“And my lieutenants?”
“They’re waiting downstairs. Victor has called twice.”
Victor Sloane had been with me since the beginning. He was sharp, loyal in the way ambitious men are loyal when their interests align, and dangerous when bored. He would smell disruption before anyone else.
“What did you tell him?”
“That you’re dealing with a private matter.”
“He’ll hate that.”
“He did.”
“Good.”
Claire hesitated. “Jason, there’s something else.”
She handed me a second item from the backpack. A plain white envelope, sealed, my name written across the front.
My stomach tightened.
“Where did you find this?”
“In the lining. There’s a small tear inside the backpack. It had slipped down between the fabric.”
I took it.
For several seconds, I only looked at my name.
Not Mr. Miller.
Not Jason Miller.
Jason.
Emma’s handwriting again.
I opened it carefully.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
Jason,
If you are reading this, then every other plan failed.
I know I have no right to ask anything of you after the way I left. I know there are things I kept from you that you may never forgive. But Liam and Lucas are innocent of all of it, and I am asking you to protect them until I can return.
Do not trust anyone who claims I sent them unless they know what happened in Bell Harbor.
Do not let the boys be photographed.
Do not contact the police unless you are certain who receives the call.
I am sorry.
Emma
Below her name was a line that made the air leave my lungs.
They are yours.
I read it once.
Then again.
Claire did not ask to see it. She watched my face and understood enough.
For years, men had accused me of having no weakness. They had built strategies around that belief. I had encouraged it. I had made it useful.
Now two sleeping boys and one letter had exposed the lie.
“Bell Harbor,” Claire said softly. “What is that?”
“A place.”
“That’s all?”
“It was where Emma and I went when she left the city.”
“When she disappeared?”
“No.” My fingers tightened around the paper. “Before that.”
The memory came unwillingly.
A gray coastal town, rain on narrow streets, Emma laughing in a diner because I had never eaten pie with a plastic fork. Three days where my phone stayed off and I pretended there was a version of my life simple enough to hold her. On the last night, she had asked what would happen if someone ever used her to get to me.
I told her no one would dare.
She looked at me with such sadness that I still remembered it.
Two weeks later, she was gone.
Claire’s voice pulled me back. “Who knows about Bell Harbor?”
“Almost no one.”
“Almost?”
I looked at the letter again.
“Victor.”
Downstairs, the empire waited.
I left the boys sleeping under Claire’s protection and returned to my office just before noon. The sunlight had shifted, throwing long white lines across the floor. The chair where the boys had slept looked ordinary again, which felt impossible.
Victor Sloane stood near the bar cart, pouring himself sparkling water he had not been offered.
He was lean, dark-haired, and always dressed as if he expected cameras. Behind him stood Marco and Ellis, two senior men who kept their expressions carefully blank.
“You canceled the shipping call,” Victor said.
“I moved it.”
“You canceled lunch with Alderman Price.”
“He’ll survive.”
Victor smiled without warmth. “I’m sure he will. The question is whether we will, if our political friends start feeling ignored.”
I walked behind my desk. “You worried about my manners now?”
“I’m worried about surprises.” His gaze moved around the office. “Claire said it was personal.”
“It is.”
“Personal things become business when they interrupt business.”
I sat down slowly. “Careful.”
The room cooled.
Victor raised both hands in a mild gesture. “I’m not challenging you.”
“No. You’re circling the edge of it.”
Marco looked at the floor. Ellis found interest in his cufflinks.