Fiona Chen answered on the second ring. Her voice was the same—sharp, impatient, and slightly amused, as if the world was a joke only she understood.
"Victoria Hart. I thought you were dead."
"Not yet."
"Pity. What do you want?"
Victoria leaned against a lamppost, ignoring the rain. Fiona was a private investigator she'd worked with during the bankruptcy. They weren't friends. Friends implied warmth. They were mutually useful, which was better.
"I need you to find someone. Mark Tran. Former IT at Meridian Group. Disappeared three years ago."
"Disappeared how?"
"Desk cleaned out overnight. No record of termination. No forwarding address."
Fiona was quiet for a moment. Victoria could hear her typing in the background.
"Meridian Group," Fiona said slowly. "Isn't that Nathaniel Cross's company?"
"Yes."
"The same Nathaniel Cross who liquidated your father's business?"
"The same."
Fiona laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound. "You're working for him now?"
"I'm investigating him. From the inside."
"That's either very smart or very stupid. I haven't decided which."
"Can you find Mark Tran or not?"
"I can try. But it'll cost you."
"Send me the invoice."
Fiona paused again. "Victoria, I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to answer honestly."
"Fine."
"Are you doing this for justice? Or are you doing this because you still think about him?"
Victoria's grip tightened on the phone. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Ten years ago, after the bankruptcy, you called me. Drunk. At two in the morning. You said, and I quote, 'He was the only one who ever looked at me like I was smart, Fiona. Not pretty. Not rich. Smart.'"
"I was drunk."
"Drunk words are sober thoughts."
Victoria closed her eyes. The rain was cold on her face. "Find Mark Tran, Fiona. That's all I'm paying you for."
"Fine. But when this is over, you owe me dinner. And not the cheap kind."
Fiona hung up.
Victoria stood in the rain for a long moment. Then she walked back to her rental car, started the engine, and drove toward the airport.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Nathaniel.
"Anything?"
She typed back: "Someone threatened Alice May. Plane ticket to Seattle. Note said 'start over or don't.'"
His response came almost immediately. "I didn't know."
"You didn't ask."
"I'm asking now."
Victoria stared at the screen. Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again.
Then: "Come home. We need to talk in person."
She didn't correct him. Seattle wasn't her home. New York wasn't her home. She hadn't had a home in ten years.
But she typed back: "Tomorrow m
orning. My office. 8 AM."
"I'll be there."
She put the phone down and drove.