Chapter 7 - HE WAS NEVER DEAD
I did not scream.
That surprised me.
I simply stared at Nolan's smiling face until something inside me went quiet.
Not numb.
Focused.
"He wants a reaction."
Dante looked at the screen.
"Yes."
"Then he doesn't get one."
I blocked the number.
Sofia looked at me carefully.
"He'll use another."
"Then I'll block that too."
"Eventually he'll escalate."
"I know."
I handed the phone to her.
"Copy the metadata before he can wipe anything."
Dante watched me.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You are bad at that word."
His gaze remained steady.
"You're changing."
I almost laughed.
"I've been out of Nolan's apartment for less than twenty-four hours."
"You were changing before you kissed me."
I looked away.
That sentence stayed with me longer than I wanted.
Back at the safehouse, the news got worse.
My employer placed me on administrative leave.
My building manager changed the apartment locks under police instruction.
Three clients terminated contracts.
A woman I knew from college posted that Nolan had once confided I was "unstable."
That one hurt more than the headlines.
He had planted the story early.
He had prepared witnesses before I knew I was on trial.
"How many people did he tell?"
Sofia sat across from me with a legal pad.
"Enough."
"He has apparently spent at least a year describing you as jealous, volatile, and financially reckless."
I closed my eyes.
I remembered dinners where Nolan made jokes about me forgetting things.
Parties where he teased me for being "dramatic."
Times he told friends I had a temper after he had screamed at me in private.
Everyone laughed because he smiled when he said it.
He had been writing my character reference one joke at a time.
"I want to make a statement."
Sofia shook her head.
"Not yet."
"Why?"
"Because anything you say publicly becomes evidence and gives Nolan a map of what you know."
"So I stay quiet while he calls me a murderer?"
"For tonight."
I stood.
"I'm tired of men telling stories about me while I wait for permission to speak."
Dante entered from the hall.
"Then don't wait."
Sofia turned on him.
"You are not helping."
"She didn't ask us to decide whether she speaks."
He looked at me.
"She asked what it costs if she does."
That stopped me.
"What does it cost?"
Sofia sighed.
"If you speak now, Nolan knows which allegations frighten you most."
"Pike knows which evidence we have."
"Bellini knows how much you remember."
"And every inconsistency becomes tomorrow's headline."
I sat down again.
"Then I wait."
"For a little while."
Dante nodded.
"Waiting is not surrender if you're using the time."
It sounded like something he had learned the hard way.
"What are we using it for?"
He placed a photograph on the table.
A man in a gray coat entering a train station.
"This is Martin Voss."
"Who is he?"
"Former accountant for Anthony Mercer."
"Nolan's father?"
"Yes."
"He disappeared after your father's death."
Sofia leaned closer.
"We thought he was dead."
"He isn't."
Dante tapped the photograph.
"He arrived in Chicago this morning."
"Why now?"
"Because Nolan called him."
My skin prickled.
"Can Voss prove who opened Northline?"
"Maybe."
"Can he prove Nolan knew my father?"
"Almost certainly."
"Then let's talk to him."
Dante's eyes narrowed.
"He won't talk voluntarily."
"You mean you'll threaten him."
"Possibly."
"No."
The word came out before I considered it.
Dante looked at me.
"No?"
"If Voss talks because he's terrified of you, Pike will call it coerced."
Sofia's eyebrows lifted.
"She's right."
Dante looked annoyed that we agreed.
"Then what do you suggest?"
I studied the photograph.
Voss looked older than I expected.
Small.
Nervous.
He carried a canvas grocery bag.
"Where is he staying?"
"A hotel near Union Station."
"Does Nolan know you found him?"
"Not yet."
"Then don't approach him as Moretti."
Dante waited.
"Approach him as me."
Sofia shook her head immediately.
"Absolutely not."
"He worked for Nolan's father."
"He may know my father."
"If I call and say Michael Sullivan's daughter wants to meet, he might come."
Dante's expression hardened.
"Or he might tell Nolan exactly where you are."
"Then choose the place."
"Choose security."
"Choose everything except my words."
He studied me for a long moment.
"You're sure?"
"No."
I was beginning to like that answer.
"Do it anyway."
Before we arranged the meeting, Dante made me walk through every possibility twice.
Not because he wanted obedience.
Because he wanted me to hear myself say what I would do if Voss panicked, if Nolan appeared, if police arrived, or if the room suddenly became unsafe.
The exercise irritated me at first.
Then I realized Nolan had spent years making decisions faster than I could think.
He would create urgency, raise his voice, block a doorway, or tell me I had thirty seconds to prove I loved him.
Panic had been one of his favorite tools.
Dante was doing the opposite.
