Chapter 5 - CLARA’S BROTHER
Clara had not seen Daniel in three years.
That was what she told me.
We sat in the library while rain struck the windows.
Matteo slept upstairs.
For once, no camera was open on my desk.
I had turned it off.
Small thing.
Harder than expected.
“Why didn’t you mention your brother worked security systems?”
“You never asked about my family.”
“Your résumé lists emergency contact blank.”
“Correct.”
“Why?”
She looked away.
“Daniel and I don’t speak.”
“Why?”
“He steals.”
Direct.
“Money?”
“Whatever is useful.”
She folded her hands.
“Cash. Medication. identities. access.”
My eyes narrowed.
“What kind of access?”
“He worked installation jobs. Hotels. private homes. clinics. Security systems.”
Now this was dangerous.
“Did he work for Portwell?”
“I didn’t know until you said the name.”
Dominic had begun checking employment records.
Within an hour, confirmation arrived.
Daniel Hayes worked for Portwell Services for seven months.
Including the month before the bombing.
He had serviced Rourke estate cameras twice.
Clara’s face went white.
“What?”
I looked at her.
“You’re telling the truth?”
She became angry.
“Fire me.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“You think I came here because of Daniel.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Who sent you?”
“The agency.”
“Who recommended you?”
She stopped.
That mattered.
“I applied.”
“To this estate specifically?”
“No.”
Her voice slowed.
“They called and said a private client needed a caretaker.”
“Name?”
“No.”
“Who interviewed you?”
“Agency manager.”
Dominic was already calling.
Five minutes later:
Clara’s file had been requested by name.
Client-side referral.
Initials:
D.H.
The room went silent.
Clara whispered:
“No.”
Daniel.
Her brother had apparently helped place her inside my house.
Why?
“I didn’t know.”
I watched her carefully.
Fear.
Anger.
Humiliation.
Not calculation.
I believed her.
Mostly.
Then she stood.
“I’m leaving.”
“No.”
Her eyes flashed.
“You don’t own me.”
Correct.
I adjusted.
“I don’t think leaving is safe until we know why Daniel wanted you here.”
That landed differently.
She stopped.
“What if he wanted me to find something?”
“Such as?”
“Matteo.”
My blood went cold.
“What about him?”
“I don’t know.”
She paced once.
“Daniel used to do favors for people. Find cameras. copy files. place devices.”
“Bombs?”
“I don’t know.”
“Would he?”
She closed her eyes.
“He was capable of bad things.”
Not answer.
Then:
“He wasn’t violent when we were kids.”
People change.
I knew that better than anyone.
Dominic returned holding another report.
Daniel Hayes had disappeared eight months ago.
Last known address:
Hartford.
Last phone activity:
None.
Bank account dormant.
Maybe dead.
Maybe hiding.
Then another connection.
Three days after the bombing, Daniel received $180,000 from a shell company.
Company owner:
James Larkin.
Portwell Services.
Clara sat.
“Oh God.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“I know that amount.”
“How?”
She whispered:
“Daniel called me after my mother died.”
“When?”
“A year ago.”
“After the bombing.”
“Yes.”
“He was drunk.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he finally had enough money to leave.”
“Leave what?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
Then:
“He said, ‘I did one job too big.’”
My pulse slowed.
Dangerous calm.
“What else?”
Clara looked at me.
May you like
“He said a little boy wasn’t supposed to be in the car.”
Everything inside me stopped.
