Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Noah
The streetlights glow weakly in the early morning dark, and my breath ghosts the chilled air as Jake and I finish the last of our calisthenics. Sweat slicks down my spine. The sun is just beginning to drag light through the trees, gold streaking the bare branches.
We slow automatically—five minutes from the lot, five minutes from getting back to Alicia.
“Great trails. Easier on the joints,” Jake says.
“Yeah. The C fifteen minutes until I need to be back with her.
We’re alone, but Jake still lowers his voice. “Am I alone in thinking this isn’t feeling like a standard detail?”
“Because the hits don’t look like hits,” I answer. “They’re coming sideways.”
“You buying Pierce’s involvement?”
“Not yet. If it’s Vasquez-adjacent, it’s an out-of-the-box way to sideline a witness.” I shift pace. “Feels more like a tired detective rushing a bow on a messy file.”
“Right.” Jake stares ahead to where the towpath spills into daylight. “She tell you about the affair before the arrest?”
“No.”
Jake angles me a look. “Bother you?”
“She’s paid to keep secrets,” I say. “Reflex is survival.”
“But…you two…” He gestures vaguely. “There’s stuff going on with you two, right? So, you’re there comforting her on the day she found him, and she still doesn’t tell you?”
“We were early stages.” And Alicia carries deep shame over the infidelity—shame I recognize. If my dad gets wind of it, I can already hear him: You sure that’s who you want to latch onto? A cheater?
When I step through the side door, Alicia’s sipping coffee, crisp navy suit immaculate, looking like a woman about to run the world.
“Give me five—I’ll drive you in.”
She nods, composed, coffee steady.
“Good run?”
“Yeah. Cold does the lungs good.” I’m already moving—basement, shower, gear. Momentum is its own comfort.
Alicia’s focused on her phone, voice-dictating email as I drive her Rivian to the office. Her request to drive her car has me wondering if something’s wrong with my SUV, and since she’s clearly working, the question sits in my head the whole ride.
At least until we pull in.
A cruiser idles by the building entrance, exhaust ghosting into the cold.
Alicia’s sigh is barely there. “What now.” Not a question—just fatigue with a period.
I pull into the spot next to it. No running from whatever this is.
Gabriel comes around the corner. “Break-in.”
“When?”
“Window between midnight and four. Another tenant called it in—exterior cams were smashed. Your assistant’s with MPD. Looks like your suite was hit.”
Alicia takes off to join her assistant and the cops. I hang back with Gabriel.
“Doesn’t this push it closer to Vasquez?” I murmur.
“Maybe. Let’s see what they took. Feels sloppy.”
“In what way?”
“Bashing cams is amateur hour,” he mutters. “Pros blind them upstream.”
The cops fence us out—standard. Photos, gloves, slow questions. A sharp smell rides the air—ozone and cheap cleaner.
“Somebody hurried their exit,” I say. “Should’ve aired it out.”
Hours pass. It’s unclear what was taken. Files untouched. Computers untouched. No obvious breach of servers.
Alicia’s defense team arrives. Smart. If there’s any way to flip this into a procedural concern for the court, they’ll use it.
Since everyone’s present, the defense meeting gets moved up. Hudson arrives. Richard too. When I step into the conference room, he looks like he wants to argue but decides he doesn’t want to do it in front of a table full of attorneys.
We take our seats. Everyone gets the same folder—the compiled timeline, Alicia’s verified whereabouts, defense witness statements, prosecution’s witness list, autopsy summaries, poison notes.
I flip pages as Luca talks through it.
Delacroix’s ex-wife: listed for prosecution. We’re trying to reach her, but she’s unresponsive. Someone from the firm is being sent today.
Another page. Richard’s name—expected. He’s willing to testify as a character witness.
Then Jessica’s name.
Richard catches it first. “Why is Jessica in here?”
Luca’s smooth. “She lives with you, right?”
“No.” His gaze darts to Alicia. “She’s my girlfriend. She doesn’t live with me.”
“Prosecution will still meet with her. We want to talk to her first.”
Richard nods tightly.
My gaze drops to Jessica’s title.
Pharmaceutical Sales Representative – Cardiology Portfolio.
Interesting. Out of everyone in this folder, she’s the only one with legitimate access to medication channels. But that doesn’t mean she’d plant a tracker, or bash cameras like a drunk burglar. Doesn’t fit. It’s too soon to chase shadows.
Meeting recesses for ten minutes so people can order lunch and hit the restroom. I join Richard in the hallway.
“How was Stella last night?” I ask, because it’s a decent question.
“Fine.”
“It’s a good thing Jessica was around.”
He bristles. “You asking if she stayed over?”
“I’m asking if your kid had a soft landing.”
“She did,” he snaps. “Jessica’s family.” He waits a beat. “She isn’t…whatever this is with you.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means commitment, Bennett.” His jaw ticks. “Does your boss even know?”
He’s not wrong to ask. That’s the part that stings.
Before I answer, Gabe rounds the corner. Richard stiffens, gives us both a sour look, and ducks back into the conference room.
Gabe lifts a brow. “What’d I walk into?”
“Just sunshine,” I mutter.
As the meeting reconvenes, something in the earlier report hooks back in my mind—one more detail Gabe mentioned when we arrived:
Building keycard log showed no entries for the overnight window.
No one used the doors.
Which means whoever came in—didn’t enter.
They bypassed.
As I take my seat again, the folder open in front of me, the pieces float but won’t land. Smashed cameras. No keycard entries. Nothing missing we can identify—yet.
Everyone thinks the vandalism was the point.
But I’m starting to think the point was something else entirely.
Not the cameras.
Not the damage.
What walked out in a pocket.