Chapter 6 - The Card Under the Door
The black town car lingered at the curb for twenty agonizing seconds before inching forward and turning the corner toward the avenue. I exhaled a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, my fingers trembling slightly where they gripped the strap of my canvas tote. Maya was still swinging gently, her small legs kicking up toward the autumn leaves, completely unaware of the shadow that had just passed over us. Julian stood beside her, his tall frame blocking the street view, his expression a mask of calculated calm. But I saw the small muscle ticking in his jaw. I saw the way his shoulders stayed locked under the black wool of his tuxedo jacket.
"We need to go," I said, keeping my voice level as I walked up to them. "Now."
Julian nodded once, his eyes dark and heavy with a new kind of resolve. He scooped Maya up into his arms, ignoring the slight stain of dust she might transfer to his expensive clothes. She giggled, looping her arms around his neck. We walked back to the apartment in silence, the afternoon sunlight suddenly feeling brittle and cold. When we reached the front porch of the yellow-paneled house, my heart hitched. A thick cream-colored envelope was wedged halfway beneath our scarred wooden front door.
I froze on the bottom step. Julian stepped past me, his leather shoes clicking sharply on the porch boards. He crouched down, pulled the envelope free, and turned it over in his hand. My name was written on the front in sharp, sloping fountain pen ink. There was no stamp, no postmark. Just hand-delivered intimidation.
"Open it," I whispered, the fear tightening my throat until breathing hurt.
Julian ripped the top open and slid out a heavy card stock business card along with a single sheet of embossed stationery. He scanned the lines, his eyes narrowing until they were nearly silver in the porch shade.
"Who is it?" I demanded, stepping close enough to smell the faint, expensive scent of cedarwood and dry cleaning on his lapels. "Is it your father's old press secretary? One of the board members?"
"It's Marcus Vance," Julian said, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. "He runs the investigative division for the firm's holding company. He must have tracked the toll tag on my car or pulled traffic cameras near the gala."
"He knows we're here," I said, my voice shaking as I reached for the door handle. "Julian, he knows where my daughter lives. This is exactly what I spent three years running from. The moment your world touches mine, it burns everything down."
May you like
Julian grabbed my wrist, his fingers warm and steady, anchoring me against the rising panic. "He won't touch her, Clara. I built that firm from the ground up, and Vance only has a job because I let him keep it. I am going to end this tonight."
Inside the small living room, Maya skipped off toward her bedroom to unlace her shoes, leaving Julian and me alone in the cramped kitchen. The quiet of the apartment felt fragile, like thin ice over a deep pond. Julian pulled out his phone, his thumb moving with furious speed across the screen as he dialed a direct line to his legal counsel. I stood by the sink, staring out the grease-streaked window at the alleyway, wondering how many hours we had left before our lives were blown wide open across the morning papers.
