Chapter 3 - The Missing Executive
I told Rosa nothing about the blood.
Nothing about Thomas.
Nothing about the hundred-million-dollar trust.
She already had enough problems.
Her landlord had raised the rent.
Her car needed repairs.
Mia needed dental work Rosa kept postponing because the insurance deductible was too high.
Still, every morning, Rosa made sure I ate before she did.
That disturbed me more than Adrian’s cruelty.
Because generosity from someone with little exposes greed in people with everything.
Three days later, Samuel visited.
He arrived wearing jeans instead of his usual suit.
Rosa opened the door suspiciously.
“Who are you?”
“Evelyn’s attorney.”
Her expression changed.
“Attorney?”
I smiled.
“Apparently broke women still have paperwork.”
Samuel understood.
He played along.
We spoke privately.
Thomas remained missing.
Police had found blood, but no body.
His security cameras had been erased.
His phone last connected to a tower near Adrian’s mansion.
“Does Adrian know we’re looking?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Samuel handed me printed transaction records.
Adrian had transferred millions through seven shell companies.
But the transfers formed a pattern.
They were not simply theft.
Someone had been buying something.
“What?”
Samuel pointed toward the destination.
Land.
Warehouses.
Data centers.
All located around one abandoned Shaw Meridian facility in northern Virginia.
Facility 12.
I had shut it down fourteen years earlier.
“Why there?”
“We don’t know.”
I stared at the transactions.
Then noticed a recurring name.
ORPHEUS.
“Samuel.”
He saw it.
His face changed.
“You recognize that?”
“Yes.”
Orpheus had been an experimental cybersecurity architecture developed during Shaw Meridian’s earliest years.
A system capable of tracing financial identities across supposedly disconnected networks.
Too powerful.
Too intrusive.
I killed the project before commercialization.
Only four people knew the full architecture.
Me.
Thomas.
And two engineers.
One died years ago.
The other disappeared.
Samuel whispered:
“Could Adrian know?”
“No.”
Unless Thomas told him.
Or Adrian forced him.
That evening, Rosa returned from deliveries holding an envelope.
“This was downstairs.”
No stamp.
No return address.
My name handwritten across the front.
Inside was one photograph.
Thomas.
Alive.
Sitting in a chair.
Holding that day’s newspaper.
Behind him was a concrete wall.
On the back:
GIVE ADRIAN THE DRIVE.
Rosa saw my expression.
“Who is he?”
“My friend.”
“Is he in trouble?”
“Yes.”
“Should we call the police?”
“Not yet.”
Rosa stared at me.
“Evelyn, what did you bring into my house?”
The question hurt because she deserved an answer.
Before I could give one, her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
Nobody spoke.
Then a distorted voice said:
“Tell the old woman we know where Mia goes to school.”
Rosa’s face went white.
I reached for the phone.
The line disconnected.
For the first time since Adrian threw me into the rain, I was afraid.
May you like
Not for myself.
For the child sleeping ten feet away.
