Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Alicia
Melissa enters my office holding an opened brown envelope as if it might bite. “This came for you. Hand delivered to the office down the hall—they brought it here because it was delivered to the wrong suite.”
Something prickles at the nape of my neck. “What is it?”
“It’s…odd.” She crosses the room slowly. “Just a page ripped from a calendar. From 2010. Someone circled October tenth in red ink.”
October tenth.
1010.
A faint shiver sweeps through me, subtle but undeniable.
“It doesn’t say anything else?” I ask.
“A fortune cookie slip.” She hands me the tiny slip of paper. “Stay on your path; cosmic alignment; if you falter, consequences follow.”
My stomach tightens.
I tell myself it’s a coincidence, but the logic doesn’t settle.
1010 is a number that finds me when I’m on the cusp of something—transition, risk, choice.
For someone else, it’s just digits. For me, it’s a message.
And someone knew to send it.
A cold echo stirs—Crawford’s blackmail, the way the first envelope was vague, symbolic.
Could it be them? Could Pierce’s people be circling back, even with an active investigation?
No. It’s irrational. Even paranoid.
But the pressure beneath my ribs doesn’t ease.
“Thanks, Melissa,” I say, already rising.
“It’s probably nothing, right?” she calls after me.
Probably.
Possibly.
But I’m already in the hall, scanning for Gabriel.
I find him outside the building, eyes narrowing when he spots me. “Is something wrong?”
“A hand-delivered envelope ended up next door.”
His gaze drops to the papers. I start to hand them over, but he shakes his head. “Don’t touch anything else. I’ll get gloves.”
The next fifteen minutes unfold in a blur: Gabriel’s call to KOAN, building security rewinding footage, a startled junior assistant from the marketing firm next door being questioned.
On the grainy video, a man in a UPS uniform keeps his head down as he hands over a stack of envelopes. Fake uniform. Fake delivery.
Quinn confirms the fraud within minutes.
Nothing identifiable. No face, no distinguishing detail. Whoever sent it knew exactly what they were doing.
When Noah arrives, he moves with a sharp, urgent purpose—like he feared the worst had already happened.
“I’m fine,” I say before he even reaches me.
He rests his hand on my shoulder, warm and steadying. His gaze sweeps me—a full-body assessment that is entirely professional yet not impersonal.
“Really, I’m fine. It’s just…unnerving.”
“Does the threat mean something to you?” he asks, voice low.
“‘Stay on your path.’” I exhale slowly. “Not much on its face. But the numbers…they carry meaning in numerology. I just don’t know why someone would use that, or what ‘consequences’ I’m supposed to avoid.
If it’s connected to Pierce, maybe this is their first vague warning. Crawford’s blackmail started that way.”
“You think it’s them?” he asks.
“Maybe. But if they wanted me to stay quiet, why not say it? And with Crawford, the escalation to a threat didn’t occur until the second package. I mean, I guess there’s no law that says it has to be one hundred percent consistent for it to be the same person, or group of people.”
He takes my hand, his grip gentle but certain, and guides me toward the sofa. Gabriel settles into the chair across from us—close enough to be present, professional enough not to intrude.
“I have other updates,” Noah says. “I don’t know if they connect. We might be dealing with two different parties.”
A hint of nausea swirls. His updates aren’t positive—I can tell. “What is it?”
“I met with Elizabeth Delacroix today.”
My breath stills. “And?”
“A man followed me. The same man who hired the PI. This time I got his plate. His name is Danny. We’ve been doing background, learning what we can about him.” He pauses, like I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.
“Just say it.”
“He’s Jessica’s cousin.”
The floor seems to tilt. “Jessica? But…why?”
“I don’t know. Could be harmless. Maybe Richard confided something and she took it on herself to look into it—maybe she’s doing him a favor, asked her cousin to hire a PI to check me out, make sure Stella’s safe with me in the house.”
I shake my head. “Richard wouldn’t hire a PI to investigate you. I told you. He’s controlling but not unhinged.”
“Then why follow me? Why track you?” Noah asks. “My guess is that today he was following your car. The tracker is still active. He might’ve been trying to confirm what you were doing near Elizabeth Delacroix’s house.”
A hollow chill rolls through me. “That would mean…they’re involved in Matthew’s case.”
“Maybe not the murder,” Noah says. “But the framing? Possibly.”
“That’s insane.”
He lifts one brow. “Is it? Richard pushed custody fast. Anything financial coming up?”
