Chapter 4 - THE MAN OUTSIDE MY WINDOW
—
I did not scream.
I did not move.
I stared at the photograph until my eyes began to burn.
Lily's bedroom window faced the alley behind our building.
We lived on the third floor.
Anyone taking that picture would have needed access to the fire escape or the roof of the building next door.
My first instinct was to run to Lily.
My second was to turn off every light.
I did both.
Then I called 911.
My voice sounded strangely steady as I gave the dispatcher my address.
"Someone photographed my daughter through her bedroom window."
The dispatcher asked whether the person was still outside.
"I don't know."
"Do not go near the window."
"I won't."
"Is the door locked?"
"Yes."
"Stay on the line with me."
I crouched beside Lily's bed.
She slept on her side with one hand tucked beneath her cheek.
The stuffed rabbit Giovanni had never seen lay beneath her chin.
I wanted to pick her up and run.
Instead, I stayed still because the dispatcher told me police were three minutes away.
My phone buzzed again.
Another message from Tyler's new number.
ANSWER ME.
I did not.
Then another.
WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT OUR DAUGHTER.
Our daughter.
He had not used those words in years.
My anger became sharper than my fear.
I took screenshots.
I forwarded everything to myself and to Evelyn Shaw, Giovanni's attorney.
Then I heard a sound in the hallway outside the apartment.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Heavy.
They stopped directly outside my door.
I stopped breathing.
The dispatcher heard the silence in my voice.
"Jessica?"
"Someone is outside."
"Do not approach the door."
The footsteps moved again.
Then came a knock.
Three quiet taps.
I grabbed the lamp from Lily's nightstand even though I knew it would be useless against anyone determined to come through the door.
"Ms. Hale?"
A man's voice.
"My name is Marco."
I recognized the name from nothing.
Then he added the only sentence that kept me from throwing the lamp.
"Mr. Fierro sent me."
I closed my eyes.
"How did he know?"
"The sedan following you saw someone on the rear fire escape."
The dispatcher told me to stay where I was until police arrived.
I obeyed.
Ninety seconds later, red and blue light flashed across the ceiling.
Only then did I open the apartment door.
A broad-shouldered man in a dark overcoat stood in the hallway with both hands visible.
Two police officers came up the stairs behind him.
"Jessica Hale?"
"Yes."
Within minutes, the building was awake.
Officers checked the alley.
They found muddy prints on the fire escape.
They found a disposable coffee cup on the roof next door.
They found no photographer.
Marco remained in the hallway until I finally asked him to leave.
He handed me a business card.
It contained only his first name and a number.
"Mr. Fierro said to call if you need anything."
"I need people to stop watching my apartment."
Marco's expression was unreadable.
"Tonight, that includes the people protecting it."
I looked at the card.
"That's not as comforting as you think."
"It wasn't meant to be."
The exact phrase Giovanni had used on the dance floor.
I almost laughed from exhaustion.
By four in the morning, Lily and I were in a hotel suite under Sophia's married name.
I had lost the argument with myself.
Sophia brought clothes, Lily's rabbit, and my work bag.
Nathan brought coffee and said almost nothing.
I appreciated him more for that than he knew.
When Lily woke at six, she thought the hotel was an adventure.
"Do they have pancakes?"
"Probably."
"Do they have a pool?"
"Probably."
"Can I live here?"
"Absolutely not."
She grinned.
Children can survive storms adults cannot see because sometimes they are lucky enough not to know a storm has started.
At eight-thirty, Sophia took Lily downstairs for breakfast with Nathan.
I showered, changed into the only clean outfit she had grabbed from my closet, and looked at myself in the mirror.
Navy slacks.
Cream blouse.
Tired eyes.
No makeup.
I looked like a nurse preparing to explain bad test results.
Maybe that was appropriate.
At eight-fifty, Giovanni arrived.
He was alone.
No tuxedo this time.
Dark suit.
Open collar.
The scar on his chin more visible in daylight.
He stopped inside the doorway and looked at me for a long moment.
"Are you all right?"
"No."
He nodded as if he respected the answer.
"Good."
I frowned.
"Good?"
"People who say they're fine after a night like that usually make bad decisions before lunch."
"I might make one anyway."
"Then make it awake."
He handed me a coffee.
It was exactly the way I drank it.
I stared at the cup.
"How do you know?"
"Sophia told me."
"You asked my sister how I take coffee?"
"I was not going to investigate it."
Against my will, I laughed.
The sound surprised both of us.
Then I remembered why he was there.
I put the coffee down.
"Did your people find who took the photograph?"
"Not yet."
"Was it Tyler?"
"The number that sent it is registered to a prepaid phone purchased yesterday morning."
"That wasn't my question."
"I don't know."
"Do you think it was him?"
Giovanni's jaw tightened.
"I think Tyler wants you frightened."
"Why?"
"Because frightened people accept bad deals."
I crossed my arms.
"You keep talking like everything is a negotiation."
"In my family, most things are."
"Including marriage?"
"Especially marriage."
That brought us back to the ballroom.
"You still owe me an explanation."
"Several."
"Start with your father having me photographed."
Giovanni looked toward the window.
"My father believes weakness is a form of debt."
"What does that mean?"
