.
He knows.*
His response came in under a minute: *Don't open your door to anyone.
I'm calling Fitch now.*
Then, fifteen seconds later, a second message: *Is Luca alright?*
She looked at the boy asleep across her back seat.
His miniature suit jacket was twisted.
His hair was sticking up on one side.
She typed back: *He's perfect.
He's asleep.*
She carried him inside herself, one arm under his knees and one across his back, the way you carry a child who trusts you completely.
He didn't wake up.
He looped one arm around her neck and buried his face in her shoulder.
She didn't put him down until she reached the couch.
And she sat on the edge of it for a long time after, in the dark, with her hand resting lightly on his back, feeling him breathe.
Her phone lit up on the coffee table.
A number she recognized this time — the bank's automated security system.
An alert.
Someone had attempted to access her safety deposit box at 10:47 PM.
The bank was closed.
The attempt had been denied.
But it had been attempted.
She picked up the phone and called Marcus back.
"He moved faster than I expected," she said when he answered.
"So did I," Marcus said.
There was something different in his voice.
Harder.
Resolved.
"Fitch has already filed an emergency preservation order on the original documents.
The bank manager is a personal contact — he's been notified.
Nobody touches that box without your authorization and two forms of ID."
She exhaled.
"Okay."
"Daniel doesn't know that yet," Marcus said.
"He'll find out Monday morning when he walks into my office and I tell him myself."
"Marcus, he said he has more than I do."
"He's been saying that his whole life," Marcus said quietly.
"It's never been true."
She looked at Luca on the couch.
One shoe had fallen off.
"Get some sleep," Marcus said.
"Both of you."
"What about you?"
A pause.
"I've got some files to go through," he said.
"I've been looking at the accounts myself for the last hour.
And Claire —" He said the name naturally this time.
No effort in it.
"I should have looked closer five years ago.
I know that."
She didn't answer right away.
"He's very good at making people trust him," she said finally.
"He learned it from watching me," Marcus said.
"Which makes it my fault."
"It doesn't."
"I'm going to spend some time disagreeing with you about that." A quiet pause.
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight," she said.
She sat in the dark a while longer.
The city outside her window was quiet.
Luca's breathing was slow and even.
Then her phone lit up one more time.
Not a call.
A photograph.
Sent from Daniel's number.
Timestamped two minutes ago.
It was a photo of the front door of her building.
May you like
Taken from across the street.
Tonight.
