Chapter 2 - The Man Who Lied About His Name
I wanted to leave Callaway’s immediately.
Reed would not physically stop me.
That almost made it worse.
“You can walk out,” he said. “But you need to understand what you're walking into.”
We were in the small private sitting room above his office. Tommy had somehow produced a travel crib, diapers in Ava’s exact size, wipes, formula, and a white-noise machine within twenty minutes.
I stared at the supplies.
“Did you own a baby store in another life?”
“No.”
“Then how did you—”
“Tommy has nieces.”
From the doorway Tommy said, “Four. I know too much about diaper brands.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Reed placed his phone on the coffee table.
The security photograph of Caleb remained on the screen.
Except Reed kept calling him Mercer.
I had spent two years believing his last name was Stone.
“What exactly did he steal?”
“Money.”
“I understood that part.”
Reed sat opposite me.
“Five years ago, Caleb worked financial logistics for a group connected to the Callaway organization.”
“Meaning mafia?”
Tommy looked at Reed.
Reed answered without pretending.
“Meaning criminal.”
My stomach tightened.
“You expect me to sit here calmly while you tell me my daughter’s father worked for organized crime?”
“No.”
“What did he do?”
“He transferred money belonging to several people into accounts they couldn't recover.”
“How much?”
“A little over two million.”
“And then?”
“He disappeared.”
“To Phoenix?”
“Not immediately. Phoenix is where his last known legitimate employment records appeared.”
I remembered the solar-company website.
His smiling photograph.
The new woman beside him on social media.
All of it had made me feel replaceable.
Now it felt staged.
“Why would he date me?”
“I don't know.”
“Did he know I worked here?”
“You started after he left.”
True.
I had taken the Callaway’s job when Ava was six weeks old.
Reed continued.
“Did Caleb leave anything with you?”
“No.”
“Documents?”
“No.”
“Keys?”
“No.”
“Phones?”
“No.”
“Storage receipts?”
“Nothing.”
I hesitated.
Reed noticed.
“What?”
“He left boxes.”
“What kind?”
“Clothes. Books. Junk.”
“Where?”
“My apartment.”
Tommy swore quietly.
“I need to go home.”
Reed stood.
“No.”
I stared.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The order.”
“Nora—”
“You tell me I’m free to leave, then immediately say no.”
His jaw tightened.
I stood with Ava in my arms.
“I spent three years with a man who turned every concern into a command. I’m not doing that again because your suits cost more.”
Tommy looked at the ceiling.
Reed remained perfectly still.
Then he nodded.
“You’re right.”
That surprised me.
“Your apartment may be unsafe. I should have said that.”
My anger weakened slightly.
“I need clothes.”
“Tommy can accompany you.”
“I don't want your men searching my house.”
“They won't unless you consent.”
Again, not what I expected.
Twenty minutes later, Tommy drove me through snow toward my apartment while another vehicle followed several car lengths behind.
Ava slept in a borrowed car seat.
When we reached my block, my front door was open.
I stopped.
“No.”
Tommy immediately moved in front of me.
“Stay here.”
“That’s my apartment.”
“Exactly.”
He called police.
Not Reed’s men.
Police.
That surprised me too.
Officers arrived eleven minutes later.
The apartment had been searched.
Not trashed.
Searched.
Drawers opened.
Closet boxes moved.
Kitchen cabinets disturbed.
My television remained.
Laptop remained.
The twenty dollars inside a mug remained.
Someone had not come for valuables.
They wanted something specific.
Then I noticed Ava’s old diaper bag was gone.
Blue canvas.
One broken zipper.
I had not used it in months.
“Why that?”
Tommy looked toward me.
“You tell me.”
“I don't know.”
I suddenly remembered.
Caleb bought that bag.
Before Ava was born.
He had appeared at my door one evening after weeks of fighting and handed me several baby items.
“I’m trying,” he had said.
Three days later, he disappeared.
I pressed a hand to my mouth.
“Caleb gave it to me.”
Tommy’s expression hardened.
“What else did he give you?”
I started listing everything.
A stroller.
Diaper bag.
Silver picture frame.
