Chapter 2 - The Black CardClaire had never seen Adrian Voss move so quickly.
One second she had been staring at the dead detective.
The next, Adrian was pulling her behind a stone pillar while his men secured every entrance.
“Stay down.”
She obeyed.
Not because he commanded her.
Because something in his voice told her that disobedience could get her killed.
Sirens screamed outside.
Guests ran through the club.
Security guards shouted conflicting orders.
Claire’s pulse hammered.
“Who shot him?”
Adrian crouched beside her.
“Someone who wanted the room in chaos.”
“And Mason?”
“Gone.”
Claire stared at him.
“How?”
“Your fiancé had an exit plan.”
“He’s not my fiancé anymore.”
Adrian studied her.
“No.”
His voice softened.
“He isn't.”
That sentence should have comforted her.
Instead, Claire felt tears sting her eyes.
She had spent three years trying to convince herself Mason loved her.
Three years accepting apologies after bruises.
Three years allowing him to decide who she could speak to, what she could spend, where she could go.
And one night had been enough to destroy the illusion.
Adrian offered his hand.
“Come with me.”
Claire hesitated.
“Where?”
“Somewhere Mason can't reach you.”
“And why would you care?”
He looked at her for several seconds.
“Because your father once saved my life.”
Claire stared.
“My father?”
Adrian nodded.
“Twenty-two years ago.”
That made no sense.
Her father had died when Claire was eight.
“You knew Jonathan?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Your father helped my mother escape Charleston.”
Claire blinked.
“My father never mentioned you.”
“He wasn't supposed to.”
Adrian stood.
“We need to move.”
Before Claire could ask anything else, one of his men approached.
“Mr. Voss.”
Adrian turned.
“What?”
“We found this in Mason’s car.”
He handed Adrian a photograph.
Claire recognized the house immediately.
The Whitmore estate.
But the photograph was taken from outside her bedroom window.
Claire's stomach dropped.
There was writing on the back.
SHE KNOWS TOO MUCH.
Adrian’s jaw hardened.
“Who took it?”
“We're checking.”
Claire stared at the photograph.
“When?”
The man hesitated.
“Last night.”
Claire felt sick.
Last night, she had been asleep.
Someone had been standing outside her bedroom.
Watching.
Adrian folded the photograph.
“Take her to the car.”
Claire grabbed his sleeve.
“No.”
He turned.
“I need answers.”
“You'll get them.”
“When?”
“When you're alive long enough to hear them.”
She stared at him.
Then she asked the question that had been burning inside her.
“Did you know Mason was going to attack me tonight?”
Adrian didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
Claire's voice trembled.
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“You were watching me.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
Adrian’s eyes locked onto hers.
“Eight months.”
Claire’s chest tightened.
“Why?”
He didn't respond.
Instead, he reached into his jacket.
He pulled out a small envelope.
On the front was Claire’s name.
She opened it.
Inside was a bank photograph of Mason standing beside three men.
One of them was Claire’s private attorney.
The second was her accountant.
The third was her uncle.
Claire's face went pale.
“No.”
Adrian said nothing.
Her uncle had raised her after her parents died.
He had comforted her at the funeral.
He had told her Mason was a good man.
He had told her to trust the people around her.
Claire looked up.
“Tell me this isn't real.”
Adrian’s expression was grim.
“It gets worse.”
He gave her another photograph.
This one showed her uncle shaking hands with Mason.
Behind them was a warehouse.
Stamped on the wall was the logo of a company Claire recognized.
Whitmore Medical.
A company belonging to her late mother.
Claire whispered, “That company closed fifteen years ago.”
Adrian shook his head.
“It never closed.”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“It has been active the entire time.”
Claire stared at the photograph.
Someone had been using her dead mother’s company for something.
And she suddenly realized why Mason had wanted control of the foundation.
He didn't just want her money.
He wanted access.
To everything her parents had built.
Adrian took the photo back.
“Now we can start asking the right questions.”
Claire looked toward the night outside.
Then she saw something that made her blood turn cold.
Across the street, beneath a flickering streetlamp, stood a woman in a white coat.
Watching the club.
Watching Claire.
And when Claire looked directly at her, the woman slowly raised one hand.
She was holding a photograph.
Claire's photograph.
Then the woman turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Adrian saw her too.
His face changed.
“You know her?”
Claire shook her head.
“No.”
Adrian stared after the woman.
“I do.”
May you like
He paused.
“That woman died twelve years ago.”
