CHAPTER SEVEN #2
“I’m sorry,” she said as soon as Alyssa approached.
“For what?”
“The records. Security asked whether I accessed your medical leave files.”
“Did you?”
“Only when we changed insurers. You signed the release.”
“I remember.”
Elise studied her face. “Do you?”
The question was cautious rather than cruel.
Alyssa understood how thoroughly the story had worked.
“I remember,” she said.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know.”
Elise lowered her voice. “Marta called this morning.”
Alyssa stopped. “Marta Ruiz?”
“Chen. The old administrator.”
Alyssa had forgotten that Carmen’s surname created confusion with nearly every other Ruiz in Miami.
“What did she want?”
“She asked whether we still use the same donor database.”
“When did she leave?”
“Three years ago.”
“Why would she ask?”
“She said she was applying for a charity position and wanted to describe the system.”
“Did you answer?”
“No. It felt strange.”
Alyssa looked toward the glass doors of her office.
“Send me the call record.”
Elise nodded. “There’s more. A gossip reporter emailed questions about foundation spending. She asked whether recent transfers were authorized during a period of medical leave.”
“Which transfers?”
“I’m pulling them now.”
“Do not send anything through the foundation server. Print the records and put them in the locked board room.”
Elise’s eyebrows rose.
“Use the manual key,” Alyssa said.
“I’ll handle it.”
Alyssa entered her office and closed the door.
The cabinet containing her medical files stood beneath the shelves. She opened the lowest drawer. The folders remained aligned.
A photograph proved little. The originals could stay while copies traveled anywhere.
She called Martin.
“Former administrator contacted current staff,” she said. “A reporter is asking about transfers tied to my medical leave.”
“Send names and dates.”
“I’m having the records printed.”
“Do not confront the former employee.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good. People say that before confronting former employees.”
Alyssa sat behind her desk. “Damian played me an edited recording this morning.”
Martin went quiet.
“He suggested I contact my old therapist.”
“Did he place that in writing?”
“No.”
“Write down the time, location and words while you remember them.”
“I remember them.”
“I believe you. A court will still prefer notes.”
Alyssa closed her eyes.
Everyone required documents. Martin merely admitted it.
“I moved into another bedroom,” she said.
“Good.”
“You don’t know whether it was good.”
“You made a choice without asking Damian to approve it. I support the muscle, not the furniture.”
Despite herself, Alyssa smiled.
“Change the locks on your company apartment,” Martin continued. “Today.”
“I haven’t used it in months.”
“Use your own locksmith. No Vader Global vendors.”
“Understood.”
At noon, Damian called.
Alyssa let it ring once before answering.
“The audio expert confirmed cuts,” he said.
“That was fast.”
“I made it urgent.”
“What did the report say?”
“Three separate environments. At least five edits.”
Alyssa waited.
Damian did not apologize immediately.
“What happens now?” she asked.
“I confronted Vanessa by phone.”
“And?”
“She said she combined the material because she panicked and believed no one would understand the pattern.”
“She fabricated a threat.”
“She says every sentence was yours.”
“Your expert proved they came from separate conversations.”
“I know.”
“Are you moving her?”
A pause followed.
Alyssa looked through the office glass. Elise carried printed financial records into the board room.
“Damian?”
“I’m arranging for her to stay at the Biltmore residence with a female protection officer.”
“Today?”
“She refused.”
“Of course.”
“For the last two days she has followed every restriction,” Damian said. “She has stayed in the guesthouse, declined two press calls and allowed the officer to remain with Sophie. I thought the measures were working.”
Alyssa had noticed the unnatural quiet. Vanessa had become polite, distant and almost invisible. It had not reassured her. It had felt like a held breath.
“She claims the property is visible from the road.”
“It is a gated tower.”
“I told security to inspect it again.”
“You are negotiating with her.”
“I cannot drag her into a car.”
“You can revoke permission to stay on our property.”
“Sophie has a counseling appointment tomorrow.”
“Which can occur from another address.”
“Alyssa.”
The single word carried warning and exhaustion.
She no longer cared which.
“You have proof Vanessa edited the recording,” she said. “You still refuse to make her leave.”
“I am making arrangements.”
“You have been making arrangements for more than a week.”
