Chapter 2 - THE NUMBER LIAM BOUGHT
Liam ran.
That was the first thing Norah noticed.
Not toward her.
Away.
He saw Roland Hayes crossing the marble and immediately turned down the service corridor.
Dominic Russo’s man followed at a walk.
Calm.
Confident.
Roland said one word to the security guard near the door.
“Thomas.”
The guard touched his earpiece.
Norah looked at him.
“Thomas is here?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I want him brought in.”
“For what?”
“Answers.”
“Alive?”
Roland’s gaze shifted.
“You’re going to ask that every time.”
“Yes.”
“Alive.”
Good.
They reached the corridor.
Liam had vanished.
A catering door swung slowly near the loading bay.
Roland’s security people spread out.
Norah grabbed his sleeve.
“No chasing him through a private estate with guns.”
“I didn’t say guns.”
“You have armed men.”
“Yes.”
“Then say it.”
Roland stared.
Then into his phone:
“No weapons drawn unless there is an immediate threat.”
Norah released him.
“Thank you.”
“You are difficult.”
“You bought four hours.”
“Three events.”
“Same problem.”
A guard returned.
“Liam Dwyer?”
Norah frowned.
“Dwyer?”
The guard checked.
“Driver’s license says Liam Dwyer.”
Her stomach dropped.
No.
Liam’s last name was Grant.
At least, that was the name on their lease.
Liam Grant.
His paychecks from the garage.
The credit card debt.
Three years.
“What did you say?”
The guard held out a phone showing a security-camera still.
Liam.
Below:
LIAM DWYER
Vehicle registered: Massachusetts.
Known associates: Dominic Russo organization.
Norah’s mouth went dry.
Roland looked at her.
“You knew him as Grant?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Three years.”
“He used a false surname?”
“Apparently.”
Something cold settled in her.
The earring.
The cheating.
The money.
Those were ordinary betrayals.
This felt structural.
“Is Dwyer connected to Dominic?”
Roland said:
“I don’t know.”
Norah stared.
“You own half the city but don’t know my boyfriend’s real name.”
“Ex-boyfriend.”
“Not helping.”
Dominic appeared at the end of corridor.
Of course.
“What a surprise.”
Roland turned.
Dominic looked at Norah.
“Miss Bell.”
Then at empty loading bay.
“Lose something?”
Norah answered.
“My patience.”
Dominic smiled.
“I see why Roland likes you.”
“He hired me.”
The words left before thought.
Roland’s gaze snapped toward her.
Dominic’s smile froze.
Norah realized.
Camouflage.
Fake relationship.
She had just cracked it.
Then she smiled.
“For the gallery.”
Dominic relaxed slightly.
Norah continued:
“He bought a piece I hated, then hired me to prove him wrong.”
Roland recovered instantly.
“I remain right.”
“About almost nothing.”
Dominic laughed.
Saved.
Barely.
He looked toward loading dock.
“The mechanic is yours?”
Norah’s skin crawled.
“No.”
“Was.”
“Why is he here?”
Dominic spread hands.
“Contractor.”
Roland said:
“He works at a garage.”
“Garages have trucks.”
“What does he move?”
Dominic smiled.
“You should ask him.”
Then left.
Norah watched.
“Threat?”
Roland said:
“Invitation.”
“To what?”
“Dig.”
“Same thing in your world?”
“Often.”
They returned to ballroom for eleven more minutes.
Norah hated every one.
Then Roland took her home.
Not penthouse.
Her apartment.
In the car, he removed the diamond collar himself only after asking.
“May I?”
She turned.
“Yes.”
His fingers touched the clasp.
Warm.
No flirtation.
Still her pulse reacted.
Annoying.
He placed necklace back in case.
Norah rubbed her neck.
“How much?”
“Two hundred eighty thousand.”
She stared.
“You put a condo on my throat.”
“It was insured.”
“That is not the point.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He almost smiled.
“No.”
The car stopped outside her building.
Liam’s garage was two miles away.
Her apartment dark.
Roland said:
“Do not go upstairs alone.”
Norah stiffened.
“Why?”
“Liam saw you.”
“So?”
“He may be angry.”
“He’s always angry.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“He has never hit me.”
Roland’s face changed.
“Has he threatened you?”
“No.”
“Broken things?”
Norah paused.
One controller.
One kitchen chair.
Wall beside her head once.
“Not me.”
Roland noticed pause.
“Norah.”
“Do not.”
He stopped.
Good.
She looked at her building.
“What do you suggest?”
“My security checks the apartment while you wait in lobby.”
“No search.”
“Visual safety check.”
“Door and rooms. No drawers.”
“Yes.”
“One person.”
“Yes.”
“Woman.”
He nodded.
Elena Cross, one of Roland’s security officers, checked the apartment.
Nothing disturbed.
Norah went upstairs.
Roland stayed by car.
No surprise invitation.
Good.
At 1:14 a.m., he texted:
Door locked?
Norah stared.
Then:
Yes.
His response:
Good.
Nothing else.
At 7:03 a.m., pounding woke her.
Norah sat up.