He was slowing the room down before the room existed.
"If Voss refuses to talk, what do you do?"
"Let him leave."
"If he insults your father?"
"Let him leave."
"If he says something about Nolan that makes you angry?"
I hesitated.
Dante noticed.
"That's the one."
"I know."
"What do you do?"
I forced the answer out.
"I let him finish before I decide whether the anger matters."
Dante nodded.
"Good."
I folded my arms.
"You enjoy this too much."
"I enjoy plans that survive emotion."
"That sounds unhealthy."
"Most useful things about me are."
I almost smiled.
Then he placed a small card on the table.
It listed three exits from the hotel café and one number to call if I became separated from everyone.
"I don't want a guard sitting at my table."
"There won't be one."
"I don't want someone touching me if Voss gets nervous."
"Then nobody touches you unless you ask."
"And if I decide to leave halfway through?"
"We leave."
I stared at him.
The simplicity of the answer hurt in a place I could not explain.
Nolan had made every exit negotiable.
Dante was making it part of the plan.
That was when I agreed.
We arranged the meeting in a crowded hotel café at noon the next day.
Dante's men occupied tables nearby pretending to work on laptops.
Sofia sat at the bar.
Dante was nowhere visible.
That had been my condition.
Voss arrived seven minutes late.
He recognized me immediately.
His face lost color.
"You look like Michael."
My throat tightened.
"Did you know him?"
He sat slowly.
"Enough to know I shouldn't be here."
"Then why did you come?"
"Guilt."
That word again.
It seemed to be the only inheritance my father left men like him.
"Did Nolan know me before he introduced himself?"
Voss looked down.
"Yes."
The answer still hurt.
"How long?"
"Since your father's funeral."
"Was Nolan there?"
"Outside."
"Victor Bellini sent him to see who came and who spoke to you."
I swallowed.
"Why me?"
"Because Michael hid something."
"And they thought he gave it to me."
"Yes."
"Did Nolan start dating me because of it?"
Voss's silence was enough.
"Say it."
He looked at me.
"Yes."
The café noise seemed to fade.
"Was any of it real?"
I hated myself for asking.
Voss looked almost pitying.
"I can't answer that."
"Then answer what you can."
"Who opened Northline in my name?"
"Nolan."
"Can you prove it?"
"I built the identity package."
My body went cold.
"You stole my information."
"Nolan brought it."
"You used it."
"Yes."
I wanted to throw the coffee in his face.
Instead, I kept my hands flat on the table.
"Why are you here now?"
Voss looked around the café.
"Because Nolan called me yesterday."
"He wants new documents."
"A passport."
"A new name."
"And access to an offshore account."
"Where is he going?"
"I don't know."
"When?"
"Soon."
I leaned closer.
"Then help me prove what he did before he leaves."
Voss looked terrified.
"You don't understand Victor Bellini."
"I understand men who need everyone else afraid."
"No."
He shook his head.
"Victor doesn't need fear."
"He needs silence."
A waitress approached our table.
Voss stopped talking.
She set down a small plate we had not ordered.
A folded napkin sat on top.
Then she walked away.
Voss stared at it.
"Don't touch that."
I looked at him.
"Why?"
His face went gray.
"Because that's how they used to send warnings."
Sofia stood at the bar.
One of Dante's men moved toward us.
I opened the napkin anyway.
Inside was a single brass bullet.
No note.
Voss stood so quickly his chair fell backward.
"I'm leaving."
"Wait."
"No."
He backed away.
"I was stupid to come."
"Voss."
Dante stepped from a service corridor.
Voss froze.
"You said Moretti wouldn't be here."
"I said you wouldn't have to talk to him."
Dante stopped several feet away.
"I won't touch you."
Voss laughed nervously.
"That supposed to comfort me?"
"No."
Dante looked at the bullet.
"But whoever sent that knows you met Claire."
"So leaving alone is no longer safer than staying."
Voss looked toward the exits.
Then all the fire alarms in the hotel began to ring.
People stood.
The café filled with movement.
Dante's men closed around us.
"Not a fire."
Dante reached for my arm, then stopped himself before touching me.
"Stay close."
The crowd pushed toward the lobby.
Voss disappeared between two men in business suits.
"Voss!"
I saw him reach the revolving doors.
Then a black sedan pulled to the curb.
The rear door opened.
Nolan stepped out.
Alive.
Smiling.
Voss stopped dead.
Nolan looked through the glass directly at me.
Then he lifted one finger to his lips.
By the time Dante's men reached the sidewalk, the sedan was gone.
So was Voss.
My phone vibrated inside Sofia's bag.
May you like
A new message had arrived from another unknown number.
THANKS FOR FINDING HIM FOR ME.
