Chapter 22- PHOENIX
My assistant's voice crackles through the intercom, uncertain in a way that immediately puts me on edge.
"Mr. Crawford, there's a man here to see you. He doesn't have an appointment, but he says it's urgent. A personal matter."
I glance at my calendar. My two o'clock canceled, leaving an unexpected gap in my afternoon.
I should use the time to review the contracts sitting in my inbox, the ones I've been avoiding for days because my mind keeps drifting back to Jade and the way she looked this morning, sleepy and warm in my bed.
"Did he give a name?"
A pause. Then: "Dominic Webb."
The name hits me like a bucket of ice water. My hand freezes over the mouse, and for a moment I forget how to breathe. Webb. Marcus's brother. The one who called the police when Marcus first went missing, who's been leaving messages with my assistant that I've been ignoring for weeks.
I should send him away. Tell Rachel to call security, have him escorted from the building, pretend I'm in meetings for the rest of the day. That would be the smart move. The safe move.
But running would look like guilt. And Phoenix Crawford doesn't run from anyone.
"Send him in."
I stand and button my jacket, positioning myself behind my desk like a general preparing for battle.
The view of downtown Los Angeles spreads out behind me, forty floors of glass and steel between me and the street below.
I've built this office to intimidate, every piece of furniture chosen for its ability to make visitors feel small.
I need every advantage I can get.
The door opens, and Dominic Webb walks in.
He's taller than Marcus was, broader across the shoulders, with the same dark hair but none of his brother's easy charm.
Where Marcus always looked like he was about to tell a joke, Dominic looks like he's calculating exactly how much force it would take to break your neck.
His eyes are pale gray, almost colorless, and they sweep the room with the practiced efficiency of someone who's spent time assessing threats for a living.
Military, maybe. Or private security. Something that taught him to move like a predator.
"Mr. Crawford." His voice is flat, emotionless. "Thank you for seeing me."
"Mr. Webb." I gesture to the chair across from my desk but remain standing myself. A small power move, but every inch matters. "I was sorry to hear about your brother's disappearance. Please, sit down.”
He doesn't sit. Instead, he walks slowly around my office, examining the artwork on the walls, the books on my shelves, the family photo I keep on my credenza. His fingers trail along the edge of my desk as he passes, leaving invisible tracks on the polished wood.
"Nice office," he says. "Very impressive. You must be doing well for yourself."
"I can't complain."
"No, I imagine you can't." He stops in front of the window, his back to me, hands clasped behind him. The pose should make him vulnerable. Instead, it makes me feel like the one who's exposed. "Do you know why I'm here, Mr. Crawford?"
"I assume it's about Marcus."
"You assume correctly." He turns to face me, and the emptiness in his eyes makes something cold slither down my spine. "My brother is dead. I know it. And I know you had something to do with it."
I keep my expression neutral, my voice steady. "I'm sorry for your concern, but I had nothing to do with Marcus's disappearance. We had a business disagreement, yes, but that's all it was. Business."
"Disappearance." Dominic smiles, and it's the coldest thing I've ever seen. A corpse would show more warmth. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"That's what the police are calling it."
"The police are idiots." He takes a step toward me, then another, closing the distance between us with deliberate slowness.
"They found his car in the mountains with the keys still in the ignition.
They found his wallet in the glove compartment, his phone dead in the cupholder.
They found everything except him, and their best theory is that he wandered off into the wilderness and got lost."
I force myself not to step back. Not to show any sign of the fear that's currently wrapping itself around my heart and squeezing.
"People do get lost in those mountains. The terrain is dangerous if you don't know what you're doing."
"Marcus hated the outdoors." Dominic is close enough now that I can smell gun oil and something underneath it, sharp and medicinal. "He got sunburned walking to his car. The idea that he decided to take a spontaneous hike in Angeles National Forest is laughable."
"Then perhaps you should share your theories with the detectives assigned to the case."
"I have." His pale eyes bore into mine. "They're not interested. Too busy, they say. Following other leads. It's almost like someone is making sure they look in all the wrong directions."
The implication hangs in the air between us. He knows. He might not have proof, but he knows.
"I'm not sure what you're suggesting, Mr. Webb, but I don't appreciate the insinuation."
