Chapter 4 #2
“The other three—there’s a black one, a brown one, and this incredible silver one—they’re all vintage.
Real fur, obviously. None of that fake shit.
” He says it with disdain. “People try to give me grief about it sometimes. Animal rights, whatever. But these are art. History. You can’t replicate this quality with synthetic materials. ”
You wore one of these when you killed her. Which one was it?
“I’m actually kind of famous for them now. The guy in the fur coat. That’s how people describe me. My brand, you know?” He grins at me. Proud. “What do you think? Do you like this one?”
He’s asking me to compliment the coat he might have worn to murder someone.
“It’s very distinctive,” I manage.
“Right? That’s what I’m saying. Distinctive. Memorable. People see the coat and they know it’s me.”
Exactly. People see the coat and they remember.
“You know what’s crazy?” He’s changed lanes three times in thirty seconds. “The dating thing. So many women are interested. Like, my DMs are insane. Hundreds of messages a day.”
I grip the door handle tighter.
“But no one special yet. No one who really gets me, you know?” He glances at me. Too long. “Everyone wants to date the City Controller. The influencer. The guy with two million followers. But who wants to date Marcus?”
Is this a question? Am I supposed to answer?
“I’m looking for someone smart. Ambitious. Someone who understands what I’m trying to build.” Another look. Direct. Intentional. “Someone who can keep up with me intellectually.”
Oh no.
“That’s why I’m excited to work with you, Dylan. You’re not like the other women who throw themselves at me. You have substance. Goals. You’re going to pass the bar. Become a real lawyer.”
The way he says real lawyer makes my skin crawl.
“That’s really attractive to me. Intelligence. Ambition. Someone I can actually have a conversation with.”
We’ve been in this car for fifteen minutes and you haven’t asked me a single question about myself.
This is how it works—men like him don’t need to know you to decide who you are. They just need you to fit the role they’ve already written.
Smart girl. Ambitious girl. Girl who understands what I’m building.
Every woman is an audition for a part in their story, and they’re always the fucking hero.
“I think we’re going to work really well together.” His hand leaves the steering wheel. Reaches toward me.
I flinch. Can’t help it.
He freezes. Hand hovering. Then laughs. “Sorry, sorry. Was just going to adjust your seatbelt. It’s twisted.”
It’s not twisted. I know it’s not twisted.
He puts his hand back on the wheel. But that smile stays. That knowing smile.
“Anyway. Just saying. I’m glad it’s you. Glad Dom sent someone I can actually work with. This is going to be a good month.”
We pull up to City Hall—massive, imposing, taking up an entire city block—and Marcus doesn’t even look for parking.
Just drives right up to the main entrance. Parks in a spot clearly marked City Controller - Official Use Only.
Of course he has a reserved spot.
Of course it’s right by the door.
“Come on,” he says, already out of the car. Doesn’t open my door this time. The performance is over now that we’re in his territory.
I grab my bag and follow him up the steps. Through the massive doors. Into marble and columns and the weight of Philadelphia history.
City Hall. Where William Penn stands on top watching over the city.
Where Marcus Ashford now works as City Controller.
Where I’m going to spend the next month.
“Security first,” Marcus says, leading me through hallways that all look the same. Marble. More marble. Portraits of dead politicians who probably would have loved Marcus.
The security office is small. Cramped. A woman behind a desk who looks thrilled to be here.
“Temporary badge for Dylan Wells,” Marcus says. All business now. “She’ll be working with me for the month. Dom sent her clearance over this morning.”
The woman nods, pulling up something on her computer. “Still needs to complete the I-9 and tax forms. She can do that while the badge prints.”
She slides a clipboard across the desk. More paperwork. More evidence I’m actually doing this.
“Sit there. Look at the camera.”
I sit.
The camera is old. One of those instant photo printers that was outdated in 2010.
“Smile,” the woman says without inflection.
I smile. The fakest smile I’ve ever produced. The smile of a woman who’s about to spend thirty days working for a serial killer.
Flash.
“Wait here.”
She disappears into a back room. I can hear the printer whirring. Laminating. I fill out the forms. Social security number. Address. Emergency contact.
Emergency contact: Alexandria Archangelis.
The person who would notice if I disappeared. The person who would come looking. The person who currently won’t even reply to my texts because I don’t know how to listen to ghosts or believe in things I can’t explain. But she’d still burn down City Hall if something happened to me.
