Chapter 2 - The Doors Ronan Ordered Locked
The photograph showed Carl.
But not the Carl Sadie knew.
This Carl wore an expensive gray suit.
He stood outside a waterfront warehouse beside two men Sadie had seen in the Obsidian Room only minutes earlier.
A date was printed in the corner.
Six months ago.
Sadie's fingers tightened around the photograph.
“What is this?”
Ronan watched her carefully.
“Your husband.”
“I can see that.”
“Do you recognize the building?”
“No.”
“Pier Forty-One.”
Sadie looked again.
Carl had told her he'd spent that week in Ohio looking for construction work.
“He said he was out of state.”
“He wasn't.”
Sadie's stomach twisted.
“What was he doing there?”
Ronan closed the ledger.
“Stealing.”
She stared at him.
“Carl doesn't work for you.”
“He did.”
“No.”
“For eleven months.”
Sadie shook her head.
“He installs flooring.”
“Sometimes.”
The room felt smaller.
Ronan explained only what she needed to know.
Carl had been hired through a subcontractor connected to one of Hayes's legitimate waterfront properties. He had gained access to shipment schedules, vendor records, and internal financial information.
Then information began disappearing.
Competitors started knowing things they shouldn't.
Carl became a suspect.
Sadie stared at the photograph.
“So you've been watching him?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes snapped toward Ronan.
“You've been watching me?”
“Not initially.”
“Initially?”
Ronan paused.
“Three weeks ago, Carl started asking questions about disappearing.”
Sadie's heart began pounding.
“What kind of questions?”
“Cash withdrawals. Bus stations. Cities where someone could rent without extensive paperwork.”
Sadie felt sick.
The envelope.
No.
“He doesn't know.”
Ronan said nothing.
“He can't know.”
Her voice cracked.
“He can't.”
Ronan leaned forward.
“When did you last check the money?”
“This morning.”
“You're certain?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
Sadie hesitated.
Then she realized secrecy had become meaningless.
“Under a floorboard in my closet.”
Ronan looked at Michael.
Michael immediately understood.
“I'll make the call.”
“No!”
Sadie stepped forward.
“Don't send anyone there.”
Ronan's eyes returned to her.
“Why?”
“If Carl sees someone—”
“Carl isn't home.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he's sitting in a bar twelve blocks from here.”
Sadie froze.
Ronan's information frightened her.
But the alternative frightened her more.
“What happens when he goes home?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether he knows about your money.”
Sadie's phone vibrated.
She nearly jumped out of her skin.
The screen displayed:
CARL.
She didn't answer.
It stopped.
Then started again.
Ronan looked at the phone.
“Answer it.”
She shook her head.
“Sadie.”
“No.”
“You don't have to tell him where you are. But if he suspects something, we need to know.”
“We?”
She looked around the room.
“There is no we.”
Ronan's expression remained calm.
“Fair.”
The phone stopped.
A text appeared.
WHERE ARE YOU?
Then another.
YOUR SHIFT ENDS AT 11.
Then:
DON'T BE LATE.
Sadie turned the phone face down.
Ronan had seen enough.
“What happens if you're late?”
“Nothing.”
“Sadie.”
“I said nothing.”
Ronan studied her.
Then he did something she didn't expect.
He stood and walked away.
Not toward her.
Away.
He stopped near the fireplace.
“You don't have to tell me.”
Sadie stared at his back.
“But don't lie to yourself.”
Her eyes burned.
For two years, everyone had told Sadie what she should do.
Leave.
Call the police.
Stay with someone.
Fight back.
As though Carl hadn't spent those same two years isolating her from friends, controlling the bank account, checking mileage on her car, reading her messages, apologizing after every terrible night and becoming charming again just long enough to make her doubt herself.
Leaving wasn't one decision.
It was a thousand dangerous decisions made in secret.
The hidden envelope had been decision number 999.
The bus ticket was supposed to be number 1,000.
She whispered, “He'll come looking.”
Ronan turned.
“Yes.”
“You don't understand.”
“I understand more than you think.”
“Carl doesn't stop.”
“Neither do I.”
Something about the sentence should have frightened her.
Instead, for the first time that day, Sadie took a full breath.
Pain immediately stabbed her ribs.
She winced.
Ronan noticed.
“Doctor.”
“No.”
“You need one.”
“I need my job.”
“You're finished for tonight.”
Panic flashed across her face.
“I can't lose the shift.”
“You won't.”
“I don't take charity.”
“Then don't.”
Ronan took his phone from his pocket.
“What are you doing?”
“Buying dinner.”
She frowned.
He called Thomas.
“Your server is done for the evening. Put the full table gratuity on her check.”
Sadie stared.
Ronan looked at the untouched bottle.
“And charge me for two bottles.”
He ended the call.
“That isn't charity,” he said. “It's an extremely expensive dinner.”
Despite everything, Sadie almost smiled.
Almost.
Michael returned.
His expression erased the moment.
“Boss.”
Ronan turned.
Michael held a phone.
“We've got a problem.”
Sadie's chest tightened.
“What?”
Michael looked at her before looking back at Ronan.
“The apartment was searched.”
Sadie stopped breathing.
“The money?”
“Gone.”
She grabbed the back of a chair.
“No.”
Michael continued.
“Floorboard was pulled up.”
Sadie's knees weakened.
“He knows.”
Ronan moved toward her, then deliberately stopped before entering her space.
“Sadie.”
“He knows.”
She barely heard him.
“He knows I was leaving.”
Her phone vibrated again.
This time it wasn't a call.
It was a photograph.
Sadie's envelope lay open on her kitchen table.
The eighteen hundred dollars had been arranged in neat rows beside it.
Below the photograph was a message from Carl.
WE NEED TO TALK WHEN YOU GET HOME.
Sadie stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
And this one made even Ronan Hayes go still.
May you like
I KNOW WHO YOU'RE SERVING TONIGHT.
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