Chapter 2 - The Man Who Arranged the Funeral
Adrian entered with the concerned expression Rowan had trusted at hospital beds, board meetings, and his sister’s memorial service.
It looked different now.
“Thank God,” the attorney said. “Your receptionist tells me a child is here.”
Rowan remained behind his desk.
“Why would that concern you?”
“Because her father is being investigated.”
“By whom?”
Adrian adjusted his cuff.
“There are sensitive matters involved.”
“Then speak carefully.”
A faint hesitation crossed the older man’s face.
“Owen Harrow worked as a contract accountant for one of our subsidiaries. He copied restricted records, disappeared, and began making accusations. We believe he may be experiencing some kind of breakdown.”
“We?”
“The people trying to resolve this responsibly.”
Rowan studied the man who had taught him how to sign documents without asking questions.
“Did he report his daughter missing?”
“Not yet.”
“Did anyone report him missing?”
“Rowan—”
“Two men assaulted him outside his home this morning.”
Adrian’s expression shifted into practiced disbelief.
“Is that what the child said?”
“Her name is Evie.”
“Children misunderstand frightening situations.”
“So do attorneys, apparently.”
Behind Adrian, the office door opened.
Ben stepped inside and remained there.
Adrian noticed.
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“Then explain why my sister’s daughter has your investigator’s telephone number on a missing-person notice.”
For the first time, Adrian’s face emptied.
It lasted less than a second.
Then he looked wounded.
“Mara’s daughter?”
“Be careful,” Rowan said. “This is the moment when you decide how much worse this becomes.”
Adrian sat without being invited.
“Your sister was involved with dangerous people.”
“She was involved with her family.”
“That is hardly fair.”
Rowan leaned forward.
“Did you identify her body?”
“The authorities handled identification.”
“Which authorities?”
“I would need to retrieve the file.”
“You’ll provide the file to my new attorney.”
Adrian stared at him.
“Your new attorney?”
“You no longer represent me.”
Silence settled between them.
Outside the windows, a tugboat moved through the harbor, leaving a white seam across dark water.
Adrian stood.
“If you make accusations based on a frightened child’s story, you could damage everything your father built.”
There it was.
Not a request for proof.
Not concern for Mara.
The company.
Always the company.
Rowan pressed a button on his desk.
“Your access to our systems has been suspended. Ben will escort you downstairs.”
Adrian’s voice lowered.
“You should speak to Elias before you do something irreversible.”
“My uncle can call me.”
“He already has.”
Only after Adrian left did Rowan allow himself to sit.
His hands were trembling.
He had not trembled when a man threatened him outside a nightclub at twenty-two. He had not trembled when his father handed him control of the company’s roughest operations.
But a little girl was eating crackers in his private conference room, and he could barely keep his fingers still.
An hour later, attorney Lena Ortiz arrived carrying a plain leather briefcase.
She had spent fifteen years prosecuting financial crimes before entering private practice. Ben knew her from a hospital board, and she had agreed to an immediate consultation.
Rowan told her everything.
He included the parts that made him look foolish.
He included the parts that might make him look guilty.
When he finished, Lena asked one question.
“Are you looking for your sister’s husband, or are you trying to keep your company out of trouble?”
“My sister’s husband.”
“Then you need to understand those goals may conflict.”
“I understand.”
“I’ll remind you when it gets difficult.”
She arranged for police to take Evie’s account with a trained child interviewer. Rowan stayed nearby, where Evie could see him through the open door.
He heard her describe the laundry entrance.
He heard her say her father had fallen against a trash bin.
He heard the interviewer tell her that running had helped him.
Only then did Evie begin to cry.
Rowan stood helplessly until she reached for him.
He sat beside her.
She pressed her face against his jacket, and he held her with the awkward care of a man handling something more valuable than he knew how to protect.
Later, Ben accompanied detectives to Boathouse Four.
The brass key opened a rusted locker beneath a disused workbench.
Inside were a weatherproof envelope, a small digital recorder, and a photograph of Mara holding a newborn.
On the back, in his sister’s handwriting, were eight words.
If he comes looking, let him hear everything.
Rowan touched the photograph.
May you like
For seven years, someone had decided what he was allowed to know.
That evening, he pressed play.
