Just closer.
“Who was he?”
She swallowed.
“His name was Gabriel.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“Gabriel what?”
Maria hesitated.
“Torres.”
“Your last name.”
“Yes.”
“Where did he work?”
She didn’t answer.
“Maria.”
“He made deliveries.”
“For who?”
Her eyes met mine.
“For one of your companies.”
Something inside me shifted.
“Which one?”
“Hale Distribution.”
I stared at her.
Hale Distribution had been one of my earliest legitimate companies. It handled restaurant supplies, beverages, warehouse shipments, and construction equipment throughout three states.
Hundreds of employees had worked there over the years.
I couldn’t possibly know them all.
“What happened?”
Maria folded her arms around herself.
“It was raining.”
The sound against the windows suddenly seemed louder.
“He was driving north from Manhattan. A truck crossed lanes near Yonkers. Gabriel’s van went through a barrier.”
I remained silent.
“He died before the ambulance arrived.”
A memory stirred somewhere at the edge of my mind.
Three years ago.
Winter.
A delivery acc!dent.
One fatality.
Insurance.
Funeral expenses covered.
I had signed documents.
Probably without reading beyond the first page.
“Why would that make you afraid of me?”
Maria lowered her gaze.
“Because that wasn’t the reason I applied for this job.”
There it was.
The admission I had expected from the beginning.
And yet it didn’t sound like betrayal.
It sounded like grief.
I waited.
Maria took a slow breath.
“When Gabriel died, the police returned his personal belongings to me. His watch. His wallet. His wedding ring.”
Her voice caught slightly.
“And a key.”
“What key?”
“I didn’t know.”
She glanced toward the study.
“The police said they found it inside his jacket.”
I felt that familiar coldness return.
Not anger. Calculation.
“What kind of key?”
“Small. Brass. No markings except one number.”
“Which number?”
“214.”
I knew that number.
Not immediately.
But somewhere deep within my memory, it connected to something.
A storage unit. A deposit box. A locker.
I couldn’t place it.
“What did you do with it?”
“Nothing. At first.”
“At first.”
“For nearly two years, I kept it inside a drawer.”
“And then?”
“I found a photograph.”
She reached into the pocket of her cardigan.
My body responded before my mind could.
Old instincts.
I watched her hand.
She noticed.
Slowly and deliberately, Maria pulled out a folded piece of paper.
Nothing d@ngerous.
A photograph.
She crossed the room and placed it on the table.
