Me.
I looked toward the river.
“What happens now?”
Noah stood.
“We disappear.”
I stared.
“I have done enough disappearing for one family.”
“Only until morning.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“Adrian thinks I’m dead.”
“Yes.”
“Vanessa thinks I’m dead.”
“Yes.”
“And they planned something for after I died.”
Noah understood.
“You want them to move.”
“I want them to believe they won.”
Noah’s hidden life existed less than five miles from my own.
That almost offended me more than the wheelchair.
Above an old Mercer Holdings maintenance building outside Bellmere was an apartment filled with screens, locked cabinets and fourteen years of secrets.
Noah had built a private investigation piece by piece.
Former employees.
Corporate filings.
Old accident reports.
Private investigators.
Forensic accountants.
He had never been able to prove enough.
Until Adrian.
