Chapter 25
Shane
"This isn't a library, Shane, and her records—if any exist—aren't a book," Mike explains over the phone, his tone half-serious. "You didn't talk to anyone at the precinct about this, did you?"
"No, I just talked to you," I say, pacing back and forth.
"Well, that's good. The last thing you need is people thinking you're some kind of stalker," Mike jokes, but his voice carries an edge of concern.
"Mike, this is serious," I plead. "I think she's in real danger."
"Shane, come on." Mike's tone softens slightly, and I can sense the skepticism. "She packed her things, she left a note, she even sent you a goodbye text. She's got secrets, yeah, but who doesn't? Doesn't mean she's in danger. You know how these go, though. Most times, there's another guy involved. I hate to be the one to say it, but I've been a cop a long time, and I've seen it before. This has all the makings of someone trying to move on. And you are a stalker in the making," he jokes.
"I'm not stalking her," I say sharply, my nerves on edge. I pause, trying to steady my breath. "Look, Mike. Something's not right. I just... I can't shake this feeling."
"Shane." Mike's voice takes on a more sincere tone. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be making light of this. I've been heartbroken too, and I get it. I know you've got trust issues after everything with Robert." He sighs deeply, and I can practically hear him rubbing his temples. "I mean, being stabbed in the back by a lifelong friend? That kind of thing doesn't heal easy. It leaves a scar that makes you question everyone's motives."
"This isn't about Robert," I interrupt, my frustration bubbling up. "I just want Nicole to be safe. That's all I care about. I don't need the details, Mike. I just need to know she's okay. If you can check around for me, please do. I won't bother you again if you don't find anything, just... make sure she's alright."
Mike sighs again, this time deeper, almost resigned. "Alright. I'll see what I can do, but don't expect a call back, okay? And if anyone asks, I told you to leave it alone and that it's best you move on with your life, which I actually think you should."
A wave of relief washes over me, though it's fleeting. "I knew I could count on you. Thanks, Mike."
"Yeah, yeah. Take care of yourself, Shane," he says before hanging up.
"I need to get out of here," I mutter to myself, the silence closing in. I grab my keys from the desk and head out the front door, hoping the open air will somehow make the emptiness less unbearable.
I try to focus on other things—to take in the city streets, the passing scenery, anything to distract myself—but it's useless. My eyes keep darting to the people walking by, scanning faces I don't recognize, searching for something familiar. I look for her—her green eyes, that leather jacket, those blue sneakers. But, of course, none of them are her.
I sink further into my seat, feeling the weight of my thoughts pulling me down. What if she really has moved on? The question gnaws at me, and I hate myself for even thinking it. I need to know the truth. And then, like a bad déjà vu, the sinking realization hits—someone I trusted, gone without a word, leaving me with nothing but questions and silence.
It's Robert all over again.
I pull into a diner parking lot, deciding I need to eat something, if only to shake this feeling. But as I sit there, engine idling, the memories come rushing back, uninvited. Robert's betrayal— sitting here, waiting for a phone call from a detective, I feel like I've been thrown back into that same dark place.
It's too familiar. The lies. The secrets. The feeling of being kept in the dark, blindsided by someone I thought I knew.
I turn off the car and lean back in the seat, the weight of it all pressing down on my chest. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and try to push the memories away. But the flashback hits me like a wave, transporting me back to the shared office I used to have with Robert. The memory is sharp, vivid—the day everything started to crumble.
I had just hung up the phone with another investor, their words echoing in my ears. We wish you luck in the future. Another client lost. Another nail in the coffin.
Our company wasn't doing well, and every call felt like a countdown to failure. The door swung open, and in strolled Robert, all confidence and swagger. That smile of his—the kind that made you believe everything was fine, even when the ship was sinking. It made me uneasy.
"Philly?" Robert asked, his tone almost too casual for the situation.
I nodded, still processing the call. "Philly," I confirmed. "We lost them."
Robert exhaled, a long, dramatic sigh. "That was a big one."
"Yeah," I said, feeling the weight of it.
But Robert didn't linger on the loss. He walked over and gave me a big smile as he dropped a file on the desk in front of me. "I've got something bigger," he said.
I raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"
"This," he tapped the folder, "is going to get us out of this hole." He placed a bag of takeout on the desk. "I thought we could eat in, discuss it over lunch."
"Must be big, if you want me to read it so fast."
"It's a rat race, man. And we're already losing." He took a seat, pulling out the food—sandwiches from our favorite deli.
I shook my head and flipped open the folder while unwrapping my sandwich. I skimmed the pages throughout lunch while Robert rambled on about the Knicks. It looked legit at first glance. A new investment group, offering us a way out. But there was something off.
"Who are these guys, Robert?" I asked, glancing up from the file. "This seems too good to be true."
"They're aggressive. But they're legit. It's a new group, a little under the radar. They're looking for opportunities like ours—companies that need a second wind."
"This clause here—" I pointed to a section detailing an unusually fast return on investment, with almost no oversight. "This doesn't make sense. No group is going to put in this much capital without demanding more control. It feels... off."
Robert waved his hand dismissively, taking a bite of his sandwich. "That's just how they operate. They want fast returns so they don't get bogged down with micromanaging. They want to see results. Think of it like venture capital, but more streamlined."
I wasn't convinced. "We should check this out thoroughly. Get a few things cleared before we even think of setting up a meeting."
Robert's face lit up, clearly expecting this. "Yeah, sure. But if it checks out, can I take the lead on it?"
I hesitated. Something still didn't sit right. But if it was as clean as he made it sound, it could be the solution we desperately needed. "If everything works out," I nodded slowly, "you can take the lead."