That’s what dandelions do—even when they’re furious with each other.
Marcus leans against the wall, scrolling through his phone. Probably checking his social media engagement. Seeing how many people liked his latest post.
The woman returns. Hands me a badge on a lanyard.
My face stares back at me.
DYLAN WELLS. TEMPORARY CITY EMPLOYEE. VALID 30 DAYS.
Thirty days.
One month.
His office is on the third floor. Corner office. Windows overlooking Broad Street.
It’s nicer than Dom’s. Newer. More modern. Like they renovated recently just for him.
Desk. Leather chair. Bookcases lined with books he’s probably never read. Conference table. All very official. Very City Controller.
And in the corner—a second desk.
Smaller. Facing his.
“That’s you,” Marcus says, gesturing. “Right there. Close. Where I can...” He pauses. Smiles that smile. “...keep an eye on things.”
I’m going to be in this room with him. Every day. For a month.
“Computer’s already set up. Login credentials are on the sticky note. Phone works. You’ve got access to the shared drive.” He’s showing me around like a realtor. Proud of his space. “Any questions?”
A thousand questions.
Why did you kill her?
How many others have there been?
Does Dom know you’re ignoring his warning to stay away from me?
“No, I think I’m all set.”
“Great.” His phone buzzes. He checks it. Frowns. “Shit. Council vote in ten minutes. Budget committee.”
He grabs a folder from his desk. Then another. Then a stack of papers at least three inches thick and shoves them at me.
“Review these. Flag anything that needs my attention. Compliance filings, mostly. Administrative law stuff. Should keep you busy for a few hours.”
I take the papers. Heavy. Dense. Boring government bureaucracy that will take hours to sort through.
He’s already at the door. Already halfway gone.
Then he stops.
Turns back.
That smile again.
“Oh, and Dylan?”
I look up. Meet those too-bright blue eyes.
“Don’t bother looking for anything interesting.” He says it casually. Lightly. Like he’s commenting on the weather. “I don’t keep anything sensitive in here.”
What the fuck?
“I’m very careful,” he continues, “about what I leave lying around.”
That smile. That knowing smile that says I know exactly what you’re thinking and you’re not as smart as you think you are.
Then he’s gone.
The door closes.
And I sit there, staring at three inches of compliance filings, in a monitored office, with a serial killer’s desk across from me. Cool. Cool cool cool. Very sustainable situation.
“I’m Linda,” a voice says from the doorway. An older woman, professional pantsuit, suspicious eyes. “Controller Ashford’s assistant. I’m right across the hall if you need anything.”
The way she says it makes it clear she’ll be watching. Making sure I don’t touch anything I shouldn’t.
“Thank you.” I try to smile. Try to seem normal. “I’m Dylan. From Draven & Associates.”
“I know who you are.” Flat. Not friendly. “Security monitors all offices, just so you know. Cameras in every corner. Everything logged.”
A warning. Or a threat. Maybe both.
“That’s good to know.” I keep the smile plastered on. “I’m just here to help with the transition. Administrative law, compliance filings. Nothing exciting.”
“Hmm.” She looks me up and down. Assessing. “Controller Ashford goes through contractors quickly. Had three last year alone.”
She’s trying to scare me off. We both know he just started with the new year.
“This is temporary,” I say. “Just the month.”
“That’s what they all say.” She turns to leave, then pauses. “My desk is right there. I see everyone who comes in or out. And I’ve been here twenty years. I know how things work in this building.”
She disappears back to her desk, but her door stays open. A clear line of sight.
A warning? A threat? An offer of alliance?
Alex would know. Alex can read people. Alex would have figured out in thirty seconds whether Linda’s on our side or his.
But Alex isn’t here.
I look down at the papers in my hands. Compliance filings. Administrative law. Work that will take hours.
The computer screen glows. The sticky note with login credentials mocks me.
Even if I wanted to snoop—even if I tried—he’s already told me there’s nothing to find. And Linda’s watching. And security’s recording.
Outside the window, Philadelphia continues. People walking. Cars driving. Life happening.
And I’m in a corner office on the third floor of City Hall with nowhere to run.
Thirty days.
I put the badge around my neck. My face stares back at me from the laminated plastic.
DYLAN WELLS. TEMPORARY CITY EMPLOYEE.
Temporary.
If I survive that long.
I open the first compliance filing and start to read.