Chapter 5 - THE MAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPHS
Grant recognized the handwriting.
Dominic Rourke had sent him letters before. Some demanded money. Others asked for access to records Grant had kept when their businesses were still tied together. Grant had refused every time.
Claire sat across from him in the study while Lily slept on the couch, Atlas at her feet. Police officers searched the grounds outside.
“What records?” Claire asked.
“Payments. Names. Dates.” Grant set the photograph on his desk. “Enough to show what Rourke did.”
“Why do you have them?”
“Because I helped build the business that hid it.”
Claire looked at him for a long moment. “And what did you do with the proof?”
“I kept it.”
“That’s all?”
“I passed copies to investigators. They told me they needed more.”
“And you let my daughter live here while you waited?”
Grant had no defense for that. He looked toward Lily, asleep with one hand buried in Atlas’s fur.
“I didn’t know she’d become a target.”
“You knew someone might come for you.”
“Yes.”
Claire stood. “We’re leaving tonight.”
Grant nodded. “I’ll arrange a safe place with the police.”
“No addresses chosen by your people.”
“Agreed.”
As they spoke, Grant’s phone rang. The number was blocked.
He answered on speaker. A man’s voice filled the room.
“You still have the originals.”
“Dominic.”
“I hear your dog has a friend.”
Claire went cold.
Grant kept his voice steady. “You sent armed men after a child.”
“I sent men to retrieve something you owe me. Your security chief made a mess.”
“Victor works for you.”
“He does now.”
Dominic gave Grant a deadline: midnight. Bring the original records to an abandoned freight office by the river. Come alone.
Grant ended the call. Claire expected him to tell her to stay quiet. Instead, he turned to the detective standing near the door.
“You heard him.”
Detective Mara Ellis nodded. “Every word.”
They had recorded the call. It gave police a lead, though Ellis warned that Rourke might never appear at the freight office himself.
An hour later, Claire packed a bag. She tried to wake Lily without disturbing Atlas. Her daughter opened one eye.
“Are we going home?”
“Yes, honey.”
“Atlas comes too.”
Claire looked at Grant. He looked at the dog.
“Atlas goes where Lily goes,” he said.
They had almost reached the garage when every light in the house went out.
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A second later, Claire’s phone lit up with a message from an unknown number.
It was a photograph of the safe house address the police had just given her.
