CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
“The past doesn’t knock once.”
Malik didn't drive straight home.
Instead, he stayed on the move, weaving through the quiet streets of Brooklyn as the black sedan remained three cars behind him.
His expression never changed.
Years ago, this would've ended differently.
Years ago, he would've slammed on the brakes, dragged someone out of a car and demanded answers.
That man no longer existed.
Or at least...
He refused to let him.
His phone connected automatically through Bluetooth.
"Marcus."
"I'm here."
"You still behind me?"
"I've got eyes on both vehicles."
Malik glanced in his rear-view mirror.
"They're making sure I know they're there."
Marcus was silent for a moment.
"You want us to intercept?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"Very."
"They're trying to provoke me."
"And if I react..."
"...they win."
Marcus sighed.
"I'll double security around Foundation House."
"And Zara."
"I already have."
Malik finally allowed himself a small breath of relief.
"She doesn't know?"
"No."
"And she won't unless you tell her."
"Good."
He ended the call and continued driving until the sedan eventually peeled away at the next junction.
Only then did he head home.
But sleep never came.
The next morning, Zara woke with swollen eyes.
She hadn't realised how exhausting crying could be.
She sat at the kitchen table while Miss Claudette buttered two slices of toast.
"You don't have to go into work today."
"I do."
"No, baby."
"You want to."
Zara managed a small smile.
"Camille's relying on me."
Miss Claudette placed a cup of tea in front of her.
"And who's making sure someone can rely on you?"
Zara looked down into the steaming mug.
"I don't know how to feel."
"You don't have to."
"What if my mum lied?"
"What if she didn't?"
"What if my dad did try?"
"What if he didn't?"
Every question hurt.
Miss Claudette reached across the table.
"Sometimes two people can tell completely different versions of the same story..."
"...and both believe they're telling the truth."
Zara nodded slowly.
"I think I'm scared of finding out."
"That's normal."
"But don't let fear answer questions that truth should."
Bellamy & Co. felt unusually busy.
Naomi noticed Zara's tired eyes immediately.
"You sleep?"
"Not much."
"Want to talk?"
"Later."
Naomi nodded without pushing.
She understood enough to know Zara would speak when she was ready.
Around midday, Camille called Zara into her office.
"I've been looking at next month's schedule."
Zara sat down.
"I'd like you to take the lead on the Carter Foundation auction."
"Really?"
Camille smiled.
"I've watched you these last few months."
"You've got good instincts."
"You stay calm under pressure."
"And people trust you."
She slid a folder across the desk.
"I think you're ready."
Emotion flickered across Zara's face.
"Thank you."
"You earned it."
As Zara stood to leave, Camille added quietly,
"And whatever's happening outside work..."
"...don't carry it alone."
Zara smiled gratefully.
"I'll try."
Across town, Malik sat in his office staring at a photograph on his desk.
It wasn't a family picture.
It wasn't a business plan.
It was a printed security image.
Zara leaving Bellamy & Co.
Taken from across the street.
He hated looking at it.
But he hated the thought behind it even more.
A knock interrupted him.
Keisha walked in carrying two coffees.
"You look awful."
"Morning to you too."
She placed a coffee on his desk.
"You didn't sleep."
"No."
"Devon?"
Malik nodded once.
"He followed me last night."
Her smile disappeared.
"And?"
"He wanted me to know he could."
Keisha sat opposite him.
"You need to tell Zara everything."
"I've told her enough."
"You've told her what happened."
"You haven't told her what men like Devon are capable of."
Malik rubbed a hand across his beard.
"I'm trying not to scare her."
Keisha looked at him for a long moment.
"You're not giving her a chance to choose."
Those words stayed with him long after she'd left.
Just after four o'clock, Zara's phone rang again.
Unknown Number.
Her heart immediately began racing.
This time...
She answered.
"Hello?"
A familiar voice responded.
"Thank you for picking up."
Her father.
She closed the office door behind her.
"I've only got a few minutes."
"I understand."
"I wasn't expecting you to answer."
"I nearly didn't."
Silence.
Then he spoke carefully.
"I know your mother probably told you I left."
Zara closed her eyes.
"She said you chose another family."
"I never did."
Her breathing caught.
"I remarried years later."
"But I never stopped trying to find you."
She frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"I wrote letters."
"I came to the house."
"I even went to your school once."
Her stomach tightened.
"My mum never said any of that."
"I know."
Neither of them spoke.
Finally he whispered,
"I've made mistakes, Zara."
"Plenty."
"But walking away from you wasn't one of them."
Tears welled in her eyes again.
"I don't know what to believe."
"You don't have to believe me."
"Not yet."
"I just..."
His voice trembled.
"...needed you to know there are two sides to what happened."
Before she could reply, someone knocked on the office door.
"Zara?"
Naomi's voice.
"The florist's here."
"I'll be there in a second."
She looked back at the phone.
"I have to go."
"I know."
"I'll wait."
She hesitated.
Then quietly asked,
"Why now?"
Her father sighed.
"Because I found out you moved to New York."
"And I realised if I waited any longer..."
"...I'd lose the chance to tell my daughter I never stopped loving her."
The line went quiet.
Zara slowly lowered the phone.
For the first time in eighteen years...
She wasn't angry.
She was confused.
And somehow...
That hurt even more.
That evening, Malik arrived outside the brownstone with takeaway from Mrs. Alvarez's bakery.
Miss Claudette smiled the moment she opened the door.
"You've brought peace offerings."
"Cinnamon rolls."
"The universal language."
She laughed.
"I'll allow it."
Upstairs, Zara was standing by her bedroom window.
She turned as Malik walked in.
"You look tired."
"So do you."
They smiled sadly.
Neither bothered pretending everything was okay.
Malik walked over and took her hands.
"Talk to me."
She told him about the second phone call.
Every word.
Every doubt.
Every question she suddenly had about her childhood.
When she'd finished, Malik remained quiet.
Not because he didn't know what to say.
Because this wasn't something to fix.
Finally he spoke.
"I think..."
"...whatever the truth is..."
"...eight-year-old Zara deserved better than silence."
Tears filled her eyes again.
"I think so too."
He wrapped his arms around her.
She held him tightly.
Not because either of them had answers.
But because they understood what it meant to carry wounds that began long before they met.
Outside, rain fell softly over Brooklyn.
Across the street, a dark sedan remained parked beneath a broken streetlamp.
Inside, a man lowered a pair of binoculars.
He dialled a number.
"Boss."
Devon answered.
"Report."
"She's been receiving calls."
"From Tennessee."
Devon's interest sharpened.
"Tennessee?"
"Yes."
He glanced at his notebook.
"Looks like family."
A slow smile spread across Devon's face.
"Good."
"Find out everything."
The call ended.
As the sedan pulled away into the night, neither Zara nor Malik realised that their pasts were no longer separate battles.
Someone else had begun connecting the pieces.
And once Devon had the full picture...
He intended to use every one of them.