Chapter 6 - The Address in the Wrong Hands
Leah treated Bianca’s call seriously.
She documented Emma’s account, notified the appropriate people, and arranged for any further contact to be preserved.
Nora’s apartment had once felt anonymous.
Now Emma noticed every car that slowed outside.
Every stranger near the entrance.
Every unexpected buzz from the intercom.
Fear made her world smaller by inches.
The worst part was how familiar that shrinking felt.
At the estate, she had called it keeping the peace.
Here, at least, she could name it.
Three nights later, someone left an envelope beneath the apartment door.
Inside was a copy of an unsigned agreement releasing claims involving Ash Street Holdings.
A yellow note was attached.
Make this simple before the baby comes.
Nora found Emma staring at it.
“Pack a bag,” she said.
Emma almost protested.
She was tired of leaving rooms.
Tired of carrying her life in canvas.
Then her stomach tightened.
She waited for it to ease.
It did not.
At the hospital, the monitor registered contractions.
Emma was thirty-four weeks pregnant.
The obstetric team assessed her and explained what they would watch for. Nora stayed beside her, holding the same yellow blanket Emma had packed the night she left Dante.
“I was supposed to be choosing curtains,” Emma whispered.
“You still can.”
“I was supposed to feel happy.”
Nora squeezed her hand.
“You’re allowed to be scared and happy about him at the same time.”
Outside the examination room, Leah spoke with hospital staff about privacy restrictions.
Nobody would confirm Emma’s presence without her consent.
A police officer took a report about the envelope.
When asked who knew the apartment’s address, Emma gave a list that felt too long.
Lawyers. Banks. Medical offices.
Adrian.
He had handled the mailing information for her individual accounts for years.
The realization made her feel physically cold.
Later that night, Dante learned only that Emma had experienced a medical complication. His attorney provided no location.
For the first time in his adult life, he wanted information he had no right to obtain.
He could have asked people to look.
There were always people willing to look.
Instead, he called his attorney back.
“Tell her lawyer I have records showing who accessed her account profile.”
“Send them to us.”
“And tell her…”
He stopped.
Tell her I love her.
Tell her I’m sorry.
Tell her I’m losing my mind.
Every sentence was about him.
“Just send the records.”
By morning, Emma’s contractions had eased.
The baby’s monitoring remained reassuring, but her team wanted close follow-up.
Leah arrived with news.
Access records indicated Adrian’s office had retrieved Emma’s updated contact information shortly before the envelope appeared. That did not establish who delivered it, but it gave investigators something concrete to examine.
Dante had supplied the records voluntarily.
Emma closed her eyes.
“Good.”
There was nothing else to say.
After discharge, she moved into a furnished apartment arranged through an independent service Leah trusted. Nora came too.
The building had controlled access.
The windows faced a courtyard.
For two days, Emma slept.
On the third, there was a knock.
She froze.
Nora checked the door, then returned holding a grocery bag and an apologetic expression.
“Our neighbor. Apparently I dropped oranges all over the parking garage.”
Behind her stood a tall man in an old university sweatshirt.
Emma recognized him slowly.
“Sam?”
Samuel Hayes had been two years ahead of her in architecture school. He had once spent an entire night helping their studio rebuild a model after a sprinkler malfunction.
He looked equally startled.
“Emma Bennett?”
Nobody had called her by her maiden name in so long that she almost cried.
Sam noticed the movement of her hand toward her stomach and stepped back.
“I’m just upstairs. Your sister said you needed ginger tea. I had extra.”
He placed the bag on the counter.
No questions.
No glance at her bruised cheek, now fading yellow.
No sudden familiarity.
As he left, he looked at the drawings spread across the table.
“You still make good spaces.”
After the door closed, Emma sat down.
For weeks, everyone had seen a victim, a wife, a scandal, or a mother.
One person had just remembered something else.
That evening, the baby rolled beneath her palm.
Emma opened her portfolio.
May you like
Outside, the courtyard lights came on.
For the first time, her new address felt like somewhere a future might find her.
