“Before you say anything,” Elara began, “I had a very difficult evening.”
“You kissed Roman Calder.”
“I know.”
“The Roman Calder.”
“There appears to be only one.”
“You are engaged to the most terrifying man in California.”
“I am not engaged.”
“The internet disagrees.”
“The internet also believes dolphins can predict earthquakes.”
“Elara, people are posting photographs of diamond rings they think he should buy you.”
“I hate everyone.”
“Did you at least enjoy the kiss?”
“It was an emergency.”
“That is not an answer.”
Someone knocked on Elara’s door.
Three slow, deliberate knocks.
She froze.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Nia asked.
“No.”
“Do not open it.”
The knocking came again.
A man’s voice followed.
“Ms. Quinn. Mateo Serrano.”
The security officer from the museum.
Elara looked through the peephole.
Mateo stood alone in the hallway, wearing a dark overcoat.
“I have to call you back.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Nia.”
“Keep me on the phone.”
Elara opened the door but left the chain secured.
“What do you want?”
“Mr. Calder would like to speak with you.”
“Mr. Calder seems unfamiliar with telephones.”
“He prefers conversations that cannot be recorded remotely.”
“That is reassuring.”
Mateo’s gaze moved briefly toward the street-facing window.
“You should pack a bag.”
Elara’s sarcasm disappeared.
“Why?”
“Someone entered your office at five thirteen this morning.”
She unhooked the chain.
“What was taken?”
“Your work computer. Two external drives. The paper files from your desk.”
“How do you know?”
“We received the security footage before your employer erased it.”
Elara tightened her grip on the phone.
“Conrad?”
“Possibly.”
“Did they find the memory card?”
Mateo looked at her.
“You should not answer questions I have not asked.”
Nia’s voice came through the phone.
“Elara, who is that?”
“My life making another terrible decision.”
Mateo waited while Elara packed clothes, medication, her laptop, and the silver clutch.
She kept the memory card concealed inside its lining.
Outside, a black sedan stood at the curb.
Roman sat in the back.
Elara climbed inside but refused to close the door.
“You called me your fiancée.”
Roman glanced up from a tablet.
“It discouraged questions.”
“It created several million new ones.”
“It also kept Conrad Bell from taking your purse in front of witnesses.”
She looked at him.
“You saw that?”
“I saw him watching it.”
“Someone robbed my office.”
“I know.”
“And you think it is connected to the audit.”
“I think the same people who photographed us knew where you would stand and what you would be carrying.”
Elara closed the door.
The sedan joined the morning traffic.
Roman placed a folder between them. Inside were photographs of Everett meeting Conrad in a hotel parking garage, bank records tied to the Meridian Foundation, and a surveillance image of a woman with short white-blond hair.
“Who is she?” Elara asked.
“Sabine Kirov. She controls a competing port network.”
“And you believe she arranged the photograph?”
“I believed that last night.”
“What changed?”
“The photographer was found dead before sunrise.”
Elara slowly closed the folder.
“Was that your doing?”
“No.”
She searched his face.
“How can I know?”
“You cannot.”
At least he had not insulted her by pretending otherwise.
Roman continued.
“Sabine’s people received the photograph within twenty minutes. By midnight, they were asking questions about you.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Where you live. Where your mother lives. Whether you have siblings. Whether you travel alone.”
Elara’s stomach tightened.
“My mother died seven years ago.”
“I know.”
“Of course you do.”
“Your father is alive.”
“He is not involved in my work.”
“Anyone connected to you is now involved.”
“Because you called me your fiancée.”
“Because you kissed me while carrying evidence that may identify someone selling access to my family’s operations.”
Elara stared through the tinted window.
The city blurred past in steel, fog, and morning rain.
“You think the missing money is connected to your organization.”
“I know it is.”
“How?”
Roman took out a second folder.
It contained dates and locations of attacks against Calder Maritime properties: a warehouse fire in Oakland, a customs raid in Long Beach, a hijacked shipment outside Reno, and an explosion that destroyed an empty terminal office.
Each incident occurred shortly after one of the suspicious foundation payments.
Elara leaned forward.
“The payments are not bribes.”
“No?”
“They are notifications.”
She examined the reference numbers.
The final digits corresponded to terminal designations and cargo routes. The invoice dates indicated time windows. The vendor categories identified the type of security vulnerability.