“This is not solved by placing them anywhere with an empty bedroom.”
“Your problem is that Vanessa rejects every option until only my home remains.”
“She is frightened.”
“She is effective.”
Damian exhaled. “I have company appearances this afternoon. Vanessa and Sophie are coming because security does not want them at the estate during the shift change.”
Alyssa thought of the foundation luncheon.
“Which appearances?”
“A planning-board lunch and the South Beach restaurant opening.”
“Vanessa belongs at neither.”
“She cannot travel alone.”
“She can remain with the protection officer.”
“Sophie has been confined to the property for days.”
“Take Sophie.”
“I am not separating a child from her mother.”
The reasonable answer concealed the useful result.
Damian would attend public events beside Vanessa and Sophie. Photographers would capture them. Alyssa would be absent because she had foundation work and no invitation.
“Do what you have decided,” she said.
“Alyssa.”
She ended the call.
At four, a gossip account posted the first photographs.
Damian left a restaurant with Sophie holding his hand. Vanessa walked beside them in a cream dress, her face turned toward him. Security kept reporters several feet away.
The caption read:
DAMIAN VADER STEPS OUT WITH FORMER FIANCéE AND HER DAUGHTER AS WIFE HIDES FOLLOWING MELTDOWN CLAIMS.
A second site called them a family unit.
A third praised Damian for protecting Vanessa while Alyssa sought help.
Alyssa enlarged one photograph.
Vanessa looked directly into the camera.
The angle had been chosen before they reached the sidewalk.
At six-thirty, Damian returned to the estate alone. Alyssa heard his footsteps outside the east suite.
He knocked.
She did not answer.
“Alyssa.”
The door remained locked.
“I know you’re in there.”
She opened it.
Damian had removed his tie. His expression showed the strain of a man who expected to manage six crises and discovered one had developed a lock.
“I saw the photographs,” she said.
“I did not invite the photographers.”
“They knew which exit you would use.”
“Press attend every opening.”
“The images were taken from the service lane.”
His eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”
“The public entrance faces Collins Avenue. The wall behind you belongs to the loading dock.”
Damian took out his phone and checked the photograph.
“You’re right,” he said.
The admission arrived without resistance. It felt strange after days of argument.
“Who knew you would use that exit?” Alyssa asked.
“My security team. Restaurant management. Vanessa.”
“Sophie?”
“No.”
“Did Vanessa suggest it?”
“She said the press near the front frightened Sophie.”
Alyssa picked up her handbag.
“Where are you going?” Damian asked.
“To find out who took the photographs.”
“Let security handle it.”
“Your security keeps treating Vanessa’s requests as instructions.”
“You are not following a photographer through Miami.”
“I don’t need to. Vanessa will lead me to him.”
Damian blocked neither the door nor her path. He stood close enough that she smelled his cologne and the restaurant’s wood smoke on his shirt.
“You’re angry,” he said.
“I am capable of driving while angry.”
“This could be dangerous.”
“So could returning to my office.”
“Alyssa.”
She walked past him.
Vanessa left the guesthouse at seven-ten.
Alyssa waited in her car beyond the staff entrance, lights off, parked behind a landscaping truck. Vanessa wore dark pants and a baseball cap. The outfit looked casual until one noticed the large sunglasses after sunset.
She crossed the service drive and exited through the pedestrian gate. Her guesthouse credential still opened the exterior route, one of the exceptions Damian had left in place so she would not feel confined.
Alyssa followed at a distance.
Vanessa walked three blocks to a café near the marina. Outdoor tables faced the water. A man in a green shirt sat beneath an umbrella with a camera bag at his feet.
The photographer from the service lane.
Vanessa took the chair opposite him.
Alyssa parked across the road and lowered the window.
Traffic covered the sound of her phone camera. She captured Vanessa sliding an envelope across the table. The man opened it, counted cash and placed the envelope inside his bag.
Vanessa said something that made him laugh.
Alyssa took more photographs.
The photographer lifted his head.
Vanessa turned toward the road.
Her gaze found Alyssa’s car.
For one second, neither woman moved.
Vanessa rose from the table.
Alyssa photographed the cash still visible in the man’s hand.
The images uploaded to cloud storage before Vanessa reached the curb.