Chapter 1 - The Woman Behind the Glasses
It was a threat.
Also a test.
Addison held Dwayne’s gaze over the rim of her wineglass.
“If you wanted me to disappear,” she said, “you would have done it sometime during the last two years, preferably before I reorganized your customs archive and discovered that three of your port managers cannot subtract.”
Simon made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh.
Dwayne did not.
“You are very sure of yourself tonight.”
“No. I am exactly as sure of myself tonight as I was this morning.”
“Then why hide it?”
She placed the glass down.
“Because competent women get underestimated all the time. Competent women who are also noticeable get watched.”
Dwayne leaned back.
“And you preferred being invisible.”
“I preferred people talking around me.”
Her eyes flicked toward Simon.
“For example, Simon talks about private bets through frosted glass.”
Simon muttered something under his breath.
Addison continued.
“Your dock managers discuss side payments while I am carrying coffee. Your accountants complain about missing invoices when I am changing printer toner. Men explain criminal conspiracies in front of secretaries because they assume secretaries are furniture with health insurance.”
Dwayne stared at her.
“You collected information.”
“I remembered information.”
“Difference?”
“Intent.”
The answer came too quickly to be improvised.
The waiter approached with their appetizers.
Addison glanced at the tray once and her posture changed.
Barely.
Dwayne caught it because he had spent half his life watching men attempt to hide fear.
“What?”
She looked at the waiter’s left sleeve.
A silver cufflink.
Not restaurant uniform.
A small embossed crown.
Her voice stayed casual.
“Mr. Cross, did you order oysters?”
“No.”
“Simon?”
“No.”
The waiter placed the plate down.
Addison smiled politely.
“Could you tell Chef Mendez that table twelve has a shellfish allergy?”
The waiter hesitated.
There was no table twelve on this side of the restaurant.
Addison’s right hand moved beneath the table and closed around Dwayne’s wrist.
Hard.
The waiter reached inside his jacket.
Dwayne moved first.
He kicked the table forward.
Crystal shattered.
Simon drew his weapon.
The waiter stumbled backward as two of the plainclothes detectives Addison had identified at the bar stood simultaneously.
Except Addison had lied about one thing.
They were not detectives.
They drew weapons on the waiter.
Chaos erupted.
Guests screamed.
The orchestra stopped.
Dwayne grabbed Addison and pulled her behind the booth.
She did not scream.
She removed one heel.
Dwayne stared at her.
“What are you doing?”
“Running in seven-inch shoes is bad strategy.”
Another man came through the kitchen door.
Simon fired into the ceiling.
“Back exit!”
Addison shook her head.
“No.”
Dwayne looked at her.
“What?”
“The back exit opens into the alley.”
“Yes.”
“There are two black sedans parked there with engines running.”
Simon swore.
“How do you know?”
“I checked before I came in.”
Dwayne looked at her differently.
Not as a secretary.
Not as a beautiful surprise.
As someone who had walked into a dangerous dinner already expecting danger.
“Front.”
Addison nodded.
“Front.”
They moved through the dining room.
One of the armed men near the bar shouted, “Cross!”
Dwayne turned.
The man threw something.
Not a grenade.
A phone.
Dwayne caught it instinctively.
The screen displayed a photograph.
A young woman.
Twenty-three, maybe.
Dark hair.
Same hazel eyes as Addison.
Blood on her temple.
Dwayne stopped.
Addison saw the image.
Every trace of amusement vanished from her face.
“Where did you get that?”
The armed man smiled.
“So the mouse has a pulse.”
Addison stepped toward him.
Dwayne caught her around the waist.
“No.”
She fought him once.
Not wildly.
Efficiently.
“Elena.”
The man laughed.
“She remembers her sister.”
Dwayne looked at Addison.
Sister.
The restaurant seemed to narrow around them.
Simon had reached the lobby.
“Dwayne!”
Police sirens screamed outside.
Real ones this time.
The armed man backed toward the kitchen.
“Midnight. Pier Nine.”
His eyes stayed on Addison.
“Bring the ledger.”
Then he disappeared.
Dwayne pulled Addison toward the front doors.
She did not resist.
Outside, rain hit them hard.
Nico Barron, Dwayne’s driver and head of security, had already brought the armored sedan around.
Simon climbed in first.
Addison stopped.
“I’m not going with you.”
Dwayne stared.
“Someone just showed you a photograph of your injured sister.”
“Exactly.”
“That is why you are coming.”
“No. That is why I am leaving.”
“You think I am letting you walk away?”
She looked up at him.
“Your first mistake tonight was thinking you could embarrass me.”
Rain ran down her hair.
“Do not make the second mistake of thinking I belong to you because someone threatened me in your restaurant.”
The correction landed.
Dwayne opened the door.
“Fine. You don’t belong to me.”
“Good.”
“But whoever sent that photo knows my name, knows your name, and expects a ledger connected to my operation.”
He leaned closer.
“That makes this shared.”
Addison looked toward the police vehicles.
Then at the restaurant.
Then into the car.
Finally she got in.
Nico accelerated before the door fully closed.
Inside the sedan, silence lasted one block.
Then Simon exploded.
“What the hell was that?”
Addison removed her remaining heel.
“An ambush.”
“I know what an ambush is.”
“Then why ask?”
Simon glared.
Dwayne ignored him.
“Who is Elena?”
Addison looked out the window.
“My sister.”
“Where has she been?”
“Missing.”
“How long?”
“Three years.”
Dwayne’s anger shifted.
“Three years?”
“Yes.”
“And you came to work for me two years ago.”
Silence.
Simon understood first.
“You infiltrated us.”
Addison turned.
“No.”
“You came in looking for something.”
“Yes.”
