Chapter 4 - Forty-One Nights|
Chelsea didn't lower her phone.
“Well,” she said brightly, “this is interesting.”
Adrian moved toward the door.
“Put the phone away.”
She laughed nervously.
“It's just a picture.”
“Then deleting it should be easy.”
Her smile trembled.
I stepped between them.
“Chelsea, what do you want?”
“What do I want?” She looked at me as if I had insulted her. “I'm trying to understand why my stepsister is meeting privately with a man who could buy this entire neighborhood without checking his bank balance.”
“Then ask me.”
“I am asking you.”
“No. You're recording me.”
Chelsea's eyes flicked toward Adrian.
“Maybe I'm protecting the family.”
Adrian's expression remained unreadable.
“From what?”
She opened her mouth, then seemed to realize that any answer would reveal more than she wanted.
“From people who don't belong here.”
I felt the familiar sting of humiliation, but this time it didn't reach as deeply. Perhaps because I was beginning to understand that Chelsea's confidence depended on everyone else staying afraid.
Adrian held out his hand.
“The phone.”
She hugged it to her chest.
“You can't take my property.”
“No,” he replied. “But you can choose whether I remember you as someone who cooperated or someone who lied.”
Chelsea stared at him for a long moment, then thrust the phone toward me.
“Here. Since you're suddenly so important.”
I didn't take it.
“Delete the recording yourself.”
Her face reddened.
“You'll regret this.”
“Probably,” I said. “But not for the reason you think.”
She stormed away.
Adrian waited until her footsteps disappeared before speaking.
“You shouldn't have confronted her.”
“I didn't confront her. I asked her to delete a video.”
“You underestimated how far she might go to impress your stepmother.”
“Then tell me what she might do.”
He studied me.
“People who have spent their lives being underestimated often make the mistake of believing everyone else is predictable.”
“Is that supposed to be advice?”
“It's a warning.”
I looked toward the counter. My father's café was quiet, the chairs arranged in neat rows, the brass espresso machine shining under the pendant lights. I had spent forty nights serving a man whose name frightened half the city, and I had never once asked him to protect me.
Now I was beginning to wonder whether the café itself was the reason he had kept coming back.
“Why do you come here every night?” I asked.
He glanced at the third stool.
“Because your father made the best coffee in Chicago.”
“That can't be the only reason.”
“No.”
He took a breath.
“My father died in a hospital while I was in another city. I was supposed to visit him that evening. Instead, I attended a meeting that could have waited. By the time I arrived, he was gone.”
I had never heard anyone speak about regret so plainly.
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be. It doesn't change anything.”
“Maybe it changes what you do next.”
His gaze settled on me.
For a moment, the distance between us seemed smaller.
Then he stepped back.
“Tomorrow, someone will contact you about the property records. Don't answer questions without telling me.”
“Who?”
“An attorney named Evelyn Price. She works for me.”
“And if I don't want your help?”
“Then I won't force it on you.”
He opened the door.
“But I suspect you want something more than help.”
“What would that be?”
“The truth.”
He left before I could answer.
The next evening, I arrived at the café to find Maureen waiting beside the register with a document spread across the counter.
“Sign this,” she said.
I looked at the heading.
EMPLOYEE ACKNOWLEDGMENT AND PROPERTY WAIVER.
“What is it?”
“A form confirming that you have no claim to the café.”
“I've never claimed the café.”
“Then signing should be simple.”
I read the first paragraph.
It stated that I acknowledged the transfer of ownership to Larkspur Holdings and waived any future interest arising from my father's estate.
A second page authorized Maureen to dispose of any personal belongings he had left in the building.
My father's recipe book.
His photograph.
The old espresso machine he had repaired himself.
Everything.
“I need a lawyer to read this.”
Maureen's expression hardened.
“You need to remember that you have a roof over your head because I allow it.”
“I remember.”
“Then sign.”
“No.”
For several seconds, she looked genuinely surprised.
Then she folded the document carefully and slid it into her purse.
“You have until midnight to reconsider.”
“What happens at midnight?”
She smiled.
“Your room upstairs will no longer be yours.”
At eleven fifty-eight, I heard the black SUV stop outside.
Adrian stepped through the door carrying a sealed envelope.
He looked at Maureen, then at the document peeking from her purse.
“Interesting,” he said.
Maureen stiffened.
“What are you doing here?”
Adrian placed the envelope on the counter.
“Delivering a notice.”
He turned toward me.
“Nora, you should know that your stepmother has just been served with a court order freezing every account connected to Larkspur Holdings.”
Maureen's face went white.
May you like
Then Adrian added one sentence that made her reach instinctively for the counter.
“And the judge wants to know why the company transferred money to your stepsister yesterday.”
