Chapter 7 - The Photograph Before We Met
I stared at the photograph until the edges of the screen blurred.
Adrian was younger in it.
His hair was longer.
His suit was cheaper.
But the smile was unmistakable.
He was standing beside a tall man with silver at his temples and one hand resting casually on Adrian's shoulder.
Victor Dane.
The timestamp on the image was 6:42 p.m.
I met Adrian at 7:18.
Thirty-six minutes later.
"Mara," Dad said, "give me the phone."
I handed it to him.
He studied the image.
His expression became so cold that Margaret stepped closer.
"That's Victor?"
"Yes."
"Recent image manipulation?"
"We'll verify it."
I looked at the address beneath the message.
A self-storage facility twenty-two miles outside the city.
"Whoever sent this wants me there alone."
Dad gave me a look.
"You are not going."
"I didn't say I was going alone."
"You are in a hospital bed."
"And someone just sent proof that my husband knew your former partner before he pretended to meet me by accident."
"Which is exactly why you are not walking into an unknown location."
"Dad."
"No."
I knew that tone.
It had ended arguments when I was sixteen.
I was not sixteen anymore.
"Then send Isaac."
Dad considered it.
Margaret shook her head.
"Law enforcement first."
"If we involve them immediately, whoever sent it may disappear."
"Good," Margaret said.
"Disappearing is preferable to shooting you."
"I am not asking to go."
"Your face says otherwise."
I leaned back.
"Fine."
Dad looked suspicious.
"Fine?"
"Send whoever you want."
"That was too easy."
"I'm injured, not stupid."
He did not look fully convinced.
The photograph was forwarded to Detective Ortiz and a federal financial crimes liaison who had already been notified about the shell companies.
Within forty minutes, the storage company confirmed that Unit 418 had been rented under a false name.
The rent had been prepaid for one year in cash.
There were no useful exterior camera recordings because someone had disabled the recorder two nights earlier.
That fact made everyone even less interested in letting me near the place.
At noon, I was discharged.
My father wanted me in one of his hotels.
I refused.
He wanted me at his penthouse.
I refused that too.
Finally, we compromised on a Hartwell-owned guest residence with private security and enough distance from the estate that I could breathe without remembering the chandelier.
Before I left the hospital, Adrian sent another message.
I KNOW YOU THINK YOU UNDERSTAND.
YOU DON'T.
CALL ME BEFORE YOUR FATHER GETS YOU KILLED.
I showed it to Margaret.
She photographed it and forwarded it to the detective.
"He has an extraordinary instinct for making himself look worse."
"He always thought confidence was the same as credibility."
My phone vibrated again.
THIS IS BIGGER THAN VANESSA.
Then another.
VICTOR WILL COME FOR YOU TOO.
I stared at the words.
Adrian had just confirmed he knew Victor.
Margaret saw it.
"Save that one twice."
"Already did."
By two-thirty, Isaac called from the storage facility.
Dad put him on speaker.
"Unit is secure."
"Anything inside?" Dad asked.
"No person."
"Evidence?"
Isaac paused.
"A lot."
My skin prickled.
"What kind?"
"Photographs."
"Of what?"
"You."
The room went quiet.
"How many?"
"Hundreds."
I could hear paper moving on his end.
"Some are public event photographs."
He paused.
"Some are not."
"Meaning?"
"Pictures taken outside your apartment before you met Adrian."
Dad stood so quickly his chair struck the wall.
"How far back?"
"At least eight years."
My mouth went dry.
"Anything else?"
"Copies of your college transcript."
I closed my eyes.
"Tax records."
My father's expression darkened.
"Medical insurance forms."
Margaret swore under her breath.
"And a binder labeled behavioral profile."
I opened my eyes.
"Behavioral profile?"
Isaac's voice softened.
"Mara, I don't think you should hear the details over the phone."
"Read me the first page."
"Your father won't like that."
"My father is standing beside me."
Dad looked furious, but he nodded.
Isaac turned a page.
"Subject avoids status signaling."
Another line.
"Subject responds positively to intellectual curiosity and controlled vulnerability."
My stomach twisted.
Another.
"Subject resists aggressive courtship and displays protective response toward individuals perceived as underestimated."
I knew what that meant.
Adrian's entire early personality had been built for me.
The awkward jokes.
The stories about growing up without money.
The confession that wealthy people made him uncomfortable.
The way he pretended to hate expensive restaurants.
The man I fell in love with had been a script.
"Keep going," I whispered.
Isaac hesitated.
"Preferred approach candidate: A.V."
No one spoke.
I gripped the edge of the table.
"Date?"
"Nine months before the Easton gala."
I stood despite Margaret telling me not to.
Pain ran through my body.
I barely noticed.
"Adrian was selected nine months before he met me."
Dad's face looked carved from stone.
"Apparently."
"By Victor?"
"We don't know yet."
Isaac spoke again.
"There's more."
"What?"
"A second candidate file."
I frowned.
"Who?"
He did not answer immediately.
"Isaac."
"Vanessa Crowe."
A cold sensation traveled through my chest.
"Dated when?"
"Six years ago."
One year after Adrian and I met.
"What does hers say?"
Isaac turned another page.
Then he read a sentence that made the entire room silent.
"Candidate suitable for replacement phase if marriage destabilization becomes necessary."
I sat down.
Vanessa had told the truth.
At least about that.
She had not simply wandered into my marriage.
Someone had positioned her there.
My phone rang.
Adrian.
I stared at the screen.
Dad shook his head.
I answered anyway.
"What?"
For once, Adrian did not begin with an apology or accusation.
He whispered one sentence.
"Did they send you the storage unit?"
My blood went cold.
"How do you know about it?"
Silence.
May you like
"Adrian."
"Because I helped fill it."
