Chapter 5
The man waiting at the hospital's front desk was not a police officer. Adrian knew this the moment he saw him — the cut of his suit was too sharp, the watch on his wrist too expensive, the ease in his posture too deliberate. He looked like a lawyer, or a fixer, or something worse.
"Mr. Frost," the man said, extending a hand. "Elias Vance. I believe you know my client."
Adrian didn't take the hand. "Who's your client?"
Vance smiled, a thin, practiced expression. "Vivienne Hartley. She's retained my services. I've just come from the station, where she's agreed to make a statement — a full, complete statement — in exchange for a plea deal from the prosecutor."
Adrian's blood ran cold. "She's bargaining."
"Smart woman," Vance said, unconcerned. "She's facing serious charges. Kidnapping, conspiracy, possibly a hate crime charge given the circumstances. But she's willing to cooperate fully in exchange for a reduced sentence and protection from any... retaliation."
"Retaliation from whom?"
Vance's smile widened. "That's what she wants to discuss with you. She says she has information about the people who actually planned the operation — the people who hired the man who took your wife. She says she wants to give you what you need to find them." He paused. "But she wants to do it in person. She wants to meet with you, face to face, before she says anything to the authorities."
"Absolutely not," Adrian said. "She had my wife taken. She doesn't get to negotiate with me."
Vance's expression didn't change. "Mr. Frost, I understand your anger. But I'd suggest you hear her out. She's told me enough to know that this operation was bigger than one jealous woman — much bigger. There's a network involved, and they're still active. If you want to find the people who orchestrated your wife's disappearance — the people who are still out there — she's your only lead."
Adrian stared at him, his mind racing. "She's lying. She's trying to save herself."
"Maybe," Vance said. "But she's also scared. Terrified, actually. She knows what these people will do to her if she talks — and she's willing to talk anyway. That tells me she has real information, and that it's valuable enough to be worth her life." He paused. "The question is whether it's worth yours."
The cold knot in Adrian's stomach tightened. He glanced toward the hallway that led to Sofia's room, then back at Vance.
"Where does she want to meet?"
Vance pulled a card from his jacket, handing it to Adrian. "The address is on there. She's at a safe house — my safe house, actually — and she's prepared to wait there until tomorrow morning. If you want to talk, you know where to find her."
Adrian took the card, turning it over in his hands. The address was an apartment building in the old quarter of the city, a place he knew — a place owned by a shell company that had once been connected to one of his competitors.
"Tell her I'll come," Adrian said, his voice flat. "But tell her that if this is a trick — if she's planning anything — I'll walk away, and I'll make sure the prosecutor throws the book at her."
"Understood," Vance said. He turned to leave, then paused. "One more thing, Mr. Frost. Vivienne wanted me to tell you something. She said it would mean something to you."
"What?"
"She said: 'The cart was never the cart.'" Vance's eyes flicked toward the door. "I don't know what it means. But she said you would."
The cart. The brass cleaning cart that Sofia had been pushing when Adrian saw her. The cart that had been standing beside her in the foyer, with its detergents and folded towels.
What had Vivienne meant? That the cart was a signal? A prop? A message?
Adrian pulled out his phone and dialed the investigator's number. It rang twice before a tired voice answered.
"Mr. Frost? Is everything okay?"
"I need to ask you something about the foyer," Adrian said. "About the cart my wife was pushing. Did you notice anything unusual about it?"
A pause. "Unusual how?"
"I don't know. Anything. Any detail that stood out."
Another pause, longer this time. Then the investigator said, slowly, "Actually, yes. There was something. The cart had a false bottom — I noticed it when I was scanning the room for weapons. There was a compartment underneath the main tray, sealed shut. I didn't think much of it at the time, but now that you mention it..."
Adrian's grip on the phone tightened. "Can you check it? Can you go back to the hotel and see what's inside?"
"I can try. It might be sealed in evidence by now, but I have a contact in the hotel's security office. I'll see what I can do."
"Let me know as soon as you find anything." Adrian ended the call, pocketing his phone. He looked at the card in his hand, then back at the hallway leading to Sofia's room.
He had a choice: go see Vivienne, hear her out, try to untangle the web she was spinning — or go to Sofia, protect her, and let the authorities handle the investigation.
He thought of Sofia's face, the calm stillness of her expression as she'd raised the photograph. He thought of the date-stamp, the silent testimony of a woman who had been waiting for this moment for eight months.
He thought of the cart, and the false bottom, and the possibility that there was more to this story than Vivienne Hartley's jealousy.
Adrian pocketed the card and walked out of the hospital, his mind already turning toward the old quarter and the woman waiting there.
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