Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN THEY TURNED INTO A KILLER
By nine the next morning, my face was everywhere.
Television.
News websites.
Social media.
A blurry photograph from my driver's license.
A better photograph stolen from Bellweather Bakery's employee page.
One headline called me THE BULLET TRAY WAITRESS.
Another called me DAMIAN CROSS'S MYSTERY WOMAN.
A third asked whether the heroic waitress had actually staged the Volante shooting.
I wanted to throw Damian's television out the window.
Instead, I turned it off.
"It isn't real," Damian said.
"I know."
"The video will be disproven."
"Eventually."
"Pierce overplayed."
"Tell that to the people currently commenting that I look like a psychopath."
Marcus sat at the dining table with three laptops open.
"Half those accounts are bots."
"Wonderful. Fake people think I'm a murderer."
Damian placed a cup of coffee near me.
I stared at it.
"You made coffee?"
"No."
"That makes more sense."
"One of the staff did."
"Also unsettling."
He leaned against the counter.
"You need to stay inside."
"I need to get my brother."
"We are."
I looked at the clock.
Fifteen hours until midnight.
"Pierce wants me unable to go to police."
"Correct."
"Anthony wants me desperate."
"Correct."
"And someone manipulated Volante's cameras."
Marcus looked up.
"That's the important part."
"Who has access?"
"Restaurant owner. Manager. Security contractor."
"Margaux?"
"No," I said immediately.
Neither argued.
I called her anyway.
She answered on the first ring.
"Oh my God."
"I'm okay."
"Police came here."
"What did you tell them?"
"That their video is bullshit."
I almost smiled.
"Margaux."
"I'm serious. You were in my sight half that hour. Also your coat in that video isn't right."
I froze.
"What?"
"The buttons."
Damian looked toward me.
I put the call on speaker.
"Explain."
"You lost one last month."
I remembered.
Bottom button.
Caught on a chair.
I hadn't replaced it.
"In the video," Margaux said, "all four buttons are there."
Marcus began typing.
"Anything else?"
"The cuffs. Yours are frayed."
I looked down.
They were.
"Can you prove where I was?"
"The restaurant has backups."
"Pierce has the footage."
"No. Pierce has the main server."
"What backups?"
A pause.
"Julian is paranoid."
Our chef.
"He thinks Margaux watches the kitchen cameras to see whether he drinks on shift," she continued. "So he built his own recorder."
I laughed despite everything.
"You're kidding."
"No."
"Where?"
"Wine storage."
Marcus stood.
"That could clear her."
Damian shook his head.
"Or get Margaux killed."
The line went quiet.
Margaux heard him.
"Is that Damian Cross?"
"No," I said.
"Yes," Damian said simultaneously.
She inhaled.
"I hate today."
"Margaux," I said, "don't touch the recorder."
"Wasn't planning to."
"We'll handle it."
Damian looked at Marcus.
"Quiet team."
"Already texting."
By noon, we had the backup footage.
Real footage.
It showed me working.
It showed Noah Vance entering alone.
It showed Anthony Bell leaving the private room at 9:28 and disappearing toward the restaurant's office corridor for seven minutes.
More importantly, one camera showed Pierce entering Volante's rear service alley at 9:31.
Twelve minutes before the shooting.
The detective had lied.
We finally had something.
Not enough.
But something.
Marcus duplicated everything six times and sent encrypted copies to attorneys, journalists, and a federal prosecutor Damian apparently knew.
"You know a federal prosecutor?" I asked.
"She dislikes me."
"That sounds healthier."
"She dislikes Anthony more."
"Even healthier."
At three, Daniel's proof-of-life arrived.
A video.
He sat tied to a chair in what looked like a shipping warehouse.
A clock showed the correct date and time.
He looked terrible.
But alive.
Anthony appeared behind him.
"Midnight."
Then the video ended.
Marcus froze a frame.
"Container markings."
Damian leaned closer.
"Newark."
"Pier 18 was a decoy."
I stared.
"So Daniel isn't at Pier 18."
"Probably not."
"Then why meet there?"
"To separate us."
My plan suddenly looked far more valuable.
At seven, I changed clothes.
Not a bulletproof vest.
Not tactical clothing.