“No,” I whisper. “Nothing like that. And regardless of anything between us, he’d never want to hurt me. He’d never risk hurting Stella.”
Noah’s phone buzzes. He glances at the screen—and all the color drains from his face.
“My dad’s in an ambulance,” he says, voice roughening. “They’re taking him to the hospital.”
I don’t think. I reach for him. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“He’s in New Jersey,” he murmurs, still staring at the message as if willing it to change.
“He texted? Can you call?”
“Linda texted. She said she’ll call from the hospital.”
“Let’s go.” I tighten my grip on his arm. “Train or plane—what’s fastest? Flights to Manhattan run every hour. Where in New Jersey?”
He finally looks at me—and in that moment, everything shifts.
The hospital waiting room reminds me of the packed area in an airport before a flight begins boarding, only instead of anxious fliers, the people here are anxiously awaiting news of a loved one.
The seats are equally uncomfortable, and some have opted to sit on the floor, leaning against a wall to stretch their legs or watch a show on a phone in privacy.
The scent blends human stress with cleaning products, and the air is cold.
Noah’s father is out of surgery, and Linda has been allowed to join him. The initial news is good—he had emergency bypass surgery and the doctor predicts a full recovery. Ever since receiving the news, Noah’s been quiet and withdrawn.
He argued at first—told me to stay, that I had other issues to attend to.
That I needed to be here for the dinner with my daughter, that I needed to be here to deal with the case.
He even debated whether or not he and I should both stay back given everything going on—but I insisted, quietly and firmly, that his father needed him, and that’s where we’d be.
I called Stella—catching her during her lunch period—and explained.
Being my little empath, she immediately assured me she’d be okay at her dad’s and that of course I should go with Noah.
After handling travel plans, I called Richard.
He was far less amenable—but I cut the conversation short as we were entering the airport and I had Noah at my side.
The doors open and Linda exits. Her color has drained, likely from a mixture of exhaustion and harsh fluorescent overhead lighting, but her eyes sparkle with renewed life. Noah and I both stand as she approaches.
“Noah, he wants to see you. They’ve got him in a room. He’s awake now but I don’t know for how long.”
“How is he?” Noah asks.
We received the doctor’s update earlier, but he’s looking for more.
“He’s tired. He’s not in any pain—they’ve taken care of that. Get on back there and see him for yourself before he falls asleep again.”
Noah hesitates, looking at me.
“Don’t worry about Alicia,” Linda says. “I’ll bring her down to the cafeteria for coffee—I’ll take good care of her. We’ll be up soon.”
“Do you want anything?” I ask Noah, but he shakes his head, takes a step, then returns. His lips brush my cheek—soft, fleeting, but full of everything he’s not saying. Warmth blooms deep in my chest, steadying me in a way nothing else has all day.
“I’ll be here when you’re done,” I assure him.
We both watch him leave, then exit the waiting room, and head to the elevator bank. The cafeteria is on the first floor.
“How are you doing?” I ask.
“Better now.” There’s a slight tremble in her fingers as she reaches to push the elevator button. “That was scary,” she says, almost to herself.
There’s something fragile in her tone, something that tugs at a deep place inside me. She loves him. They all do. And for the first time in a long time, I feel the edges of what it means to step into someone else’s family—into their fears, their history, their hopes.
“But he’s going to be okay.”
“Yes. The doctor says yes. If they’d been slower getting to the house…” she presses her lips together and her eyes grow glassy. “Could have been a very different day.”
I squeeze her arm in support as the doors slide open and we step in.
We’re quiet moving through the elevator and the cafeteria line. After I’ve purchased hot tea and she’s ordered decaf coffee and a muffin, she gestures to an open table. “Let’s sit. Give them some time.”
I slide into the booth opposite her, and she cups her coffee with both hands.
“You remind me of her, you know?” she says with a soft smile.
“Who?”
“Sarah. His mom.”
“Oh,” I say, twirling my tea bag in the hot water. “How so?”
“Well, your dark hair, your poise.” Her gaze falls to her mug.
Linda has golden brown eyes and gray hair, and she’s petite with rounded curves.
If she colored her hair, she’d look younger than her sixty-something years.
“There’s a resemblance, but I think it’s more how you handle yourself.
Calm, focused. An inner strength. Oh… You know?
I have pictures.” She fumbles through her handbag and pulls out her phone.
She presses against the screen, then hands it to me.
On the screen there’s a photo of Linda years ago, with brown hair with blonde highlights, and a woman with dark brown hair and brown eyes. Their arms are around each other and smiling into the screen.