Chapter 3

The glass doors slid shut behind Sofia and the investigator, sealing the foyer back into its amber-lit hush. Adrian watched the space where she had been — a ghost imprint of slate-blue uniform and chestnut bun and the careful, deliberate stillness of a woman who had learned to survive through patience.

Elena. Of course it was Elena. His wife's closest friend, the woman who had stood beside them at their wedding, who had held Sofia's hand through two miscarriages, who had called Adrian's office every single week for the first three months after Sofia vanished, leaving messages he'd never returned because he'd been too ashamed to face the questions.

The investigator's words replayed in his mind: She never believed Sofia left you.

"I need a drink," Adrian muttered, mostly to himself. He turned toward the champagne bar, but the bartender — a young man with a starched white collar and wide, frightened eyes — shook his head.

"I'm sorry, sir. We're closing early tonight. Management's orders."

Adrian blinked. "You're closing the bar? It's not even nine o'clock."

The bartender's eyes flicked past Adrian's shoulder to Vivienne, still pressed against the concierge desk. "Orders from corporate," he said, lowering his voice. "They sent a message about twenty minutes ago. Said to shut down the bar and hold the foyer until further notice."

Corporate. His own company. Someone in his own organization had decided to seal the scene of the crime before the police arrived. The thought sent a chill down Adrian's spine.

"Who sent the order?" he asked.

The bartender's face went pale. "I... I don't know, sir. It just came through as 'corporate' on the system. I didn't think to ask."

Adrian pulled out his phone, his fingers moving quickly through his contact list. He dialed his chief of staff, a man named Marcus Page who had run his personal office for the better part of a decade.

"Mr. Frost?" Marcus's voice was careful, measured. "I'm glad you called. There's something I need to—"

"Who ordered the foyer sealed?"