Chapter 2 - THE NAME SHE BURIED
Clara sat on the bedroom floor until her knees went numb.
Seven years earlier, the police had called her brother’s death an accident.
Daniel Hughes, twenty-six, accountant. Missing after a late-night boat trip. Presumed drowned.
No body.
No witnesses.
Nothing worth reopening, according to the detective who had stopped returning her calls.
Clara had spent two years tracing Daniel’s last employer through companies that existed mostly on paper.
One name kept appearing.
Costello.
She had applied for an administrative job at Arthur’s shipping company with a polished résumé and a stomach full of anger.
She intended to stay six months.
Instead, five years disappeared.
At first, she collected anything that might explain Daniel’s death. Later, she began believing Arthur’s uncle Victor had been responsible. Victor had run the waterfront when Daniel vanished.
Arthur had seemed different.
That was the excuse she had fed herself.
Her phone buzzed again.
OLD FERRY TERMINAL. MIDNIGHT. COME ALONE.
Clara typed: Who is this?
The answer came immediately.
ASK YOURSELF WHY DANIEL’S WATCH WAS RETURNED DRY.
Her hand tightened around the phone.
She had never told anyone about the watch.
Not Arthur.
Not the police.
Only the woman who had handed her Daniel’s effects.
Clara called the number.
It went straight to voicemail.
She stood, tucked the photograph inside her jacket, and picked up the passports.
Different names. Different escape plans.
She had bought them during her first year working for Arthur, when fear still came easier than loyalty.
Tonight, she left them in the bag.
At the apartment door, she removed her company phone and access card.
She placed both on the kitchen counter.
Then she used her private phone to call an attorney whose number she had kept for six years.
“Naomi Price.”
“It’s Clara Hughes.”
Silence.
Then, “Are you safe?”
“For the moment.”
“Did you finally leave him?”
Clara closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Come to my office.”
“I need to check something first.”
“That sentence gets people killed.”
“I know.”
“Then send me where you’re going. If you don’t call in thirty minutes, I start making noise.”
Clara sent the address.
As she stepped into the elevator, another message arrived.
A short video.
Daniel sat in a metal chair, alive and terrified.
A man stood just beyond the camera.
“Tell us where the copy is.”
Clara knew that voice.
May you like
Julian Cross.
Arthur’s most trusted adviser.