Robert's grin widened. He looked like a man who had just won the lottery.
I wish I had seen the truth behind that smile back then.
I let Robert run the negotiations over the next few days. He seemed confident, more so than usual, and I allowed myself to believe, just for a moment, that maybe he had found the answer to all of our problems. But as the days passed, he told me very little—just vague updates about how "things were looking good."
Still, my gut told me something wasn't right.
Suspicious, I started digging. I spent hours poring over the contract again, searching for anything I'd missed, but I couldn't find anything concrete. Frustrated, I reached out to Jake Miller, a friend who had been in the industry long enough to know the ins and outs of every major deal.
When Jake took a look at the file, the shift in his expression told me everything I needed to know. His face went pale, and he looked up at me with a seriousness I hadn't seen before. He slid the papers back toward me.
"Listen, Shane," he said, lowering his voice. "I'm going to give you the name of a detective. Call him. Don't mention me. And don't tell anyone I helped you with this."
That made my stomach drop. I'd never heard Jake talk like that.
"Jake, what's going on? Who are these people?"
"I can't say. But if you want to stay clear of serious trouble, you need to call this guy. I'm not joking, Shane—promise me you won't mention my name."
I nodded, the weight of his words sinking in. "I promise."
The next day, I waited until Robert was out of the office before I picked up the phone and called the detective.
Detective Henson's voice was calm but firm when he picked up, like a man who had seen his fair share of bad situations. I explained the details, trying to keep it vague enough not to incriminate anyone, but specific enough to let him know I was in deep.
"I'm glad you called me first," he said after a moment of silence. "If you hadn't, and you'd gone through with this deal, we'd be having a very different conversation right now."
A chill ran down my spine. "What do you mean?"
"The group you're dealing with—they're not investors, Shane. They're an organized crime syndicate. They use companies like yours to launder money, funnel cash through seemingly legitimate deals. Once you're in, you're in for good. You don't get out clean."
I sat there, stunned, the gravity of what Robert had nearly pulled us into hitting me all at once. I couldn't believe it.
"I'm calling off the deal," I said firmly, my mind already made up.
"Good," the detective replied. "That's the smartest move you could make. If you need help untangling yourself from this mess, give me a call. But make no mistake—these people don't play around. You did the right thing by reaching out."
When I hung up, I could barely think straight. How had Robert not seen this coming? Or had he known all along?
Later that day, I confronted him. When I told him I was pulling the plug, he didn't fight me like I expected. Instead, he just... went quiet.
"Why?" Robert asked, his voice subdued.
I told him what I had discovered; about the syndicate, about the police. The mention of law enforcement made him stiffen, and for the first time since I'd known him, I saw real fear in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "I'll make it up to you someday."
He never called or showed up at the office again. Just like that, Robert vanished from my life.
And to this day, I've always wondered what happened to him. Whether the mafia caught up with him... or if he found another way out. Either way, I never heard from him again. And a part of me feared that one day, it would happen to me too.
The threats started small—a voicemail, a note on my car. Each one referenced the deal Robert nearly pulled us into, demanding I make good on a promise I never made. I tried to ignore it, but it kept escalating. I had no idea what Robert had promised, and with him gone, I was left holding the bag.
That's when I called the detective again, and I was introduced to Mike. He showed me the truth about Robert—a career criminal who had lied to me from the beginning. The realization hit hard, but Mike took control of the situation. With one conversation, the threats disappeared, and I could breathe again.
Robert never resurfaced. No apology, no explanation, nothing. It left a scar, one that still aches every time I think about it. Now, with Nicole gone, the same sense of betrayal lingers, and I can't shake the feeling that history might be repeating itself.
I push thoughts of Robert to the back of my mind again. Just as I reach for the handle to get out of the car, my phone rings. It's Mike's number. I answer immediately.
"Hello?" I say, feeling my pulse quicken.
"Shane, you sitting down, buddy?" Mike's voice has that tone—the one that tells me I'm not going to like what's coming next.
I lean back in the driver's seat. "Yeah, lay it on me."
"I did some digging, and Nicole... she's part of an active investigation. Now, she's not a suspect in any crime, but we think she's mixed up with some pretty serious people. You need to stay away from her."
"What is she involved with?" My throat tightens, dread settling in.
"Between us—this is confidential—it could be anything, possibly trafficking, drugs... we're not sure. But here's where you come in: Some of these organizations are the same ones that came up with Robert. Now, we don't know her exact connection, or yours, but—"
"Wait, my connections? Are you trying to say I'm a suspect?" I cut him off, my voice sharper than intended.
"No, Shane, we're not saying that. What's more likely is that you're a target again. But we can't overlook this as a coincidence right now. For now, you're involved, and I'm suggesting you keep your distance. Let me know if she contacts you."
"Yeah, sure," I reply.
"Shane..." Mike starts, but I hang up before he can finish.
Serpenti . The word she muttered in her sleep flashes back to me. It was all connected somehow. I need more answers, and I know there's one place I haven't searched yet. I reach into the backseat and pull out something personal, something I've avoided touching until now: the small blue diary Nicole had left under her pillow. Why would she leave something so intimate behind? Was it on purpose? None of that matters now. I have to read it. Maybe this will finally give me the answers everyone else is refusing to.
I head into the diner, slide into a booth, and open the diary. Flipping through the pages, I take pictures with my phone, then use a translation app to make sense of the Italian entries. By the time I'm halfway through, my eyes are blurry with tears, not from any revelations, but from her words about me and Jaime. Every entry is filled with memories of how beautiful her time with us was. How much it meant to her.