Chapter 5
Martin’s message arrived while I was standing beneath the venue’s service awning, watching rain darken the concrete beyond the loading dock.
Private dressing suite. Five minutes.
No greeting, no explanation. Just the instruction and the room number.
I had already agreed to work the donor event because refusing would give him an easy story: Mina Han had become unreliable, emotional, difficult to manage. Martin never needed to accuse someone directly. He only had to place the right concern beside the right name, and people filled in the rest.
I checked the light-colored smartphone in my hand. The copied files were stored remotely, but the original photographs, messages, and recording were still on the phone. I slid it into the inside pocket of my handbag and felt its weight settle against the lining.
Across the street, Eli stood beside a closed flower shop in a black hood and dark sunglasses. He hadn’t asked to come inside. I hadn’t asked him to. That boundary mattered more than I wanted to admit.
I sent him a short message.
Going in. Stay outside.
His reply came almost immediately.
I will.
The dressing suite smelled of hairspray, pressed fabric, and the faint citrus cleaner the venue used on every polished surface. Martin stood near the mirror in a dark suit, one hand resting on the back of a chair. He looked as if he had been waiting for a photographer instead of me.
His eyes traveled over my white dress and burgundy sandals.
“You look very professional,” he said. “Exactly right for tonight.”
“Thank you.”
“And calm. That’s important.”
I closed the door behind me but didn’t lock it. “You asked to see me.”
Martin smiled at my reflection rather than at me. “I wanted to make sure we were aligned before the donors arrive. You’ve had a difficult week. Fatigue can make ordinary events feel more threatening than they are.”
I kept my face still.
“The garage,” he continued. “That was a misunderstanding. You were exhausted, and someone happened to be behind you. Nothing more.”
My fingers tightened around the handbag strap.
“You’ve been under pressure,” he said gently. “I understand that. But the foundation needs discretion. Your contract is coming up for review, and I’d hate for one anxious mistake to affect your future here.”
He let the silence do the threatening.
Then he added, “I’m also happy to provide a strong reference for your apartment. You know how competitive those recommendations can be.”
The room seemed to narrow around the mirror, the chairs, the garment rack holding two evening gowns. My housing recommendation. My contract. Every ordinary part of my life arranged like a row of favors he could withdraw.
Martin extended his hand.
“Give me the phone.”
I looked at him. “Why?”
“To put this behind us. If there’s anything connected to the garage, I can have security review it. We’ll document the misunderstanding and move on.”
The real phone pressed against my ribs inside the bag. I had planned for this possibility the moment I entered the suite.
I reached into the handbag and took out the older device I kept for work emergencies. Its screen was cracked across one corner. It had no service, no active account, and no evidence.
“I brought this one,” I said. “The other phone stopped charging properly.”
Martin accepted it.
He turned it over once, examining the case. “You changed phones?”
“A while ago.”
“That’s odd. I’ve seen you using the newer one all week.”
“My personal phone is unreliable. This is the only spare I had.”
He pressed the power button. The screen stayed black. For a second, neither of us moved.
Then Martin gave a quiet laugh. “You’re very prepared.”
“I’m an events coordinator.”
“Yes.” He set the device on the vanity. “That’s why I value you.”
His thumb brushed the cracked corner. I saw the instant he noticed the model was older than the one I carried every day. His expression didn’t change, but the smile stopped reaching his eyes.
He had accepted the substitute. He had also recognized it as one.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Martin?” a staff member called. “The first donors are coming upstairs.”
“Send them to the reception room,” he answered. Then he looked back at me. “Enjoy the evening, Mina. Keep close to the event floor. I’ll have Claire check in with you periodically so you don’t get overwhelmed.”
Claire was a junior coordinator. She was competent and kind, which made using her as a watcher feel even worse.
I opened the door.
Martin spoke behind me, still in that mild voice. “And Mina?”
I turned.
“Don’t make me regret defending you.”
I didn’t answer. I walked into the hallway with my shoulders level and my breathing measured. At the end of it, the elevator doors opened, and Claire stepped out holding a clipboard.
Her eyes went from me to the dressing suite.
“Martin said I should stay with you tonight,” she said.
“Of course he did.”
She blinked, uncertain whether I was joking.
I moved toward the stairs instead of the elevator. Through the tall window at the landing, I could see the flower shop across the street. Eli’s hooded figure was still there, motionless beneath the awning.
Martin believed I had handed him a decoy. I knew it from the way his fingers had paused over the cracked case.
May you like
I had bought myself time.
But when Claire followed me toward the ballroom, I understood that time now had a witness attached to it.