Baby monitor.
A stuffed rabbit.
Then I stopped.
“The rabbit.”
“What?”
“He gave me this ugly stuffed rabbit.”
“Where is it?”
“Bedroom.”
We found it beneath Ava’s crib.
Cheap gray rabbit.
One ear permanently bent.
Tommy did not touch it until police finished photographing the apartment.
Then an officer handed it back.
I squeezed the body.
Something inside clicked.
My blood went cold.
“There’s something in it.”
Tommy cut one seam carefully after I agreed.
A tiny brass key fell onto the table.
Stamped with a number.
4187.
Nobody spoke.
I stared at it.
“I’ve washed that thing.”
“Apparently not successfully,” Tommy said.
I almost laughed from panic.
The officer photographed the key and contacted detectives.
Tommy called Reed.
When we returned to Callaway’s, Reed was waiting downstairs.
He looked at the key.
“Storage.”
“You know that?”
“Looks like an old private locker key.”
“Where?”
“Union Station used to have long-term secure boxes managed by a private company.”
“Used to?”
“They still exist. Quietly.”
I hated how easily he knew things normal people never heard about.
“What if Caleb wants the key?”
“Then he knows the bag didn’t contain it.”
My stomach twisted.
“He'll come back.”
“Yes.”
I looked at Ava.
Reed’s voice became gentler.
“You and Ava should not sleep at your apartment.”
“I don't have hotel money.”
“I do.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“Why?”
“Because I’m already trapped inside your world. I’m not adding debt.”
“You don't owe me anything.”
“That's easy for rich people to say.”
Reed looked at me for several seconds.
Then:
“Fine.”
He picked up his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling the hotel manager.”
“No.”
“Employee emergency housing benefit.”
I stared.
“That doesn't exist.”
“It does now.”
“That’s still you paying.”
“Technically the restaurant.”
“Which you own.”
“Yes.”
I folded my arms.
He sighed.
“What arrangement would you accept?”
Nobody had asked me that in a long time.
“A payroll advance.”
“Done.”
“With deductions over ten weeks.”
“Twenty.”
“Ten.”
“Fifteen.”
Tommy muttered, “I’m watching organized-crime negotiation become a payroll discussion.”
Reed ignored him.
“Fifteen.”
“Fine.”
Something almost like approval entered his face.
That night, Ava and I checked into a hotel under a shortened name.
Police kept the key as evidence temporarily, but investigators obtained authority to inspect locker 4187.
At 1:12 a.m., Reed called.
I answered instantly.
“What happened?”
“They opened it.”
I sat upright.
“And?”
“Cash.”
“How much?”
“Forty-eight thousand.”
I swallowed.
“What else?”
“A passport under Caleb’s real name.”
Silence.
“And a flash drive.”
My heart began pounding.
“What’s on it?”
“Encrypted.”
“Then why are you calling me?”
“Because there was also a photograph inside.”
“What photograph?”
He hesitated.
“Nora.”
My blood chilled.
“What?”
“It’s you.”
“From when?”
“Pregnant. Leaving your obstetrician’s office.”
I stopped breathing.
“Why would he keep that?”
“I don't know.”
Then Reed said:
“There's writing on the back.”
“What?”
His voice turned colder.
If anything happens to me, she has the second copy.
I stared into the dark hotel room.
“I don't have any copy.”
“I believe you.”
“Caleb doesn't.”
Ava moved softly beside me.
Then another phone vibrated.
My old number.
Unknown caller.
I answered before Reed could stop me.
Caleb’s voice came through.
“Nora.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
“Where are you?”
“Doesn't matter.”
“What do you want?”
He laughed quietly.
“You already know.”
“No.”
“The drive.”
“I don't have one.”
His voice hardened.
“Don't lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
A pause.
Then:
“You always were terrible at knowing when you were being used.”
The line went dead.
I sat frozen.
Reed remained on my other phone.
“Nora?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me exactly what he said.”
I did.
Silence.
Then Reed answered:
“He thinks you have another copy.”
May you like
“I don't.”
“Then we need to figure out why he thinks you do before he stops asking politely.”