“That is infiltration.”
“I applied for a secretary position posted publicly on a job board.”
“You used fake glasses and fake clothes.”
“The glasses were prescription.”
Simon stared.
She sighed.
“The frames were intentionally terrible.”
Dwayne’s voice was low.
“What were you looking for?”
Addison reached for the wet clutch she had carried from the restaurant.
She opened it.
Inside was no makeup.
No wallet.
No perfume.
Only a small encrypted drive and a photograph.
She handed the photograph to Dwayne.
It showed three men standing on Pier Nine five years earlier.
One was Dwayne’s father.
One was a man Dwayne recognized as Victor Romano.
The third was unfamiliar.
Addison tapped the third man.
“My father.”
Dwayne looked at her.
“Your father knew mine?”
“Yes.”
“What was his name?”
“Arthur Lynwood.”
Simon swore.
Dwayne’s eyes sharpened.
He knew the name.
Everyone who controlled freight on the East Coast knew it.
Arthur Lynwood had been the forensic accountant who disappeared shortly before a federal investigation into port corruption collapsed.
Rumor said he took money and ran.
Addison’s face told him the rumor was wrong.
“My father did not run,” she said. “He found something.”
“What?”
“A second ledger.”
Dwayne thought of the phone.
Pier Nine.
Bring the ledger.
“I don’t have it.”
“I know.”
“Then why do they think you do?”
“Because I spent two years making sure they would.”
Simon leaned forward.
“You used Cross Logistics as bait?”
Addison looked at him.
“No.”
She looked at Dwayne.
“I used Dwayne.”
The car became very quiet.
Dwayne stared.
A less disciplined man might have shouted.
Dwayne became calmer.
That was worse.
“Explain.”
Addison did.
Three years earlier, Elena Lynwood disappeared while trying to reopen their father’s case.
Two months later, Addison received a blank envelope containing one dock number.
CROSS — 14.
Dock fourteen belonged to Dwayne.
“I thought your father had hidden something there,” she said.
“My father was dead by then.”
“Yes.”
“So you applied to my company.”
“Yes.”
“And found?”
“Nothing at Dock Fourteen.”
Dwayne’s mouth tightened.
“Two years of work for nothing?”
“No.”
She looked directly at him.
“I found something more interesting.”
During the ride to Cross Tower, Addison also explained that the four supposed detectives had been private investigators she hired months earlier after learning Victor’s men favored L’Aura for meetings. She had not expected an attack that night, but she had expected surveillance. Dwayne disliked discovering she had built contingency plans around his social habits without telling him. Addison pointed out that he had invited her to dinner as part of a wager without telling her. The argument ended there because hypocrisy had poor endurance under pressure.
“What?”
“Someone inside Cross Logistics has been recreating the transactions my father documented before he vanished.”
Simon stopped breathing normally.
Dwayne noticed.
So did Addison.
She turned toward him.
“Simon.”
He laughed too quickly.
“Don’t look at me.”
“I didn’t accuse you.”
“You were about to.”
“No.”
She tilted her head.
“I was about to say the person is smarter than you.”
Nico coughed from the front seat.
Possibly hiding a laugh.
Simon swore.
Dwayne almost smiled.
Then Addison’s phone vibrated.
One message.
Unknown number.
A video.
She opened it.
Elena sat in a dark room.
Alive.
Bruised.
Terrified.
A newspaper lay on the table beside her showing today’s date.
A man behind the camera spoke.
“Midnight. Pier Nine. Miss Lynwood brings the ledger.”
Addison’s face became white.
The video continued.
“And Dwayne Cross comes alone.”
Dwayne looked at the time.
9:17 p.m.
Two hours and forty-three minutes.
Addison closed the phone.
“You’re not going.”
Dwayne almost laughed.
“Excuse me?”
“They want you.”
“They want your ledger.”
“I don’t have a ledger.”
“Then they want me for something else.”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
Dwayne watched her.
“You know what.”
“I suspect.”
“Tell me.”
Addison looked at Simon.
Then Nico.
Then back at him.
“Your father did not leave you Cross Logistics.”
Dwayne’s eyes went cold.
“What?”
“He left you something else.”
“What?”
She spoke quietly.
“A debt.”
The sedan turned toward the river.
Rain smeared the city into black and gold.
Addison continued.
“Arthur Lynwood found evidence that your father borrowed fifty million dollars from someone who never appeared in Cross Logistics records.”
Dwayne said nothing.
“Your father died before repayment.”
Simon frowned.
“To whom?”
Addison looked toward the dark waterfront.
“The same people holding my sister.”
Dwayne’s jaw tightened.
“And what do they want instead of money?”
Addison looked at him.
“Your docks.”
That made sense.
Pier access was worth more than cash.
But her expression said there was more.
“What else?”
She hesitated.
Then finally answered.
“They want the one thing your father buried before he died.”
“What?”
Addison’s voice dropped.
“Proof that Victor Romano does not own the city.”
She turned her phone toward him.
A second message had appeared.
One photograph.
Dwayne’s father standing beside Arthur Lynwood.
Between them, a metal lockbox.
Painted red.
On its lid:
CROSS / LYNWOOD.
Dwayne had never seen it.
Addison had.
Her hands were shaking now.
For the first time all evening, the woman behind the glasses looked afraid.
Not for herself.
For Elena.
Dwayne reached into his jacket and removed his own phone.
“Nico.”
“Yes?”
“Lock Cross Tower.”
Simon turned.
“Why?”
Dwayne looked at Addison.
Because a secretary he had invited to dinner as a joke had just told him his empire was built over a grave he did not know existed.
And someone inside his company had been digging.
May you like
“No one leaves,” Dwayne said.
“Until I know who knew about that box.”
