Chapter 3
Victor waited until the sliding doors swallowed Mara and Willa before he looked at me.
“You’re going to miss your car,” he said.
I glanced toward the curb. Through the glass, I could see Mara hurrying along the sidewalk with Willa’s hand in hers. She didn’t look back. Button’s worn ear bounced against Willa’s pink sweater.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
Victor’s expression settled into its familiar concern. “We have a signing to prepare for. I thought we could go over the Boston contract on the way to the hotel.”
“You knew my flight?”
“I knew you were coming. It’s my job to stay ahead of the schedule.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
A traveler squeezed past us, dragging a suitcase that rattled over the tile. Victor waited until the noise faded, as if my question deserved privacy.
“Preston, you’re tired,” he said. “You’ve had a strange day. Don’t turn a coincidence into a crisis.”
“You were watching them.”
“I was watching you.” His gaze flicked to the doors. “They happened to be leaving.”
I started toward the exit. Victor stepped into my path—not enough to draw attention, just enough to make me stop.
“Who are Mara and Willa to you?”
“People you should leave alone.”
His answer landed with the quiet weight of a locked door. Outside, Mara glanced back through the glass. The moment she saw us, she pulled Willa close and changed direction toward the far end of the curb. Willa turned her head. The black button eye on her rabbit seemed aimed straight at me.
Then Mara tucked the toy under Willa’s arm and hurried on.
“Did you see that?” I asked.
“I saw a woman putting on a performance.”
“She looked afraid.”
“Some people know how to make fear useful.” Victor’s voice stayed mild, but his eyes had sharpened. “Mara Hartwell has a history of taking advantage of people. If she’s approached you with some story about Claire, don’t let grief make you careless.”
My fingers tightened around the contract folder. “You know what she told me?”
“I know there are women who look for vulnerable men with money and a complicated past.”
“Is that what you think happened?”
“I think you’re about to make an important business decision based on a stranger’s claims.” Victor gave my shoulder a brief, familiar squeeze. “Let me handle her.”
I pulled away.
“No.”
The small smile vanished. “No?”
“You don’t handle her. You don’t contact her. You don’t investigate her. And you don’t decide what I’m allowed to hear.”
“Preston, I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
He looked past me, toward the airport doors. “From people who know how to turn a personal crisis into leverage.”
The words could have been concern. They could have been a warning. After seeing him watch Mara and Willa, I couldn’t mistake either for kindness.
“I’m taking my own car.”
“Of course.” Victor stepped aside. “But don’t let this derail Sunday. That contract matters to the company.”
He didn’t ask whether I was all right. He didn’t ask what Mara had said. He simply walked toward the pickup area, already expecting me to follow.
I watched him go, then called Priya Shah, the company’s outside counsel. She answered over the sound of traffic.
“Preston? I thought you were in the air.”
“I landed. I need to ask you something, and I don’t want Victor in the conversation.”
A pause. “Is this about the Boston agreement?”
“It’s about a personal matter. He knows the people involved, and he’s trying to steer me away from them.”
“Do you have reason to think he’s interfering?”
“I have reason to think he knows more than he’s saying.”
“Then keep your distance from any private conversation with him until we understand what’s happening.” Her tone changed, losing its professional softness. “And don’t share anything you haven’t already shared.”
“I won’t.”
When I ended the call, I saw Victor near the curb, speaking to a driver. He glanced back at me, phone in hand. For the first time since I’d known him, his attention didn’t feel like loyalty. It felt like a hand closing around something.
At the hotel, I tried to read the contract. The pages stayed open beneath my hands, but the words kept blurring into the reflection of Willa’s eyes. A child I had met hours ago had looked at me with a face that belonged partly to someone I’d loved—and partly to me.
My phone buzzed.
Mara Hartwell.
For one foolish second, I thought she might be ready to explain. Instead, her message was brief.
Willa’s birthday is Sunday. She turns five. Do not come near us. Do not contact her. Please respect this.
I read it again.
Sunday.
The signing was Sunday, too.
I set my phone beside the contract folder. Its bent corner had pressed a small white crease into the paper. I had built a life around believing that if I found the right problem, I could solve it by pushing harder.
But this wasn’t a problem I had the right to force open. Willa had a birthday coming. Mara had drawn a boundary. And somewhere between the two, Victor was asking me to trust him.
May you like
I didn’t know which choice would cost more.
I only knew I had until Sunday to make it.
