Chapter 5 - The Ledger and The Ambush
Diane lived in the same aging brick building where Claire had grown up.
The neighborhood had changed around it.
Coffee shops replaced repair stores.
New apartments rose beside old row houses.
Diane refused every offer Claire made to move somewhere easier.
Now Claire wondered if familiarity had nothing to do with it.
Roman parked two blocks away.
He studied every vehicle before getting out.
Claire watched him.
“You really have been watching me?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
Roman shut his door.
“Since you were born.”
Claire almost laughed.
“That is not comforting.”
“I know.”
“Did you watch my high school graduation?”
“Yes.”
“My first job?”
“Yes.”
“My college orientation?”
“Yes.”
Claire stopped walking.
“I never went to college.”
“I know.”
“You said orientation.”
Roman’s expression changed.
Claire stepped closer.
“You were there when I was accepted to Northeastern.”
“Yes.”
Claire remembered that morning.
She had packed two bags.
Diane had suffered what appeared to be a panic attack severe enough to require an ambulance.
Claire stayed.
A month later, she declined the scholarship.
“You knew why Mom panicked.”
Roman looked toward the building.
“There had been a man photographing the campus tour.”
Claire felt sick.
“She made me think leaving her would destroy her.”
“She was frightened.”
“She manipulated me.”
“Yes.”
“And you let her.”
Roman looked at Claire.
“Yes.”
She hated his willingness to admit things.
It left her nowhere comfortable to put the anger.
They entered the building.
Diane opened apartment 4C before Claire knocked.
She was fifty four, pale, slim, and exhausted.
Her red hair had gone mostly silver at the temples.
She saw Claire and pulled her into a hug.
Claire did not return it at first.
Then she did.
Because anger could survive a hug.
So could love.
Diane looked at Roman over Claire’s shoulder.
“You promised me she would never have to meet you.”
Roman’s voice was quiet.
“I failed.”
“You always say that after the damage.”
Claire stepped between them.
“No more talking around me.”
Diane wiped her face.
“All right.”
She walked toward the kitchen.
Behind the refrigerator sat a narrow wooden box Claire had seen her entire childhood.
It held old coupons, batteries, and useless keys.
Diane removed the bottom panel.
Inside was a manila envelope.
Claire stared.
“You kept that in our kitchen?”
“It moved with us eight times.”
Diane placed it on the table.
Inside were photographs.
Evan Bennett stood beside a younger Roman Mercer on a dock.
Claire forgot how to breathe.
She had seen only one photograph of her father.
A grainy portrait her mother claimed had been taken before he left.
This man had Claire’s eyes.
Her round cheeks.
Her crooked smile.
She touched the picture.
“He looks happy.”
Diane sat down.
“He was.”
Another photograph showed Evan, Roman, and a third man outside a warehouse.
The third man’s face had been cut from the photograph.
Claire frowned.
“Who was this?”
Diane looked at Roman.
Roman picked up the photograph.
His face tightened.
“Caleb Shaw.”
“Who is that?”
“My chief financial officer.”
Claire stared.
“Current?”
“Yes.”
Diane stood so quickly her chair scraped the floor.
“You said Caleb was dead.”
“I thought he was.”
Roman looked closer.
“He disappeared after Evan’s murder.”
“He came back six years ago under another name.”
Claire felt the first real piece click into place.
“What name?”
“Caleb Warren.”
Diane covered her mouth.
Roman already had his phone out.
Claire stopped him.
“What are you doing?”
“Removing his access to every Mercer system.”
“No.”
Roman looked at her.
“If he has been inside your company for six years and those men found me today, cutting his access tells him we know.”
Roman paused.
Claire continued.
“He’ll run.”
Roman lowered the phone.
“You’re right.”
That small agreement altered something.
Not trust.
Not yet.
But the shape of the room.
Diane opened the remaining papers.
There was a photocopy of Evan’s handwriting.
Numbers filled the page.
Account codes.
Dates.
Initials.
Claire sat.
“This is bookkeeping.”
Roman looked over her shoulder.
“It was Evan’s private ledger.”
Claire scanned the columns.
Years of serving breakfast and studying accounting at night had trained her eye to notice repetition.
One entry appeared every month.
117 M.
Another sequence.
4418 S.
“Why keep a private ledger if he copied the real records?”
Claire asked.
Roman said, “Insurance.”
“No.”
Claire pointed.
“These totals don’t balance.”
Roman leaned closer.
“They’re not supposed to?”
“They are if this is money.”
She ran a finger down the page.
“They’re not dollar amounts.”
“What are they?”
Claire looked at the silver key.
“I don’t know yet.”
A floorboard creaked in the hallway.
Roman turned before Claire did.
Diane whispered, “The neighbor?”
Roman raised one finger.
Quiet.
Another creak.
Then three knocks sounded at the door.
Diane went pale.
Nobody moved.
A man outside called, “Mrs. Bennett?”
Claire recognized the voice.
Her building superintendent.
Diane took one step.
Roman caught her arm gently.
“No.”
The man knocked again.
“Water leak downstairs.”
Claire looked toward the kitchen sink.
The faucet had been dripping all morning according to Diane.
Possible.
Then Claire noticed Roman looking at the doorframe.
A thin red point appeared on the wall.
A laser.
Roman pulled both women down.
The first shot tore through the door.
Wood exploded over the table.
Diane screamed.
Roman dragged them toward the kitchen.
Another shot struck the wall.
Claire crawled.
The silver key swung from her neck.
A bullet struck the wooden box.
The hidden compartment split open.
Something small rolled across the floor.
Claire saw it.
A black plastic button.
No.
Not a button.
A memory card.
She grabbed it.
“Move,” Roman ordered.
They reached the fire stairs through the kitchen window.
Diane hesitated.
Claire shoved the sash upward.
Four floors below, the alley looked impossibly far away.
“The stairs are outside.”
Roman went first.
He checked the landing.
“Clear.”
Diane followed.
Claire climbed out last.
The kitchen door burst open behind them.
Claire did not look back.
She descended.
She was heavier than both of them.
The metal stairs shook under every step.
For years, people had treated her body as evidence of what she could not do.
Could not run.
Could not climb.
Could not react fast enough.
Claire made it down four floors without stopping.
When Diane slipped on the second landing, Claire caught her.
When Roman turned to help, Claire said, “I’ve got her.”
He believed her.
That mattered more than she wanted it to.
They reached the alley.
Roman’s Cadillac was two blocks away.
Too far.
A delivery van idled near the corner.
Its driver stood ten feet away arguing on the phone.
Roman reached for the door.
Claire grabbed his sleeve.
“We are not stealing somebody’s van.”
He stared at her.
“People are shooting at us.”
“I understand the situation.”
A bullet struck a dumpster behind them.
Claire opened the van door.
“Now we’re borrowing it.”
Roman almost smiled.
May you like
They drove south.
The memory card sat in Claire’s palm.
