Chapter 6 - The Price of Being Seen
By Thursday morning, Mave's name was everywhere.
A website that specialized in celebrity scandals published a photograph of her outside the hotel, her face turned toward the street, Silas three steps behind her. The caption described her as a “mystery mistress.” A second article linked to her business website. A third displayed an old photograph of June beside a miniature model of a theater they'd restored. None of the writers had asked whether Mave knew Silas was married. None had asked whether she wanted to be photographed.
Two clients canceled meetings before breakfast. A third emailed to say that her firm was concerned about “reputational exposure.” Mave read the phrase three times while sitting at June's kitchen counter.
“I thought my drawings were the exposure,” she said.
June stirred oatmeal. “Give them twenty-four hours before you answer. They can be embarrassed on their own time.”
Mave wanted to defend herself publicly. She wanted to post the television clip and the broken door and every unanswered text. Instead, she called Miriam, who explained that a public argument could reveal locations and complicate the investigation. They discussed what Mave could say without disclosing evidence. She chose to publish a short statement on her studio page: she had been unaware of Silas's marriage, had reported threats to police, and would continue delivering her contracted work where safe to do so. She asked the public to respect her colleagues' privacy.
The statement didn't make the comments kind. It did make the record hers.
At noon, the building landlord called. Reporters were crowding the studio entrance, and another tenant had complained. He wasn't ending her lease, he assured her, but could she please conduct her business elsewhere for a few days?
“I'm paying rent for the space,” Mave replied. “Please send the request in writing and tell me which lease provision it relies on.”
The landlord cleared his throat. “Let's talk tomorrow.”
She hung up and looked at June. “You were right. Spreadsheets would have been easier.”
June smiled. “We need money first. Your historic theater invoice is overdue, and I'm going to call them. You're not handling all of this by yourself.”
Meanwhile, Silas appeared voluntarily at a federal office with his attorney and two boxes of company records. Mave learned that from Agent Ortiz, who had called to confirm another threatening message. Silas had supplied internal correspondence from Vale, invoices approved by his own office, and the names of employees who might explain the refrigerated shipments. His counsel was negotiating how to provide testimony without misleading anyone about Silas's involvement.
“Can you keep me updated?” Mave asked.
“On facts that affect your safety and your own evidence, yes,” Ortiz said. “I can't brief you on an open investigation.”
Mave appreciated the boundary. She'd begun to distrust anyone who promised to fix an entire problem with a single phone call.
That afternoon, Vivien visited June's apartment with two paper grocery bags. She had asked before coming, and June had told her to leave the bags on the counter and sit down. Inside were bread, oranges, and the kind of strong coffee that tasted like burned courage.
“You didn't need to bring groceries,” Mave said.
“No. I wanted to do one ordinary thing.” Vivien hesitated. “I filed the divorce petition yesterday.”
Mave turned from the sink. “Because of me?”
“Because I was tired of being legally tied to someone whose decisions I couldn't control. That was true before you existed in my world. Seeing what happened to you made me stop postponing it.”
“Is your father threatening Iris?”
“He left six messages. She isn't answering. We're both staying somewhere he doesn't control.”
Vivien's lawyer had arranged housing through friends and coordinated the sisters' safety concerns with investigators. She wouldn't say where. Mave didn't ask. It was a relief to meet someone who understood that details could be withheld for safety without becoming a license to lie about everything else.
They ate sandwiches at June's scarred kitchen table. Vivien talked about her sister, who collected terrible ceramic frogs and laughed at the wrong moments in serious movies. Mave talked about the first theater she'd helped save, a little building where rainwater had been coming through the ceiling above the stage. For twenty minutes, neither mentioned Silas.
Then Vivien's expression tightened. “He called me this morning. He finally admitted he was afraid to divorce because he'd lose access to my father's shipping contracts. He said he told himself staying married protected Iris. Maybe part of him believed it. But he earned money from that decision.”
Mave set down her coffee. “He told me he kept his work separate because I deserved peace.”
“And he gave you none.”
Vivien didn't reach for her hand. The space between them remained a kindness.
Silas's first direct message arrived that evening. It was long enough to make Mave nervous. She read it sitting beside June while rain tapped at the apartment window. He admitted the order of events: he'd married Vivien for both affection and business four years earlier; they'd separated three years earlier; he'd met Mave nine months ago. He had let her believe he was single because each honest conversation carried the risk of her leaving. His promise about ending the hiding was made while he still had no right to offer her a public future. The hospital emergency had interrupted a meeting at which he'd planned to confront Rafe about the shipments, not a plan to confess the marriage to Mave.
There was no sentence asking her to understand.
At the end, he wrote: I told you half-truths until there was nothing true about the choice I let you make. I am sorry. I will answer questions if you want answers. I won't come to you unless you ask.
Mave put the phone face down. “I believe the apology,” she told June. “I just don't believe it repairs anything.”
“You don't have to decide tonight.”
May you like
The police sergeant called just before ten. Bram Keene, the man Silas recognized from the alley, had been identified through hospital records and arrested on a warrant related to the townhouse break-in. Investigators were examining communications linking him to Adrian Vale. The sergeant warned Mave that others involved were still unaccounted for, and that she should continue taking precautions.
After the call, Mave stood at the window. Across the street, a car idled too long beside the curb. She watched until it pulled away, then closed the curtains. She had won back her voice. The danger had not politely departed with the apology.
