Chapter 3 - A Debt That Followed Her Home
The identification belonged to Daniel.
The man carrying it did not.
Norah stared at the photograph until the stranger’s face blurred.
“Where did you get this?”
“Traffic camera,” Enzo said. “Marco’s car was flagged leaving Brooklyn. Passenger used Daniel’s identification two days ago at a private medical clinic.”
Norah looked at Vincent.
“Why?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“My brother could be hurt.”
“Yes.”
“Or dead.”
Vincent didn’t offer false comfort.
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled.
She turned away before anyone could see.
Vincent dismissed the others.
Enzo hesitated, then followed Anthony out.
Norah remained beside the table.
“I hated him.”
Vincent said nothing.
“I spent a year hating Daniel for leaving me with his mess. Every payment, every threat—I hated him a little more.”
She wiped angrily at her cheek.
“What if he didn’t leave?”
Vincent’s voice was quiet.
“Then we find out.”
“We?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked at her.
“Because this began inside my organization.”
That was only part of the answer.
Norah knew it.
Vincent probably did too.
But neither said more.
By morning, the estate had transformed.
Men moved through hallways carrying phones and folders.
Security doubled.
Every food delivery was inspected.
The kitchen became restricted.
Vincent ordered that nobody enter while Norah cooked except Enzo.
Norah objected.
“This is insane.”
“It’s temporary.”
“There are two guards outside the pantry.”
“Three.”
“That does not improve it.”
Vincent sat at the kitchen table eating oatmeal.
Norah pointed her spoon at him.
“You cannot imprison me because somebody followed me.”
“I’m protecting you.”
“It feels remarkably similar from this side.”
Vincent stopped eating.
“You want to leave?”
“Yes.”
He nodded toward the door.
“Then leave.”
Norah blinked.
“No guards will stop you.”
She looked toward the hallway.
Vincent returned to his oatmeal.
“But Marco knows your address. Someone searched your apartment. Someone arranged your employment. And whoever did it knows exactly what you cook for me.”
Norah slowly sat down.
“I hate you.”
“You’ll recover.”
That afternoon, Enzo brought news.
Daniel had been alive three weeks earlier.
A pharmacist in Queens remembered him because Daniel had tried to buy antibiotics without a prescription.
He looked thin.
Frightened.
And he had asked whether the pharmacist knew somewhere a person could disappear.
Norah pressed both hands against her mouth.
Alive.
At least three weeks ago.
The investigation uncovered something else.
Daniel’s gambling debt had originally been $8,700.
Not $50,000.
Norah stared at the paperwork Enzo had obtained from an underground betting ledger.
“I paid twelve.”
“Yes,” Enzo said.
“So I already paid more than he owed.”
“Yes.”
Her anger came slowly.
Then all at once.
She stood so quickly her chair toppled.
“They knew.”
Vincent watched her.
“They knew I had paid it.”
“Yes.”
“And they kept threatening me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“Because eventually you would become useful.”
Norah understood.
Her job at Rossy Property Management.
The transfer to the estate.
The convenient vacancy.
Someone had maneuvered her closer and closer to Vincent.
“But I never did anything for them.”
“Not yet.”
That phrase terrified her.
Not yet.
The answer arrived the next morning.
A package was delivered to the estate gates.
No return address.
Inside was Norah’s missing childhood photograph of herself and Daniel.
And a phone.
The phone rang.
Vincent wanted Enzo to answer.
Norah refused.
“It’s my brother.”
“We don’t know that.”
“If there’s a chance—”
Vincent studied her.
Then nodded.
Enzo activated a recorder.
Norah answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then breathing.
“Norah?”
She nearly dropped the phone.
“Daniel?”
Her brother began crying.
Norah sat down.
“Danny, where are you?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Where are you?”
“I didn’t mean for them to find you.”
“Who?”
“I thought if I disappeared, they’d stop.”
Vincent’s eyes sharpened.
“Daniel, listen to me. Are you hurt?”
“I’m okay.”
“You don’t sound okay.”
A voice in the background said something Norah couldn’t understand.
Daniel became quiet.
Then:
“They want you to do something.”
Vincent stood.
Norah’s hand shook.
“What?”
“You have access to his food.”
The room became absolutely still.
Norah looked at Vincent.
Daniel continued.
“They’ll send you something.”
“No.”
“Norah—”
“No.”
“They said if you don’t—”
His voice broke.
Norah closed her eyes.
“What will they do?”
“They’ll kill me.”
The line went dead.
Nobody moved.
Norah slowly lowered the phone.
Vincent turned away.
That frightened her more than anger would have.
“Vincent.”
He faced the window.
“They used you because you’re the one person whose food I eat.”
“I won’t do it.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to say it like you’re wondering.”
“I’m not wondering.”
He turned.
“I know.”
Norah’s throat tightened.
“Then help him.”
“I will.”
“How?”
Vincent looked at Enzo.
“Trace?”
“Blocked through multiple relays. We got maybe fifteen seconds of usable origin data.”
“Use it.”
Enzo left.
Vincent approached Norah.
“From now on, you don’t answer anything alone.”
“That’s my brother.”
“And they know that.”
“If he calls—”
“You answer. With me beside you.”
Norah wanted to argue.
Instead she whispered, “Okay.”
That evening she cooked chicken and rice.
Vincent sat at the counter.
He ate only a few bites.
Norah noticed.
“You don’t trust it.”
His eyes lifted.
“I trust you.”
“Then eat.”
He tried.
The spoon stopped halfway to his mouth.
His hand began trembling.
Norah understood.
The phone call had reopened the wound.
Food was dangerous again.
The psychological wall Vincent had spent weeks lowering had risen in seconds.
Norah moved around the counter.
She took his bowl.
Vincent’s face hardened.
“What are you doing?”
“Eating.”
She used his spoon.
Took a bite.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
Then put the bowl back.
Vincent stared at her.
“Better?”
“You shouldn’t have to do that.”
“No.”
She pushed the bowl closer.
“But neither should you.”
He picked up the spoon.
One bite.
Then another.
By the fifth, the trembling stopped.
Neither mentioned what had happened.
At midnight, Enzo returned.
“We have a location.”
Norah stood.
“Daniel?”
“Maybe.”
An abandoned warehouse near the river had pinged repeatedly during the call.
Vincent reached for his jacket.
Norah followed.
“No.”
“He’s my brother.”
“You’re staying.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Norah.”
“You said I wasn’t a prisoner.”
Vincent stared at her.
She stared back.
Finally Enzo muttered, “I miss when she cleaned floors.”
Vincent shot him a look.
Twenty minutes later, Norah sat in the back of an armored SUV.
Vincent beside her.
No one spoke.
They stopped two blocks from the warehouse.
Vincent ordered Norah to remain in the vehicle.
This time she agreed.
Minutes passed.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
Then Enzo called.
Vincent answered.
His expression darkened.
“What did you find?”
Norah watched his face.
Vincent ended the call.
“Well?”
He looked at her.
“Daniel was there.”
“Was?”
“He’s gone.”
Norah’s hope collapsed.
Then Vincent continued.
“But he left something behind.”
“What?”
Vincent looked toward the warehouse.
“A message.”
“For me?”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
May you like
“For me.”
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