Chapter 2
Her hand stayed on door. Knuckles pale against dark wood. I heard it before knock came — soft tap, then pause.
I pocketed phone. Screen still warm against palm. Forced calm breathing. Inhale held two counts too long, exhale slow through nose. Watch ticked loud on left wrist. Thomas didn't move near window. Shadow cut him in half, city bokeh blue behind his shoulders.
"Maya?" I said. Voice low, even.
Door handle turned. Locked. She jiggled it once.
"Jonah? You in there?" Her voice muffled through wood. "Why's suite locked?"
I didn't answer right away. Small pause before speaking mattered. Thomas caught my eye, shook head once, sharp. Finger to lips.
I stepped toward door, turned lock with click. Opened it six inches. Hall light spilled across wood paneling.
Maya stood in hallway, champagne dress catching blue from window behind me. Hair pinned up, one strand loose near neck. She held clutch tight, smile thin, eyes searching past me into suite.
"You locked it," she said.
"Needed minute," I said. "Noise downstairs too much."
She frowned slightly. Not full frown, just crease between eyebrows. "You okay? You disappeared after dad's speech."
"Needed air," I said. Lie short, quiet. "Window helps."
She leaned forward, tried to see around me. Thomas had shifted deeper into corner, behind coat rack, ornate jacket blending with dark paneling. Service door three feet from him — narrow panel I'd never noticed before, brass push plate dull.
"Who you talking to?" she asked. "Heard voice."
"No one," I said. "Phone call."
Her eyes dropped to my jacket pocket. Black smartphone outline pressed against fabric. "She must never find out" still sat in recent calls, screen lit minutes ago. I kept hand in pocket, thumb over power button through fabric until screen went dark.
"Fundraiser called," I said. "Donor issue. Handled."
Maya's clutch tightened. Micro-expression flickered — doubt, then smoothed. "At 9:47? During gala?"
"Yeah," I said. "Bad timing."
Silence held. Hallway air cold, ballroom music distant down corridor, bass thumping faint through floor. Her breathing shallow, mine forced steady.
Thomas moved then. Slow, careful steps toward service door. Wood didn't creak under his polished shoes. He reached brass plate, pressed. Hinge sighed soft. City light caught gold cufflink once, then gone. Door opened inch, then closed behind him without sound. Unseen. Maya didn't turn. Her gaze stayed on my face.
"You sure?" she said.
"Yeah," I said. "Go back to table. I'll follow."
She hesitated. Hand lifted like she wanted to touch my jacket lapel, gold embroidery glinting, then dropped. "You pocketed phone fast," she said. Quiet call-out, not accusation.
"Battery low," I said. Another evasion, shorter.
She stared one beat longer. Then nodded, small. "Okay. Donor table waiting. Dad asked where you went."
"I'll be there," I said. "Two minutes."
She stepped back. Heels soft on hallway carpet. Looked once more at window behind me, at empty corner where Thomas had stood, then turned toward ballroom. Dress swayed, light following her down hall until corner swallowed her.
I closed door. Locked again. Turned back to empty suite.
Phone heavy in pocket. Evidence inside — forged transfer confirmation, $400k moved from Maya's program fund to cover father's shortfall, timestamp 9:42pm. I pulled it out, screen black. Thumb hovered over unlock. Could show Maya now, end lie before it hardened. Could leave phone on dresser, let her find it.
May you like
I didn't. Decided to keep phone. Slid it deep into inner jacket pocket, zipped shut. Guilt locked with it. Breathing still restrained, ragged now that no one watched.
Outside window, city bokeh blurred unchanged. Ballroom music thumped below. I stood alone with phone evidence, door locked from inside, waiting before I had to perform normal again.
