Chapter 16 - Someone Inside the Studio
I did not drive to the studio.
Every instinct in me screamed to go.
Open Table was mine.
My tables.
My mother's photograph.
The shelves I painted with Keeley.
The blue door I had unlocked on mornings when I barely believed I could build a life.
But ownership did not make me bulletproof.
Elena called emergency services while I kept Marisol on the phone.
“Where are you?”
“Supply closet.”
“Door locked?”
“Yes.”
“Stay there.”
“I heard glass.”
My stomach twisted.
“Police are coming.”
“What if they—”
“Stay where you are.”
I kept my voice steady until officers reached the building.
Those seven minutes felt longer than my divorce.
When Marisol finally walked outside, she was wrapped in a borrowed jacket and furious.
Not crying.
Furious.
“I left my phone charger,” she said as if confessing a terrible crime.
I hugged her.
She resisted for half a second before holding on.
“You don't apologize for being at work.”
“I should have called when I saw the door.”
“Yes.”
“That sounded like judgment.”
“It was.”
She laughed shakily into my shoulder.
No one was inside when police searched the studio.
A rear window had been broken.
Two file drawers were open.
My desk had been searched.
The cash box remained untouched.
So did two laptops.
Whoever entered had not come for equipment.
That frightened me more.
“What is missing?” an officer asked.
I looked around.
Class lists.
Receipts.
Supply orders.
Nothing obvious.
Then I saw the empty space beside my desk.
The memory box.
The one containing Landon's original twenty-four-rose anniversary card, old photographs, and documents I had kept from the marriage.
Gone.
My stomach dropped.
“Personal papers.”
“What kind?”
“Old cards. Photographs. Maybe copies of divorce documents.”
The officer wrote everything down.
Noah arrived while they were photographing the window.
He saw me but stopped several feet away until I nodded.
Then he came closer.
“Marisol okay?”
“Yes.”
“You?”
“No.”
The answer came easily now.
I did not need to perform strength for people who had earned honesty.
His jaw tightened when I showed him the broken glass.
“We can reinforce that.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tonight.”
“Noah.”
He looked at me.
“Tomorrow.”
He exhaled.
“Okay.”
Brit and Keeley arrived with food because apparently every crisis in my life required sandwiches.
Tessa came later.
Evelyn did not.
I had asked Elena to tell her not to contact me yet.
My anger toward her felt too complicated for conversation.
At midnight, we finished boarding the window.
I refused to sleep at the studio, despite the irrational urge to guard it.
Noah drove me home.
We had been dating for nearly a year, but we still maintained separate apartments.
That choice had once seemed cautious.
Tonight, when he stopped outside my building, I suddenly hated the thought of walking upstairs alone.
“Do you want me to stay?” he asked.
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
He parked.
Inside my apartment, I checked the balcony lock twice.
Then three times.
Noah did not tell me I was safe.
He knew better than to promise what he could not know.
He sat on the couch while I showered.
When I returned, he had made tea.
I stared at the mug.
“Everybody keeps giving me beverages when my life gets terrible.”
“Hydration is our only reliable skill.”
I laughed.
Then I started crying.
Not elegantly.
Not one meaningful tear.
I cried hard enough that my ribs hurt.
“They took Mom's picture.”
The memory box contained a duplicate print of my mother laughing beside the crooked birthday cake.
I had another copy.
That did not matter.
“They came into my place and took something that belonged to me.”
Noah sat beside me.
He did not touch me until I reached for his hand.
“I keep thinking I should have known.”
“Known what?”
“That Landon's mess wasn't finished.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
“Then that isn't knowing.”
I looked at him.
He squeezed my fingers once.
“You don't get to punish yourself for not predicting somebody else's crime.”
The next morning, police called.
They had recovered a partial fingerprint from the broken window frame.
No immediate match.
Then Elena called with worse news.
Someone had used a photocopy from my stolen memory box.
An anonymous email had been sent to three local organizations that partnered with Open Table.
Attached was Landon's old anniversary card.
A message claimed I had fabricated the affair and financial dispute to “destroy a devoted husband for publicity.”
It included photographs of me and Noah.
One taken outside the botanical garden.
Another outside my apartment.
My blood went cold.
This was no longer about missing money.
Someone had been watching me.
May you like
And at the bottom of the email was one final sentence.
ASK HARPER WHAT SHE DID WITH GRAHAM VALE'S MONEY.
