Chapter 1 - The Price of a Thank-You
“Then what is it?”
Jake looked at Catherine across the kitchen island.
For once, the answer did not arrive quickly.
He could negotiate fuel contracts under pressure. He could calculate a terminal’s annual operating costs before his finance director finished presenting them. But a woman in a faded blue work shirt had asked him a simple question, and every response he considered sounded wrong.
“A thank-you,” he said finally.
“Then say thank you.”
He blinked.
Catherine folded the dishcloth.
“You can’t send my car somewhere without asking me. It’s still mine, even if it doesn’t run.”
Jake glanced at the keys beside her purse.
He had believed he was solving a problem.
Apparently he had created another one.
“You’re right.”
She studied him, suspicious of how easily he said it.
“I’ll call the mechanic,” he continued. “No repairs without your approval. And I’ll pay for the towing because I authorized it.”
Some of the tension left her face.
“That would be fair.”
“And thank you.”
Her expression softened.
“You’re welcome.”
The kitchen became quiet.
Outside, the automatic sprinklers clicked on across the lawn. Jake had never noticed how loud they sounded.
Catherine reached for a sheet of paper beside the fruit bowl.
“I wrote everything down while I remembered.”
He took it.
Her handwriting was neat and slightly slanted.
Time of arrival.
What Hadley had said.
The amount offered.
The exact document he wanted.
At the bottom, one sentence had been underlined.
He said nobody would blame me for finally choosing myself.
Jake read it twice.
Catherine watched him.
“He knew things about me.”
“The car?”
“The rent. My daughter’s after-school program. The fact that I clean here alone on Thursdays.”
Jake looked up.
He knew she had a daughter. Lucy. Eleven years old.
He had never considered that someone else might know her schedule.
“Did he threaten you?”
“Not directly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means a man doesn’t have to raise his voice to make sure you understand he’s been looking.”
Jake placed the paper flat on the counter.
“How did he get inside?”
“He used the gate.”
“With what code?”
“I assumed you’d given him one.”
“No.”
Catherine’s face changed.
“He said you expected him. Something about an insurance inspection. Then he asked whether we could speak in your study.”
“Did you believe him?”
“Until he started talking about the safe.”
Jake looked toward the hallway.
The house suddenly felt less secure than the hotel room he had abandoned.
He called his general counsel, Nora Patel.
She answered on the second ring.
“Please tell me Charlotte went well.”
“Lyall Hadley came to my house and offered Catherine fifty thousand dollars for our bid.”
Silence.
Then: “Is she safe?”
Jake looked at Catherine.
“Yes.”
“Preserve the camera footage. Don’t send it around. Don’t contact Hadley. I’m coming over.”
After the call, Catherine picked up her purse.
“I need to collect Lucy.”
“I’ll have someone drive you.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
Jake stopped.
“Would you like someone to drive you?”
She considered it.
“My neighbor Dolores is picking her up today. But I’d appreciate a ride home.”
“Of course.”
He almost offered to arrange a hotel.
Then he caught himself.
One question at a time.
While Catherine called Dolores, Jake opened the gate system on his phone.
Hadley’s vehicle had entered at 2:07 p.m.
The code used was not Catherine’s.
It was a temporary visitor code issued that morning.
Authorized user: Owen Mercer.
Jake stared at the name.
Owen was his chief operating officer.
His oldest remaining friend.
The man who had helped rebuild Ellison Logistics after Jake’s former partner emptied the company accounts ten years earlier.
The man Jake had trusted with everything he no longer trusted other people to handle.
Catherine ended her call.
“Lucy’s fine. She’s arguing about fractions.”
Jake barely heard her.
Owen had access to his calendar.
His home security system.
The final bid schedule.
Catherine’s workdays.
He looked again at the authorization log.
Then he remembered Hadley smiling on the silent camera feed.
Perhaps that confidence had never been about Catherine.
Perhaps Hadley had believed the door was already open.
“Mr. Ellison?”
Jake looked up.
Catherine was watching him carefully.
“Something else happened, didn’t it?”
He wanted to say no.
To protect the investigation.
To protect himself from hearing the suspicion aloud.
Instead, he turned the screen toward her.
She read the name.
Her mouth tightened.
“He called yesterday.”
“Owen?”
She nodded.
“He asked whether I’d be working alone today.”
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then Catherine glanced toward the study.
“Well,” she said quietly, “I suppose now we know which question comes next.”
May you like
Jake did.
And for the first time in ten years, he was afraid to ask it.