"I'm not suggesting anything." He leans in, close enough that I can see the small scar above his left eyebrow, the broken capillaries in the whites of his eyes.
"I'm telling you, directly, that I'm going to find out what happened to my brother.
I have resources the police don't. Connections they don't. And I don't give a shit about evidence or due process or any of the rules they have to follow. "
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a promise." He straightens, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. "Marcus wasn't a good man. I know that better than anyone. He had vices, weaknesses, a mean streak that got worse as he got older. But he was my brother. My blood. And someone is going to answer for what happened to him."
"I hope you find your answers, Mr. Webb. But you won't find them here."
"We'll see." He turns and walks toward the door, his footsteps silent on the thick carpet. When his hand is on the knob, he pauses and looks back over his shoulder. "That girlfriend of yours. Jade, isn't it? Pretty girl. Quiet. Keeps to herself mostly."
Every muscle in my body goes rigid. "What about her?"
"Nothing. Just an observation." His smile is a razor blade wrapped in silk. "She seems like the nervous type. Jumpy. Like she's waiting for something bad to happen. Interesting quality in a person, don't you think?"
"Stay away from her."
"I haven't gone anywhere near her." He pulls open the door. "Yet."
Then he's gone, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft finality that sounds like the closing of a trap.
I stand frozen behind my desk for a long moment, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my teeth.
My hands are shaking, and I clench them into fists to make them stop.
The city spreads out below me, millions of people going about their lives, completely unaware that a man just walked out of my office who might destroy everything I've built.
Everything I love.
I grab my phone and dial my father's number. He answers on the second ring.
"Phoenix. I'm in the middle of something."
"Dominic Webb just paid me a visit at my office."
Silence. Then: "What did he want?"
"He knows, Father. He doesn't have proof, but he knows. And he's not going to stop looking until he finds it."
I can hear my father breathing on the other end of the line, slow and measured. When he speaks again, his voice is calm, almost bored. "What did you tell him?"
"Nothing. I denied everything."
"Good. Did he make any specific threats?"
I think about Dominic's parting words. The way he mentioned Jade's name, her nervousness, the implied threat wrapped in casual observation. "He mentioned Jade. Made it clear he's been watching us."
"I see." Another pause. "I'll look into Mr. Webb. Find out what resources he actually has and what he's capable of. In the meantime, don't engage with him again. If he shows up at your office, have security remove him. If he approaches you in public, walk away."
"And if he approaches Jade?"
"He won't." My father's voice hardens into something that sounds almost protective. "I'll make sure of it."
I want to ask how. I want to demand specifics, guarantees, some assurance that the man who just stood in my office won't get anywhere near the woman I love. But I know my father well enough to understand that asking questions only reveals weakness.
"Thank you," I say instead.
"We'll talk soon." The line goes dead.
I set the phone down on my desk and walk to the window. The sun is starting its descent toward the ocean, painting the smog in shades of orange and pink that would be beautiful if I could appreciate anything right now.
Dominic Webb is nothing like his brother.
Marcus was impulsive, emotional, driven by appetites he couldn't control. He was dangerous in the way a wild animal is dangerous, unpredictable and violent but ultimately stupid. Easy to provoke. Easy to manipulate.
Dominic is something else entirely. Cold and calculated, patient in a way that suggests military training or something even more specialized. The kind of man who plans every move three steps ahead and never acts without knowing exactly what the outcome will be.
Marcus I could handle.
Dominic might be the death of everything.
I think about Jade at home right now, probably curled up in my study with her laptop, lost in the fantasy world she's building with words.
She's been happier these past few weeks than I've ever seen her.
The shadows under her eyes have faded. The tension in her shoulders has eased.
She's starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, we've gotten away with it.
I can't let Dominic Webb take that away from her.
I pull out my phone again and send a text to Torres, my head of security.
I need additional surveillance on the house. Cameras, motion sensors, the works. And put someone on Jade whenever she leaves the property. Discreet. She shouldn't know they're there.
His response comes back almost immediately.
Understood. How long?
Indefinitely.
I slide the phone back into my pocket and turn away from the window. The contracts can wait. The meetings can wait. Everything can wait until I figure out how to neutralize the threat that just walked out of my office.
Because Dominic Webb was right about one thing.
Someone is going to answer for what happened to Marcus.
I just need to make sure that someone isn't me.