PART ONE — THE PHOTOGRAPHS
Beatrice's hands began to shake.
Dante took the phone before she dropped it.
He studied the second photograph.
Maggie's kitchen.
The small blue kettle Beatrice had given her last Christmas. A half-open refrigerator. A purse hanging from the chair.
No Maggie.
"Call her," Dante said.
Beatrice did.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Voicemail.
Her chest tightened.
"She always answers me."
Dante was already speaking quietly into his own phone.
"Luca. Gallagher. Maggie. Find her."
He listened.
"No police yet."
Beatrice snapped her head toward him.
"No police?"
"If she's in immediate danger, yes. But if this is intimidation and the person watching is inside this building, calling police publicly tells them we've reacted."
"My sister is not a chess piece."
His eyes met hers.
"Neither are you."
The firmness of the answer stopped her.
Dante handed back her phone.
"Text her something ordinary."
"What?"
"Anything you would normally send."
Beatrice typed with trembling fingers.
Did you steal my blue sweater again?
She hated how absurd it looked.
Three dots appeared.
Then vanished.
Appeared again.
A reply came.
No. You left it here. Stop blaming me for your laundry disasters.
Beatrice nearly collapsed.
"That's her."
"You're certain?"
"Only Maggie calls my folding a laundry disaster."
Dante nodded once.
"Ask her where she is."
Coffee shop on 73rd. Why?
Beatrice showed him.
Dante spoke into his phone again.
"Confirmed. Seventy-third. Stay invisible."
She stared.
"You have someone following her?"
"Protecting."
"You arranged that in under a minute?"
"Yes."
That should have frightened her.
It did.
But not as much as the photographs.
"Whoever sent those knows where she lives."
"They wanted you scared."
"It worked."
"Fear isn't failure."
Beatrice looked away.
From the ballroom came another burst of laughter, strangely normal after what had just happened.
People were returning to their champagne.
That angered her more than anything.
Her life had shifted sideways, and somebody twenty feet away was discussing dessert.
Dante closed the folder.
"I need the original files."
"They're on my office computer."
"Can you access them remotely?"
"No. Our financial servers require physical token authentication."
"Where is the token?"
"In my desk."
"The same desk someone opened?"
"Yes."
"Then we're going upstairs."
Beatrice hesitated.
"This is Charles's event."
Dante looked at her.
"I wasn't asking Charles."
They crossed the ballroom together.
This time Beatrice walked beside him instead of behind.
Nobody laughed.
The reaction was almost embarrassing in its completeness.
People who had ignored her suddenly moved aside.
Men who had never remembered her name nodded politely.
Women who had spent years looking through her now looked directly at her.
Beatrice hated it.
Not Dante's protection.
Their fear.
So respect had always been possible.
They had simply decided she did not deserve it until someone powerful demanded it.
Near the elevator, Charles appeared.
"Beatrice."
She stopped.
Dante did not.
Charles looked at him.
"Mr. Moretti, our offices are closed during the event."
"I know."
"Security policy—"
"Move."
Charles did.
Immediately.
Beatrice almost laughed.
The elevator doors opened.
Dante entered.
Beatrice followed.
Charles stepped toward them.
Dante pressed the button for the thirty-seventh floor.
The doors began closing.
Charles shoved his hand between them.
"Beatrice, think carefully."
She stared at him.
"About what?"
"Your career."
Dante's expression sharpened.
Beatrice stepped closer to the narrowing gap.
"I have."
The doors closed.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then Dante said, "That was better."
"What was?"
"Your answer."
"I didn’t ask for a performance review."
His mouth twitched.
Almost a smile.
"You really aren't afraid of me."
Beatrice folded her arms.
"I am afraid of plenty of things."
"Such as?"
"Losing Maggie. Losing my job. Being lied to. Elevators that stop between floors."
The elevator lights flickered.
Beatrice froze.
Dante glanced at her.
"Anything else?"
"Don't make jokes."
"I wasn't."
The elevator shuddered.
Then stopped.
The lights went out.
For one breath, Beatrice heard nothing except the frantic beat of her own heart.
Then Dante's hand found hers in the darkness.
"Stay still."
"I’m trying."
"Good."
A faint emergency light came on.
Dante's face was inches from hers.
He looked calm.
Too calm.
"You planned this?" she whispered.
"No."
"Then why do you look like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like you expected it."
His expression changed.
"Because I did."
A metallic click sounded above them.
Dante pulled Beatrice against the wall.
Something scraped across the elevator roof.
Someone was outside.
And then a voice came through the emergency speaker.
"Mr. Moretti."
Dante's eyes hardened.
"Who is this?"
A low laugh answered.
"Someone who wants Beatrice to understand that the photographs were a courtesy."
The speaker went dead.
Beatrice stared at Dante.
He released her hand slowly.
"Now," he said, "we know this isn't about frightening you."
"What is it about?"
His eyes settled on hers.
"It's about forcing you to choose."
The elevator lights returned.
The doors opened.
The corridor outside was empty.
But on the polished floor lay a single white envelope.
Her name was written across it.
BEATRICE.
No surname.
No address.
Only her first name.
Dante stepped out first.
"Don't touch it."
Beatrice stared at the envelope.
"Why?"
"Because whoever left it knows exactly where you are."
He crouched beside it without touching.
A second message was visible through the translucent paper.
Three words.
ASK YOUR BOSS.
Beatrice's stomach dropped.
Because she already knew which boss they meant.
Charles.
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PART 2
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PART TWO — THE MAN BEHIND THE GLASS
Charles was waiting outside the executive office.
He had arrived impossibly fast.
Beatrice stared at him.
"You knew."
Charles's face went pale.
"I don’t know what you're talking about."
Dante held up the envelope.
Charles stopped breathing for half a second.
That was enough.
Dante noticed.
So did Beatrice.
"You know it," she said.
Charles looked toward the security cameras.
"Not here."
Dante's voice was quiet.
"Then inside."
They entered the executive office and locked the door.