Chapter 99
Lena's POV
The city lights blurred through my apartment window as I stood motionless in the dark. My cheek still stung where Vivian's hand had connected—not from the physical impact, but from the raw desperation behind it. She was drowning, and she'd drag me under if I let her.
I pressed my fingers against the cool glass. Marcus had evidence. A video. Something capable of destroying me.
The old familiar tightness wrapped around my chest. I counted my breaths—four in, hold, six out—until the rising panic retreated to its usual corner. I'd spent years building walls against that fear, brick by careful brick. I wouldn't let it consume me now.
My phone buzzed. Another call from Vivian. I silenced it without looking.
No more waiting. No more reacting to their moves like a chess piece pushed across the board.
I needed to understand what I was facing. Marcus's so-called evidence—where was it stored? Who else had access? And that woman, Maria Bergmann, whose transformation from poverty to luxury screamed of hidden strings being pulled. If Marcus was the puppet, who held the strings?
The questions formed a pattern in my mind, each one leading to specific actions. First, I'd need to find Marcus's old haunts, the places he'd hidden before fleeing to Switzerland. Emily could investigate Maria's past in the neighborhoods where she'd once lived. Alexander would continue tracking financial threads. And I'd handle the grunt work myself—the places no one else could go.
I turned from the window and flicked on a lamp. The sudden brightness made me squint, but I welcomed the sharp clarity. My laptop sat on the coffee table, files already open from earlier research. I pulled up the property records Alexander had compiled weeks ago when I'd first started investigating Marcus. There—an address in the industrial district, a studio apartment he'd rented six years ago under a shell company name. The lease had expired, but abandoned didn't mean empty of secrets.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. If there was evidence, physical proof of whatever Marcus planned to use against me, it might still be there. People who ran often left things behind in their panic.
I pulled out my notebook and started writing, the act of putting pen to paper grounding me. Track Maria's movements. Confirm Marcus's old address. Secure my own documentation—everything from childhood medical records to school transcripts. No gaps for them to exploit.
The list grew, each item a small rebellion against the helplessness that had choked me earlier. Control came from preparation. From knowing the battlefield better than your opponent.
By the time dawn broke, I'd mapped out the entire week.
---
Rachel's eyes widened when I walked into the office at 7:30 AM. "You're here early."
"Couldn't sleep." I handed her a file folder. "The Morrison contract needs your attention today. I've flagged the key clauses."
"Everything okay?" Her gaze lingered on my face, and I realized I'd forgotten to add extra concealer over the faint redness on my cheek.
"Personal matters. Nothing that affects our work." I softened my tone. "I trust you to handle the client calls this week. Diana can take lead on the Westbrook follow-up."
Rachel nodded slowly, still concerned but professional enough not to push. "Of course. Whatever you need."
Diana appeared in my doorway as Rachel left. She studied me with that penetrating lawyer's assessment, the one that missed nothing.
"Trouble?" she asked simply.
"Family complications." I met her gaze steadily. "I'll need flexibility this week. Some appointments I can't reschedule."
"The kind that might involve risk assessment?" Her tone stayed neutral, but I caught the underlying question: Are you in danger?
"The kind that involve loose ends." I pulled out my phone and opened my calendar. "I'm clear this afternoon. Tomorrow morning, I have a meeting I can't move. After that, I'm available for anything urgent."
Diana leaned against the doorframe. "You know I'm good at making problems disappear. Legal problems, specifically."
"I know." And I did. Diana had built her reputation on protecting people the system had failed. "Right now, I just need space to handle this myself."
She accepted that with a brief nod. "Your funeral. But if you need backup—"
"You'll be my first call."
After she left, I closed my office door and dialed Emily.
---
"Please tell me you're calling with good news," Emily said instead of hello. "Like, you've won the lottery or Rowan's been abducted by aliens."
"I need a favor."
Her tone shifted immediately. "Name it."
We met at The Grind, a coffee shop two blocks from my office that Emily swore had the best espresso in the city. I found her at a corner table, two cups already waiting.
"You look like hell," she announced as I sat down.
"Good morning to you too."
"I'm serious." She pushed one of the cups toward me. "What happened?"
I told her about Vivian's visit in clinical terms—the accusation, the threat, the slap. Emily's expression darkened with each sentence.
"That bitch," she hissed when I finished. "Lena, you need to—"
"I need information." I pulled out my phone and showed her the photo Alexander had sent—Maria Bergmann, six years ago, standing outside a dilapidated building in the city's poorest district. "This woman. She's connected to Marcus somehow, and I need to know how. The building in this photo—I can give you the address. Can you go there? Ask around? People in those neighborhoods notice strangers, especially ones who suddenly get money."
Emily studied the photo, her anger transforming into focused determination. "You think she's part of whatever Marcus is planning?"
"I think she's a piece of the puzzle. And right now, I'm collecting pieces."
"What about you? What are you doing while I'm playing detective?"