Chapter 101
Lena's POV
"Following another lead." I wrapped both hands around my coffee cup, absorbing its warmth. "Marcus's old apartment. If he left anything behind..."
"Lena." Emily's voice dropped. "You can't go there alone. What if—"
"What if what? He's in Switzerland. And I'm not some damsel who needs protecting." The words came out sharper than I'd intended. I softened them with a tired smile. "I'll be fine. It's just an old building."
Emily didn't look convinced, but she knew me well enough to recognize a closed argument. "Fine. But you carry pepper spray and you text me every hour. Deal?"
"Deal."
We finished our coffee in companionable silence. As we stood to leave, Emily touched my arm.
"I heard something," she said carefully. "About Rowan."
My chest tightened. "I don't want to know."
"He's been..." She hesitated. "Acting strange. Colin told me he's barely sleeping, snapping at everyone in meetings. And he shut down three different clients who wanted to discuss business over dinners. Just... refused to socialize at all."
I kept my expression neutral even as something twisted in my gut. "That's not my problem anymore."
"Isn't it, though?" Emily's eyes were too knowing. "He bought your mother's company, Lena. That's not exactly moving on behavior."
"He bought it to maintain business stability. It's what he does—minimize risk." I pulled my jacket tighter. "I need to go."
Emily let me walk away, but I felt her worried gaze following me to the door.
---
I spent the rest of the day in my apartment, surrounded by documents. Property records. Financial statements. The timeline of Marcus's movements over the past decade. Alexander had been thorough—the man's paper trail painted a picture of someone perpetually one step ahead of consequences.
Until now, maybe.
My phone buzzed at 6:47 PM. Unknown number.
The message was brief: Your mother isn't the only one who wants you to disappear.
I stared at the screen until it went dark, then methodically took screenshots and saved them to three different cloud accounts. The threat was vague enough to be meaningless and specific enough to be genuine.
Someone was watching. Someone knew I was investigating.
Good.
Let them watch. Let them see me coming.
I pulled up the property records again, memorizing the layout of Marcus's old building. Two entrances. Fire escape access. The super's apartment on the ground floor—I'd need to avoid that.
My hands were steady as I started packing a bag. Flashlight. Gloves. Lock picks I'd bought online years ago on a whim and never thought I'd actually use. Phone charger. First aid kit, just in case.
The rational part of my brain whispered that this was reckless. That I should hire a professional investigator. That breaking into an abandoned apartment could get me arrested.
But the rational part of my brain had kept me compliant for twenty-eight years. It had made me sign a contract marriage and endure my mother's control and accept Marcus's contempt as the price of peace.
I was done being rational if rational meant being powerless.
I shouldered my bag and checked the time. 8:15 PM. Late enough that darkness would provide cover, early enough that my absence wouldn't seem strange if anyone asked.
Not that anyone would ask. I lived alone now. Free and utterly isolated.
I grabbed my keys and headed for the door, catching my reflection in the hallway mirror. The woman staring back at me looked determined. Dangerous, even.
I barely recognized her.
Maybe that was the point.
---
The building loomed against the twilight sky like a monument to decay. Graffiti covered the lower walls, though someone had made a half-hearted attempt to paint over the worst of it. Windows on the upper floors were dark, many of them boarded up. A chain-link fence surrounded the property, but the gate hung open on broken hinges.
I parked two blocks away and approached on foot, my bag slung across my body. The neighborhood was quiet in that weighted way of places people had abandoned—not from choice, but from necessity. A few residents sat on nearby stoops, their conversation drifting on the evening air. No one looked my way.
The front entrance had a buzzer system that probably hadn't worked in years. I pushed through the door, wincing as it scraped against warped floorboards. The lobby smelled of mildew and something sharper—urine, maybe, or rot.
"Help you?"
I spun around. An elderly man sat in a corner I'd somehow missed, tucked into a battered armchair. His face was weathered, suspicious.
"I'm looking for apartment 3B," I said, keeping my voice respectful. "My... my father used to live here. He passed away recently, and I'm trying to collect his things before the building is condemned."
It was a lie, of course. But a believable one.
The old man's expression softened fractionally. "3B's been empty since '18. Management gave up on this place years ago." He squinted at me. "You really his daughter?"
"Yes, sir." I pulled out two twenties from my wallet. "I don't want to cause trouble. Just need an hour to look around. Consider this a cleaning fee."
He took the money slowly, studying my face. Whatever he saw there must have satisfied him because he jerked his chin toward the stairwell.
"Don't touch nothing that ain't yours. And be careful—floors up there ain't stable. Some kid fell through last year."
"Thank you." I meant it.
The stairs groaned under my weight. I tested each step before committing, my hand trailing along the grimy wall for balance. Third floor. The hallway stretched in both directions, doors hanging open like slack mouths. 3B was at the far end.