Chapter 4: A Signature He Had Never Written
Declan reached the east foyer in time to see the tail of Camille's coat disappear through the front door.
He did not follow immediately.
He stood at the window beside the entrance and watched her cross the motor court.
She walked to a black sedan parked just beyond the gate — not one of his vehicles, not a car he recognized.
The driver did not get out.
She opened her own door, slid inside, and the car pulled away without its headlights on.
Declan memorized the plate.
Then he called Ronan.
Ronan Fitch had been Declan's head of internal security for eleven years.
He was not a man who asked unnecessary questions.
"I need a trace on a plate," Declan said.
"Washington state.
I need it in ten minutes."
"Done." A pause.
"You're home early."
"I am."
"Problem at the Moretti sit-down?"
"Different problem." Declan looked at the empty motor court.
"Pull the last six weeks of gate logs.
Every Tuesday.
I want to know who came in, who went out, and what the nurses logged on those days."
A longer pause.
"How deep does this go?"
"I don't know yet.
That's why I'm asking."
"Give me twenty minutes."
Declan ended the call and went to find Tessa.
She was still in the service corridor, sitting on the floor with her back against the shelving and her knees pulled to her chest.
She looked up when he opened the door.
"She's gone," he said.
Tessa closed her eyes.
He sat down across from her on a supply crate.
It was not a thing he would normally do.
She noticed — he saw it in the small shift of her expression.
"Tell me everything," he said.
"From the beginning.
Every Tuesday.
Everything you saw."
Tessa pressed her palms flat on her knees.
"The first time, I thought I imagined it.
She walked past so fast.
I told myself I was tired.
My mother had a bad night and I hadn't slept." She paused.
"The second time, I hid.
I watched from behind the linen cart for almost twenty minutes.
She sat at the desk in the suite and read through papers.
She made a phone call.
She put everything back and got back into the bed and connected the IV herself."
Declan's jaw tightened.
"She reconnected the IV herself."
"Yes.
She knew exactly how.
She didn't hesitate."
"What did she say on the phone call?
The one you heard."
"I only caught pieces.
She said — 'the timeline has moved up.' And she said a name." Tessa looked at him.
"She said Marcus."
The name landed like a stone in still water.
Marcus Vane.
The man Declan had spent two years believing was responsible for the bombing.
The man whose crew Declan had systematically destroyed.
Three of Marcus's men were in the ground.
Two more in federal custody.
Marcus himself had vanished eight months ago — dropped off every radar Declan had access to.
Declan had assumed Marcus was hiding.
"She said Marcus," he repeated.
"More than once." Tessa's voice was careful.
"She didn't sound afraid of him.
She sounded like she was—" She stopped.
"Say it."
"Like she was coordinating with him."
Declan stood up.
He crossed to the far end of the corridor and stood with his back to Tessa for a moment.
His hand pressed flat against the wall.
His phone buzzed.
Ronan.
"Plate comes back to a shell company," Ronan said.
"Registered in Delaware fourteen months ago.
I'm running the ownership chain now but it's layered.
It'll take time." Another pause.
"Declan.
The gate logs."
"What about them."
"Dr.
Aris hasn't physically entered the estate in eleven weeks.
His access card has been logged as present every Tuesday.
But the card reader timestamps don't match the camera footage.
Someone has been spoofing his credentials."
"Who authorized the credential system?"
A silence that lasted exactly one second too long.
"The authorization came from your account," Ronan said.
"Your login.
Your password.
Fourteen months ago."
Declan looked down at the folded transfer document in his jacket pocket.
Fourteen months ago.
May you like
"Ronan," he said quietly.
"Find Marcus Vane."
