Chapter 103
Emily's POV
"Just 'somewhere better.' Never heard from her again." Mrs. Reid's face softened with something like regret. "I hope she's okay, wherever she is. She was a good girl, just... dealt a bad hand, you know?"
I nodded, still writing. "This Mr. M—did you ever see him again?"
"Nope. Just those few visits. But I remember thinking... he didn't look like the kind of man who does charity work, if you catch my meaning."
I caught it perfectly.
Twenty minutes later, I was back in my car, staring at my notes. The description matched no one I knew directly, but the pattern was clear. Maria—or Susan, or whatever her real name was—had been bought. Paid off. Moved into position like a chess piece.
My phone showed 5:47 PM. I texted Lena: Major breakthrough. Need to meet tonight. This can't wait.
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Lena's POV
Rachel appeared in my doorway, holding a small envelope. "This just came for you. Front desk said a courier dropped it off."
I took the envelope, noting the expensive paper and hand-calligraphy of my name. Inside, a single sheet in elegant handwriting:
Lena,
We've both said and done things we regret. I think it's time we talked—really talked. No lawyers, no third parties. Just two people, trying to find some kind of peace.
Tonight, 7:30 PM, Harbor Café?
I hope you'll come.
—Nora
I read it twice, searching for the trap. Harbor Café was a busy chain in the financial district—glass walls, security cameras, always crowded. Safe enough.
But Nora Kane didn't do anything without calculation.
"Need me to respond?" Rachel asked, watching my face.
My phone buzzed before I could answer. Emily: Major breakthrough. Need to meet tonight. This can't wait.
I stared at both messages, weighing my options. Emily's discovery could be crucial. But Nora... maybe it was time to address the unfinished business between us directly.
"Tell her I'll be there," I said to Rachel.
Rachel's eyebrows rose. "You sure that's wise?"
"It's a public place. And honestly..." I set the note down. "I'm tired of looking over my shoulder. Better to face this head-on."
After Rachel left, I texted Emily: Got it. What's the breakthrough? I need to meet Nora first—7:30 at Harbor Café. Long story. Can we meet after, around 9? Want to hear everything.
Her response was immediate: WHAT?! Be careful with that snake!
Public place. I can handle her. But tell me—what did you find?
Mrs. Reid confirmed someone paid off Maria two years ago. Expensive suit, gold glasses, black Mercedes. She called him "Mr. M." Maria was TERRIFIED of him.
My pulse quickened. Mr. M. Marcus?
If I don't hear from you by 9 PM, I'm coming to find you, Emily added.
Deal, I replied.
I turned back to my laptop, but the words blurred. My mind was already racing ahead—to Marcus, to Maria, to whatever Nora wanted tonight.
At 6:15 PM, my phone buzzed again. Alexander: Phone data partially recovered. Some files corrupted but found something. Can you come by tomorrow morning?
First thing. Thank you.
I glanced at the clock. Just over an hour until the meeting. I stood, gathered my things, locked the office door. Rachel was shutting down her computer.
"You want me to come with you?" she asked. "I can sit at another table, just in case."
"I'll be fine. But thank you."
"Text me when you're done?"
"I will."
The sun was setting as I walked to my car, painting the sky in shades of amber and ash. Beautiful, in a melancholy way.
I got in, started the engine, pulled into traffic. As I drove, I kept circling back to the same question: Why now? Why reach out after everything?
Unless this wasn't about closure at all.
I arrived at Harbor Café at 7:25 PM. The evening crowd was light—a few couples, someone typing on a laptop, soft jazz overhead. I chose a table by the window where I could watch the street.
I ordered an Americano. Checked my phone. Alexander's text about the recovered data stared back at me. Tomorrow morning, I told myself. First, deal with this.
---
Harbor Café smelled like roasted beans and vanilla syrup. I arrived five minutes early, chose a table by the window where I could watch the street. The evening crowd was light—a few couples, someone typing furiously on a laptop, soft jazz playing overhead.
I ordered an Americano. Checked my phone. Alexander's text about the recovered phone data sat in my inbox. Tomorrow morning, I told myself. First, deal with this.
Nora appeared at exactly 7:30, punctual as always. Camel coat, perfect makeup, but her eyes looked hollow. Exhausted.
She slid into the seat across from me. "Thank you for coming."
"You said you wanted closure." I kept my voice neutral. "So talk."
She signaled the barista, ordered two lattes. When they arrived, she slid one across to me. I watched her hands—steady, controlled. Nothing suspicious.
"I know we've had our... conflicts," she began.
I wrapped my fingers around the warm cup. Too sweet. "That's one way to put it."
"The smear campaign." She met my eyes. "I was wrong. But you're not entirely innocent either, are you?"
I took a sip of the latte. Too sweet. "I never did anything to you, Nora. I never saw you as an enemy. You made that choice yourself."