Chapter 3 - Carter Battalia Did Not Rescue Me
I woke the next morning in a hotel suite I had not agreed to rent.
That sentence makes Carter sound like a kidnapper.
Technically, I suppose it should.
But at three in the morning, after Felix was taken somewhere he refused to explain and Vanessa disappeared through a service exit with two lawyers waiting outside, Carter had given me three options.
Go home, where someone connected to Dominic might already be waiting.
Go to police, where the forged financial trail might turn me from witness to suspect before breakfast.
Or stay somewhere secure until we knew how badly Vanessa had framed me.
I chose the hotel.
I chose it.
That mattered.
Carter had placed two guards in the hallway and stayed on another floor.
Also mattered.
At eight, someone knocked.
“Who?”
“Room service.”
I opened the door two inches.
Carter stood there holding coffee.
“You don’t look like room service.”
“I tip better.”
I opened the door.
He entered only after I stepped back.
White shirt. No jacket. Sleeves rolled.
Dangerous men should not be allowed to look normal.
It confused the nervous system.
He set the coffee on the table.
“I had Leon pull everything tied to your identity.”
“How bad?”
“Bad enough.”
“Specific.”
“Six shell accounts. Two Delaware companies. One art-shipping insurer. Approximately fourteen million dollars moved in eighteen months.”
I stared.
“Fourteen million?”
“Your signature appears on account documents.”
“I didn’t sign them.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know.”
“I watched you discover the flash drive last night.”
“That proves I didn’t know about the drive.”
“It also proves your sister anticipated scrutiny.”
I sat.
“My life is over.”
“No.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“No, it isn’t.”
I looked up.
For the first time, he looked tired.
“Why do you care?”
He paused.
“About the case?”
“About me.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“I haven’t decided if caring is the word.”
“Comforting.”
“You want comfortable, Diana?”
“I want honest.”
“Then no. I didn’t walk into that ballroom innocent. I knew your name before I saw you. I knew your gallery. I knew someone had used your identity.”
Vanessa’s voice returned.
You thought he noticed you.
I hated that it still hurt.
“So last night was an investigation.”
“At first.”
The room became very quiet.
“At first?”
Carter leaned against the table.
“When I saw you, I expected someone slicker.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean someone who knew fourteen million dollars had moved through her name.”
“Better.”
“You looked like you wanted the floor to open and swallow you because your dress had a slit.”
I folded my arms.
“You noticed that?”
“I noticed everything.”
There was that attention again.
I stood.
“Do not flirt with me while my sister has framed me for money laundering.”
“I’m not flirting.”
“You’re worse at lying than your reputation suggests.”
He smiled.
Then his phone rang.
The smile disappeared.
“Leon.”
He listened.
“What do you mean gone?”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
Carter held up one finger.
“When?”
He walked toward the window.
“Find her.”
He ended the call.
“Vanessa?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“Felix.”
I stood.
“I thought your people had him.”
“They did.”
“Then how did he disappear?”
“Someone inside helped him.”
Carter looked furious in a very quiet way.
I realized then that his organization frightened people not because he exploded but because he rarely did. Anger became more dangerous when it arrived contained.
“I need to go to Marlowe House,” I said.
“No.”
I stared.
He corrected himself immediately.
“I strongly recommend you don’t.”
“Better.”
“Dominic may have people watching it.”
“So may the FBI.”
“Yes.”
“Then staying here makes me look guilty.”
“It keeps you alive.”
“You don’t get to decide which risk I choose.”
His jaw tightened.
“That line is going to become inconvenient.”
“Get used to it.”
For one second we simply looked at each other.
Then he nodded.
“Fine. But I go with you.”
“That defeats the innocent appearance.”
“Then Leon goes.”
“Does Leon look less criminal?”
“No.”
“Exactly.”
Carter almost laughed again.
We compromised.
A woman named Mara drove me.
She was forty, sharp-eyed, and introduced herself as Carter’s legal counsel, which did not explain why she carried herself like someone who knew exactly where every exit was.
Marlowe House sat on a quiet Old City block between a furniture showroom and a café that sold twelve-dollar toast.
The front door was open.
That was wrong.
I always locked it.
Mara touched my elbow.
“Stay behind me.”
We entered.
The gallery looked normal.
White walls.
Concrete floors.
Six paintings from our current show.
Then I saw my office.
Drawers open.
Computer missing.
Safe door ajar.
Someone had searched everything.
I ran to the storage room.
“Diana.”
I ignored Mara.
Crates stood open.
One painting was missing.
A small abstract by a local artist named Celia Wynn.
Not the most expensive work.
Not even close.
But behind it—
“Oh no.”
I pulled the hanging rail away from the wall.
A narrow compartment was empty.
Mara stared.
“What was there?”
“My father’s archive box.”
“What archive?”
I turned.
“My father owned this gallery before he died.”
“When?”
“Seven years ago.”
“What was in the box?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never opened it?”
“He told me not to unless someone came asking about a painting called Blue Mercy.”
Mara went still.
“What?”
“Do you know it?”
“No.”
She was lying.
I stepped closer.
“Mara.”
She sighed.
“Carter knows that title.”
I grabbed my phone.
He answered immediately.
“What happened?”
“Someone broke into the gallery.”
Silence.
“What’s missing?”
“My father’s archive.”
Another silence.
“Carter, what is Blue Mercy?”
He did not answer.
My heart started pounding.
“Do not lie to me.”
“I’m coming.”
“What is it?”
He exhaled.
“A painting.”
“I know that.”
“It belonged to my mother.”
That stopped me.
“What?”
“She sold it twenty years ago.”
“To whom?”
“We never knew.”
I looked around my father’s gallery.
White walls.
Open drawers.
Missing box.
“Why would my father know about your mother’s painting?”
“I don’t know.”
“Vanessa?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dominic?”
“Diana.”
“What?”
“Leave now.”
I heard urgency.
Not command.
Fear.
“Why?”
“Because Blue Mercy wasn’t valuable because of the canvas.”
“What was valuable?”
He lowered his voice.
“What was hidden inside the frame.”
Mara turned toward the front windows.
A black SUV had just stopped outside.
Two men got out.
Not police.
Not Carter’s people.
Mara pulled me backward.
“What was hidden?” I whispered into the phone.
Carter answered as the gallery door opened.
“A list of every judge, cop, politician, and businessman my father ever paid.”
The first man stepped inside.
And smiled at me.
“Diana,” he said.
Like he knew me.
Behind him, Vanessa entered wearing sunglasses.
She removed them slowly.
“Hi, little sister.”
May you like
Then she looked at Mara.
“Tell Carter he should’ve stayed at the hotel.”
