Chapter 3 - THE PHOTOGRAPH HIDDEN IN HER LUNCHBOX
Mrs. Finch did not offer me tea.
I didn't blame her.
She sat across from me with both hands gripping the arms of her chair.
“You're the man whose people took Leah?”
“I don't know who took her.”
“That's not what I asked.”
I looked toward the kitchen.
Noah and Wren were whispering over a school notebook.
I lowered my voice.
“I'm going to find out.”
Mrs. Finch laughed bitterly.
“Men like you always say that.”
I didn't argue.
Because she was right about something.
I had built my reputation by making promises that sounded like threats.
People believed I could solve everything.
Sometimes I could.
Other times, I had simply frightened everyone into silence.
That was not the same thing as solving a problem.
“May I see Leah's room?” I asked.
Mrs. Finch hesitated.
“Why?”
“If she discovered financial misconduct, she may have left records.”
The older woman studied me.
Then nodded reluctantly.
“Come.”
Leah's apartment was smaller than Mrs. Finch's.
One bedroom.
A narrow kitchen.
A living room with a secondhand sofa.
Children's drawings covered the refrigerator.
A pair of tiny rain boots stood beside the door.
Everything was tidy.
Painfully tidy.
Like someone had left expecting to return before dinner.
I noticed the kitchen calendar.
A red circle marked the day Leah disappeared.
Beside it, written in blue ink:
MEET D. — 6:30
I pointed.
“Who's D?”
Mrs. Finch shook her head.
“I don't know.”
I photographed the calendar.
Then opened a notebook lying beside the microwave.
Budget calculations.
Grocery lists.
A reminder to buy Wren new shoes.
Nothing unusual.
I felt something tighten inside my chest when I read the last line.
Ask for more hours. Wren needs winter boots.
Leah had been worrying about shoes while someone apparently stole money from families like hers.
I looked toward the window.
My own son had twelve pairs of shoes.
I didn't know their sizes.
That realization was harder to swallow than I expected.
“Did Leah have a computer?” I asked.
“Yes. Police took it.”
“Phone?”
“Missing.”
“Documents?”
“Nothing obvious.”
I was about to leave when Wren appeared in the doorway.
She held her metal lunchbox.
The same floral-patterned box I'd seen on the park bench.
“Mr. Vale?”
I turned.
“Yes?”
“Mom told me something.”
I crouched carefully.
“What?”
“If bad people came back, I wasn't supposed to give them anything.”
I nodded.
“That's sensible.”
She looked at my lapel.
“But Noah says you won't hurt me.”
I glanced at my son.
He stood behind her.
Watching.
For the first time in years, I felt the full weight of someone else's faith in me.
“No,” I said. “I won't.”
Wren slowly opened the lunchbox.
Inside was an old photograph wrapped in plastic.
She handed it to me.
“Mom said this was important.”
I unfolded the plastic.
The photograph showed Leah standing outside a Harborline Housing office.
Beside her stood three men.
I recognized two immediately.
Victor Sloane.
My head of security.
And Dennis Rourke.
A financial consultant who oversaw several legitimate investment accounts connected to my businesses.
The third man had his back to the camera.
He wore a gray coat.
On his right hand was a black signet ring.
A silver falcon.
I felt cold move through me.
“When was this taken?”
Wren shrugged.
“Mom said last month.”
I examined the image.
The three men stood near a black SUV.
Its door carried the Vale security emblem.
Victor wasn't simply nearby.
He appeared to be speaking to the man in the gray coat.
I stared at the photograph.
Victor had worked for my father.
He had been beside me when Elena died.
He had helped arrange Noah's security.
I trusted him with information I didn't trust most of my own family to know.
Now his face appeared in a photograph connected to a missing woman.
I looked at Noah.
“Did you know about this?”
He nodded.
“Wren showed me yesterday.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
He looked down.
“I didn't know if I should.”
That hurt.
Then he added:
“You always say Victor handles problems.”
I couldn't speak.
My son had heard me repeat that sentence for years.
Victor handles it.
Victor knows.
Victor will take care of everything.
Now Noah had found something even he recognized as suspicious.
And he hadn't trusted me enough to tell me.
I carefully returned the photograph to its plastic sleeve.
“Can I keep this temporarily?”
Wren hesitated.
Then nodded.
“But don't lose it.”
“I won't.”
I took out my phone.
This time I called Detective Amelia Brooks.
We had known each other for six years.
Not friends.
Not enemies.
She had investigated businesses connected to mine more than once.
She was one of the few people I couldn't intimidate.
I respected her for it.
“Vale,” she answered.
“Detective.”
“What do you want?”
“I have information about a missing woman.”
Silence.
Then:
“Who?”
“Leah Mercer.”
Her tone changed.
“How do you know that name?”
I looked at the photograph.
“Because my son has been feeding her daughter after school.”
Another silence.
Then:
“Gabriel, where are you?”
I gave her the address.
“Stay there.”
I looked toward Wren.
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“I'm bringing the child and her guardian somewhere safe. I'll send you the location through your department's official contact line.”
“Gabriel.”
“Listen carefully.”
I lowered my voice.
“The people who may have taken Leah were using vehicles with my company's emblem.”
She said nothing.
Then:
“Do not contact your security director.”
My stomach dropped.
“You know?”
“We've had concerns.”
“What concerns?”
“I'll explain in person.”
She ended the call.
I stared at the screen.
For years, I had believed I knew every dangerous secret in my city.
Apparently, there were secrets inside my own organization that the police understood better than I did.
I arranged temporary accommodation for Mrs. Finch and Wren at a secure residential hotel.
Mrs. Finch insisted on speaking directly with Detective Brooks before agreeing.
Good.
Someone needed to protect Wren from promises made by powerful men.
Noah rode beside me on the way home.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then he looked at the photograph in my hand.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think your men hurt Wren's mom?”
I looked at him.
I wanted to say no.
I wanted to tell him that whatever sins my organization carried, I would never permit something like that.
Instead, I told the truth.
“I don't know.”
Noah nodded.
He stared out the window.
Then whispered:
“If they did, are you going to stop them?”
I looked at the road.
At the darkening sky.
At the familiar falcon emblem on the steering wheel of the company car.
“Yes.”
He turned toward me.
“Even if Victor did it?”
My hands tightened around the wheel.
I took a breath.
“Even then.”
That evening, I returned home and found Victor Sloane waiting in my study.
He stood beside the window holding a drink.
He smiled when I entered.
“Gabriel.”
I didn't smile back.
He looked at the photograph in my hand.
His expression changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“Where did you get that?”
I placed the photograph on my desk.
“Tell me about Leah Mercer.”
Victor's smile disappeared.
May you like
Then he said something I would remember for the rest of my life.
“You should have let the boy keep his little secret.”
