Chapter 2 - What Derek Tried to Hide
Derek stopped looking at Lena.
That was the first thing she noticed.
One second he had been towering over her, furious that she dared call anyone.
The next, all of his attention shifted toward the bedroom.
Not the front door.
Not the building security voices.
The bedroom.
He stepped backward.
Lena saw calculation move across his face.
Then he turned.
“Stay there.”
As if she were going anywhere.
He disappeared down the hall.
Lena heard a drawer slam.
Then another.
A cabinet door.
Something metallic struck the floor.
She forced herself upright using the vanity with her right hand.
Pain ripped through her shoulder and ribs.
She nearly fainted.
But Derek was doing something.
Hiding something.
The front door shook under another knock.
“Mr. Walsh, open the door.”
Derek shouted from the bedroom:
“Give me a minute!”
Lena stumbled into the hallway.
“Help!”
Her voice cracked.
“Please!”
The security officer outside responded immediately.
“Ma’am, move away from the front entrance. Police are coming.”
Derek ran out of the bedroom carrying a small black lockbox.
He froze when he saw her.
“What are you doing?”
Lena backed away.
He lowered his voice.
“If you tell them anything stupid, you’re going to regret it.”
Then he headed toward the kitchen.
The fire escape?
No.
Their building had none accessible from the unit.
Garbage chute?
Impossible.
Then Lena understood.
The utility cabinet beside the laundry closet.
There was a service panel behind it leading to shared plumbing access.
Not an escape route.
A hiding place.
Derek knelt and shoved the lockbox behind the panel.
Then he grabbed a towel and wiped the cabinet handle.
That tiny act mattered.
He was thinking about fingerprints.
Evidence.
The apartment door opened less than a minute later after building security used an emergency master and confirmed exigent circumstances with 911 dispatch.
The first person through was not Vincent.
It was a building security supervisor named Marcus Grant.
Behind him came a second guard.
Marcus saw Lena immediately.
Then her arm.
His face hardened.
“Ma’am, don’t move.”
Derek raised both hands.
“She fell.”
Marcus did not argue.
He simply positioned himself between them.
“Stay where you are, sir.”
“This is my apartment.”
“Stay where you are.”
Derek’s expression changed at hearing another man use the same words he had been using against Lena.
Thirty seconds later, NYPD officers entered.
Then paramedics.
Then the apartment became procedural.
Questions.
Separation.
Photographs.
Medical stabilization.
Lena kept saying one thing.
“He twisted it.”
Not fell.
Not accident.
He twisted it.
The paramedic cut away part of her sleeve and applied a temporary splint.
The swelling around the forearm was already severe.
One officer asked:
“Has he done this before?”
Lena looked at Derek across the room.
He was watching.
The officer noticed.
She moved Lena farther away.
“Has he?”
“Yes.”
One word.
Five years collapsed inside it.
Then:
“Any weapons?”
“I don’t know.”
“Drugs?”
“I don’t know.”
“Anyone else with access?”
“No.”
Then Lena remembered the lockbox.
She looked toward utility cabinet.
Derek saw.
His face sharpened.
“Lena.”
The officer turned immediately.
“Do not address her.”
Lena pointed.
“He hid something behind there.”
Derek exploded.
“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about!”
That reaction guaranteed attention.
Officers did not rip wall apart immediately.
They secured area and considered whether they needed warrant depending circumstances and ownership/privacy. One officer photographed cabinet, noted Lena’s statement, and contacted supervisor.
Then paramedics moved Lena toward stretcher.
As they passed front door, elevator opened.
Three men stepped out.
The center man wore a black overcoat over a dark suit.
Vincent Moretti.
For the first time since the bathroom, Lena felt Derek become still.
Vincent did not rush.
Did not threaten.
He looked at Lena’s splinted arm.
Then at Derek standing beside an officer.
His expression became unreadable.
One detective stepped forward.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Vincent nodded.
“You called this in?”
“I called building management after Ms. Walsh contacted me. My attorney’s office called emergency services.”
The detective studied him.
“Why?”
“Because she asked for help.”
Nothing more.
No mob drama.
Then Vincent looked at Lena.
“You’re going to the hospital.”
She nodded.
Derek laughed from across room.
“This is ridiculous. You think he cares about you? Ask him why he even gave you that card.”
Vincent looked at him.
Derek smiled despite cuffs now being placed around his wrists.
“Go on. Tell her.”
Lena turned toward Vincent.
For the first time, something uncomfortable crossed his face.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Derek saw it too.
His smile widened.
“You don’t know, do you, Lena?”
“Know what?”
Derek leaned forward until the officer pushed him back.
May you like
“Moretti didn’t walk into your diner by accident.”
Cliffhanger: As police led Derek away, he claimed Vincent had deliberately sought Lena out months before giving her the black card—turning the one person she thought had answered a desperate call into another man whose motives she could no longer assume were innocent.
