Chapter 15 - The Courier in the Rain
The rain was coming down in sheets by the time Sloan walked out of the Harbor Ridge administration building on Monday morning, her trench coat collar turned up against the biting wind. She had spent the weekend helping Junie transition from parallel bars to a single-point cane—a massive milestone that had left both of them drained, bruised, and fiercely triumphant.
As she stepped off the curb toward her parked sedan, a sleek, black town car idling near the entrance flashed its headlights twice.
Sloan froze, her hand tightening around the strap of her bag. The car’s rear window lowered smoothly, revealing the calm, impassive face of Daniel Bishop behind the wheel, his dark suit blending seamlessly into the gloom of the rainy morning.
"Morning, Sloan," Daniel said, his voice carrying clearly over the hiss of tires on wet asphalt. "I figured you'd be about ready for a supply drop."
Sloan walked over to the rolled-down window, her expression a mask of cautious amusement. "If you brought me more imported olive oil or silver polish, Daniel, I'm going to throw it at your windshield."
"Nothing that complicated," Daniel replied, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a small, thick manila envelope sealed with grey tape. "The boss received your correspondence Sunday evening. He asked me to deliver a reply in person. Make sure it reaches the proper filing cabinet."
Sloan took the envelope, her fingers brushing the stiff paper. It felt heavier than a standard letter. "Does he know that mail service exists in this century, or does he still prefer personal couriers for his intimidation tactics?"
"Mr. Moretti prefers efficiency," Daniel said dryly, putting the car into gear. He tipped his head slightly in a gesture of genuine respect. "Tell Junie she’s doing good work on the cane. The boss noticed the progress report in your last audit."
Before Sloan could formulate a sharp reply, the town car glided away from the curb, its taillights cutting a red path through the gray rain before disappearing down the winding access road.
May you like
Standing alone in the wet parking lot, Sloan tore open the envelope. Inside wasn't a letter or a threat, but a single, pristine check made out to the Harbor Ridge Rehabilitation Center, covering the cost of Junie’s private physical therapy room for the next twelve months in full. Attached to it was a small slip of paper bearing Raphael’s cramped, slashing handwriting:
A proper audit requires balancing all accounts, Miss Vance. Your sister’s progress is an asset I choose to invest in. See you next week for the check-in.
