Chapter 2 - THE FILE WITH MY NAME ON IT
My name is Hannah Reed.
Until that morning, I believed Vincent Castalano knew exactly three things about me.
I worked in his household laundry department.
I never stole.
And apparently I had a child brave enough to mock him directly to his face.
Then a flash drive hidden beneath his desk appeared with my last name written across it.
Suddenly I was sitting in a study I had never been allowed to enter while three security specialists examined a computer that was deliberately disconnected from the estate network.
Mia sat in the corner coloring a horse purple.
Apparently she had moved on emotionally.
I had not.
Renzo inserted the drive.
One folder appeared.
H. REED.
Another:
M. REED.
Mia.
My hands turned cold.
Vincent looked at me.
“Do you know why anyone would have files on you?”
“No.”
“That answer needs to be true.”
I stared back.
“It is.”
Renzo opened the first folder.
Photographs filled the screen.
Me leaving my apartment.
Me taking Mia to preschool.
Me buying groceries.
Mia asleep in my arms outside the pediatrician.
A photograph of my sister’s car.
Another of my building entrance.
My breathing stopped.
“These are recent.”
Renzo nodded.
Some had timestamps from the previous month.
Someone had been watching us.
Vincent’s voice became terrifyingly calm.
“Who knows where you live?”
“Human resources. Payroll. A few staff members.”
“Anyone outside the estate?”
“My family.”
Then Renzo opened a document.
It was an employment history.
Mine.
But the file began before I ever applied to work for Vincent.
I leaned closer.
“What is that?”
The first entry was dated six years earlier.
HANNAH MILLER — PRIOR TO MARRIAGE.
My maiden name.
Address.
Employer.
Then:
MARRIED NOAH REED.
My chest tightened.
Noah had been dead for almost two years.
A traffic collision on a rainy highway outside Newark.
The police called it an accident.
I had spent twenty-two months learning how to become a mother and father at once.
Vincent noticed my face.
“Your husband?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“Accounting.”
“Where?”
“Meridian Harbor Logistics.”
Renzo stopped typing.
Vincent looked sharply at him.
“What?”
Renzo slowly turned the computer.
Meridian Harbor Logistics appeared in another folder on the drive.
Dozens of invoices.
Shipping contracts.
Bank transfers.
Then a scanned letter.
Addressed:
MR. VINCENT CASTALANO.
Sender:
NOAH REED.
My husband.
I stared at his name.
“No.”
Vincent’s expression became unreadable.
“You never knew he contacted me?”
“He never mentioned you.”
Renzo opened the letter.
The first paragraph began:
Mr. Castalano,
I believe someone inside your organization is using your name to divert payments from legitimate vendors and intimidate anyone who questions the invoices.
My knees nearly failed.
Noah had worked for a company that handled freight accounting.
I knew he complained about “bad books” near the end.
I thought he meant incompetence.
Then came the name.
Marco Bellini.
Vincent’s longtime finance director.
A man I had seen at the estate dozens of times.
The letter ended:
If anything happens to me, the original records are not at my home.
I looked at Vincent.
“My husband wrote this?”
“Yes.”
“Did you receive it?”
His silence answered before his mouth did.
Finally:
“I received something.”
My stomach turned.
“When?”
“Three weeks before Noah died.”
The room disappeared around me.
Vincent looked at the photograph of Noah on the screen.
Then he said:
“I thought it was bait from a rival.”
My hands began shaking.
“You ignored him.”
Vincent did not defend himself.
“Yes.”
Then Renzo opened the second folder.
Inside was a payment log.
Private surveillance company.
Client authorization:
M. BELLINI.
Target:
HANNAH REED / CHILD.
May you like
The payments started four days after Noah’s funeral.
Someone had been watching Mia and me for nearly two years.