My Volante uniform.
White shirt.
Black trousers.
Black waist apron.
Damian stared when I emerged.
"No."
"That's becoming your favorite word."
"You look like you're going to work."
"Exactly."
"Elena."
"Anthony expects a frightened waitress."
"You're not serving him dinner."
"I know."
Marcus handed me a small earpiece.
"Channel two."
Damian looked offended.
"You agreed to this?"
Marcus shrugged.
"She was going either way."
"I employ you."
"And I'm excellent."
"You are becoming less so."
At eleven forty-eight, we reached Pier 18.
Rain again.
Apparently my life had developed a weather theme.
Cargo cranes towered over the river.
Shipping containers formed narrow corridors under yellow industrial lights.
I carried a metal case containing copies of the ledgers.
Damian walked beside me.
Marcus and the others remained hidden beyond sight.
At precisely midnight, Anthony appeared.
Alone.
"Elena."
"Where's Daniel?"
"Safe."
"Not good enough."
"You brought the files?"
I raised the case.
"First my brother."
Anthony smiled.
"You really are Henry's daughter."
Damian's expression hardened.
"Don't say his name."
Anthony ignored him.
"Your father made the same mistake."
"What mistake?" I asked.
"Believing evidence creates power."
"It does."
"No. People create power. Evidence matters only if someone survives to use it."
Behind my ear, Marcus whispered.
Movement east.
Anthony continued.
"Set the case down."
"No."
His smile disappeared.
"Elena."
"Show me Daniel."
He lifted his phone.
Live video.
Daniel sat in the same warehouse.
A man stood behind him.
I studied the frame.
Marcus whispered.
Got location. Newark container yard, building C.
Good.
Everything was working.
I lowered the case.
Anthony looked at Damian.
"Kick it over."
Damian did.
Anthony picked it up.
Opened it.
Saw ledgers.
His eyes gleamed.
Then he laughed.
"Copies."
My heart jumped.
Damian remained expressionless.
Anthony tore one page free.
"Did you think I wouldn't notice?"
He looked toward the darkness.
"Pierce."
Detective Pierce stepped from behind a container.
Gun raised.
So much for no Pierce.
"Hands where I can see them," Pierce ordered.
Damian didn't move.
Pierce aimed at me.
"Especially you."
I slowly raised my hands.
"You framed me."
"You made it easy."
"Why?"
"Because dead suspects don't testify."
Damian's eyes shifted.
I knew that look now.
Calculation.
Pierce continued.
"Here's what happens. Elena panics. Shoots Cross. I shoot Elena. Anthony disappears."
"And Daniel?"
Anthony smiled.
"What Daniel?"
Something inside me went cold.
"You said he'd live."
"I said he was alive."
Damian spoke softly.
"Marcus."
Pierce laughed.
"Your men won't make it here."
A red flare suddenly rose above the river.
Anthony's smile vanished.
Pierce turned.
Bad mistake.
Damian moved.
I dropped.
Gunfire exploded.
Marcus's team struck from both sides.
Pierce fired wildly.
Anthony ran.
I crawled behind the metal case.
Then I heard Marcus in my earpiece.
"Elena. Daniel's building is wired."
"What?"
"We found explosives."
My blood froze.
"Can you disarm them?"
"Timer."
"How long?"
Marcus was silent.
"Marcus!"
"Nine minutes."
I looked toward Damian.
He had Pierce pinned behind a container.
Anthony was disappearing toward a waiting boat.
Nine minutes.
Newark was across the river.
Impossible by road.
But Anthony's boat—
I stood.
Damian saw me.
"Elena!"
I ran after Anthony.
He reached the dock.
Untied the line.
I jumped aboard just as the boat pulled away.
Anthony turned.
Shock crossed his face.
Then rage.
Behind us, Damian reached the edge of the pier.
"ELENA!"
Too late.
The boat surged into darkness.
Anthony lifted his gun.
I raised both hands.
He stared at me.
"You are either very brave or very stupid."
I looked across the river toward Newark.
"Tonight I'm whatever gets my brother out alive."
Anthony smiled.
May you like
Then he pressed the gun against my ribs.
"You've got eight minutes to prove that's enough."