"It means he catalogues anything that can influence me."
"And I'm supposed to be one of those things?"
"Apparently."
"Why?"
His gaze returned to mine.
"Because I asked about you."
There was no elegant answer to that.
"After the foundation call."
"Yes."
"Once."
"More than once."
I stared at him.
"How many times?"
"Enough for my father to notice."
"That sounds creepy when you say it out loud."
"It sounded worse in my head."
"Why were you asking about me?"
For the first time since I had met him, Giovanni looked uncertain.
It humanized him in a way the expensive suit never could.
"My younger sister was a pediatric resident."
I waited.
"Her name was Elena."
His voice changed when he said it.
"She died six years ago."
"I'm sorry."
"She was thirty-one."
He looked at the floor for a moment.
"Car accident."
I said nothing.
"After she died, my mother created the Fierro Children's Fund in her name."
"The foundation that helped Evan."
"Yes."
"What does that have to do with me?"
"Elena used to tell me that hospitals reveal character faster than churches or courtrooms."
A faint smile touched his mouth.
"She said people can perform goodness when they're comfortable, but exhaustion strips the performance away."
I thought about night shifts.
Parents sleeping in plastic chairs.
Nurses crying in supply closets and returning to work thirty seconds later.
"She was right."
"I know."
Giovanni looked at me.
"When Evan's mother described you, I remembered Elena."
My throat tightened unexpectedly.
"So you asked my name."
"Yes."
"And your father decided I mattered because you remembered your sister."
"My father decided you mattered because I asked twice."
"That's insane."
"Yes."
At least we agreed on that.
A knock sounded at the suite door.
Giovanni checked his watch.
"That will be Evelyn."
"Why is your lawyer here?"
"Because my father moved the meeting."
"Where?"
"Here."
I stared at him.
"Absolutely not."
Another knock.
Giovanni opened the door.
Evelyn Shaw entered carrying a leather portfolio.
Behind her came an older woman with silver-blond hair and a charcoal dress that probably cost more than my car payment.
I recognized her from photographs online.
Lucia Fierro.
Giovanni's mother.
She walked into the suite as if she owned the building.
Maybe her family did.
Her gaze swept over me.
Unlike her husband, she did not look at my shoes.
She looked directly into my eyes.
"So," she said.
"You're Jessica."
I stood.
"And you're the woman whose husband photographs children."
Evelyn closed her eyes briefly.
Giovanni almost smiled.
Lucia did neither.
"Good," she said.
"At least you have teeth."
She sat on the sofa without invitation.
"You'll need them."
"For what?"
She placed a sealed folder on the coffee table.
My name was printed across the front again.
I felt sick at the sight of it.
"Before we discuss my son humiliating half of Chicago by inventing a marriage at someone else's wedding, you need to know why Tyler Mercer suddenly wants custody of your daughter."
I did not sit.
"Tell me."
Lucia opened the folder.
Inside were financial statements.
I recognized Tyler's name.
Then I recognized mine.
My stomach turned.
"What is this?"
Evelyn answered.
"A commercial loan application filed eighteen months ago."
I picked up the first page.
The borrower was Mercer Development Group.
Tyler's company.
The guarantors were Tyler Mercer and Jessica Hale.
My hand began to shake.
"I never signed this."
"We know," Evelyn said.
I flipped to the signature page.
There it was.
Jessica Hale.
A convincing imitation of my signature.
Beside it was an asset schedule.
My nursing income.
My retirement account.
My car.
Then a line I did not understand.
Beneficial interest in Hale Family Trust: estimated value $4.6 million.
I stared at the number.
"What trust?"
Lucia leaned back.
"That is what Tyler is trying to get close to."
"I don't have a trust."
"You do."
"No, I don't."
"Your grandfather created it twenty-six years ago."
The room went silent.
My grandfather had died when I was twelve.
My parents had always said he left little beyond the family house.
Lucia continued.
"The trust releases principal when the youngest named beneficiary reaches age thirty."
I was twenty-nine.
My birthday was in six months.
My knees weakened.
"Who are the beneficiaries?"
Evelyn slid another page toward me.
I saw three names.
Sophia Hale Bennett.
Jessica Hale.
And beneath mine, in a later amendment filed five years earlier, one more name.
Lily Grace Hale.
I could barely breathe.
"Five years ago?"
Evelyn nodded.
"Two weeks after Lily was born."
I looked at Giovanni.
"Tyler left before she was born."
"Yes," he said.
The truth arranged itself with terrible clarity.
Tyler had not returned because he missed Lily.
He had returned because somebody had told him Lily was worth money.
My mother had known about the trust.
Uncle Robert had known.
Maybe Vanessa had known too.
And eighteen months earlier, someone had forged my signature to use that hidden inheritance as collateral.
I looked at Lucia.
"How much did Tyler borrow?"
She did not blink.
"Three million dollars."
My hand tightened around the paper.
"And how much does he still owe?"
Giovanni answered this time.
"Three million eight hundred forty thousand, including penalties."
I stared at him.
"To whom?"
Nobody spoke.
That silence told me before the words did.
Giovanni's face became unreadable.
May you like
"Fierro Capital."
And suddenly I understood why the richest man in the room had known my name before he asked me to dance.