Heart racing.
Then voice:
“Norah!”
Liam.
Of course.
She grabbed phone.
Did not call Roland first.
Called police.
Good.
Then called building manager.
Then Roland.
His answer immediate.
“Where?”
“My apartment.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
Silence.
“What?”
“Police are coming.”
“Norah—”
“Do not turn this into a mob scene.”
His breathing changed.
Then:
“Fine.”
A beat.
“I’ll stay on phone.”
That was useful.
Liam pounded.
“You fucking serious? Open the door!”
Norah moved away.
“Police are coming, Liam.”
Silence.
Then:
“You called cops?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Story of the week.”
“Norah, open.”
“No.”
“You’re sleeping with Hayes now?”
“No.”
“Then why were you dressed like that?”
She almost laughed.
Of all questions.
“Because I looked good.”
“Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Act like you’re better.”
There he was.
Familiar.
The man who needed her small because his life felt larger beside it.
“Liam, leave.”
He lowered his voice.
“Dominic knows about you.”
Her stomach tightened.
Roland heard through phone.
He said quietly:
“Keep him talking.”
Norah hated that.
Still, useful.
“Why does Dominic know about me?”
Liam breathed outside door.
“Because Thomas sold me the number.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“What don’t I know?”
“Thomas didn’t just sell burner numbers.”
“Roland told me.”
“He moved things.”
“Stolen goods?”
Silence.
“Liam?”
“I drove for him.”
Norah’s skin went cold.
“What?”
“Garage trucks.”
Of course.
Legitimate vehicle.
Parts.
Crates.
No questions.
“You moved stolen property.”
“I didn’t know at first.”
“At first.”
“Norah, I needed money.”
“So did I.”
He went quiet.
Good.
“You made me pay your cards.”
“I was going to fix it.”
“By cheating?”
“That has nothing to do with this.”
“It has everything to do with you.”
Sirens approached faintly.
Liam heard.
His voice panicked.
“Dominic thinks I took something.”
“What?”
“A frame.”
Norah stopped.
“Painting frame?”
“Yes.”
Her pulse jumped.
“What painting?”
“I don't know.”
“Describe.”
“Dark water. Boat.”
Night Ferry.
The stolen Varga.
Norah closed eyes.
Liam had moved it.
“Why frame?”
“Thomas told me there was cash hidden.”
“Was there?”
“No.”
“What was there?”
Silence.
“Liam.”
“Paper.”
“What paper?”
“Numbers.”
Ledger.
Of course.
“Where?”
“I hid it.”
“Where?”
“Not telling you over a phone.”
Police hit lobby.
Liam cursed.
“Norah, please.”
First please.
Late.
“Do you have the paper?”
“Yes.”
That changed everything.
Roland’s voice through phone:
“Ask if Dominic knows.”
Norah did.
Liam whispered:
“He knows I have something.”
“Does he know what?”
“No.”
“Thomas?”
“Yes.”
Then hallway door opened.
Police.
Liam raised hands.
Norah watched through peephole.
Two officers separated him.
No violence.
Good.
She opened only after officer asked.
Liam looked at her.
His face collapsed.
“Tell Hayes I’ll trade.”
“For?”
“Protection.”
“From Dominic.”
“Yes.”
“And what do you give?”
“The ledger.”
Norah stared.
He looked terrified.
“And Thomas.”
“What about Thomas?”
Liam swallowed.
“I know where he is.”
Roland’s voice in her phone went cold.
“Put me on speaker.”
Norah did not.
“No.”
A pause.
Then Roland said:
“Good.”
She almost smiled despite everything.
The officers documented the disturbance and issued a no-trespass warning at Norah’s request. Liam left under their supervision.
Before elevator, Liam turned.
“Thomas is going to die tonight.”
Then doors closed.
Norah stared.
Roland said:
“Now may I come?”
She looked at empty hall.
“Bring coffee.”
He paused.
“That’s a yes?”
“Yes.”
“And Roland?”
“Yes.”
“No one gets hurt because I gave you information.”
Silence.
Then:
“I can’t promise nobody gets hurt if they attack my people.”
“Then promise no punishment before facts.”
His voice softened.
“Agreed.”
Twenty minutes later, Roland arrived with coffee from a bodega.
Not a luxury café.
Wrong order.
Black.
Norah took anyway.
He stood in her kitchen and looked absurd.
She folded arms.
“Thomas first.”
“Where?”
“Liam says he knows.”
“We need Liam.”
“He wants protection.”
“He may get it.”
“From you?”
“If he gives useful information.”
“That sounds like criminal witness protection.”
“It is less bureaucratic.”
“No.”
Roland looked at her.
“Police?”
“If Thomas is in immediate danger, yes.”
“He is also my runner who stole from me.”
“And?”
Roland’s jaw tightened.
Then relaxed.
“And that is separate.”
Good.
Norah breathed.
“Call Liam with police present.”
Roland stared.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
He almost smiled.
“You would make a terrible mafia girlfriend.”
“Fake mafia girlfriend.”
“Right.”
She looked at him.
“What is your real goal?”
He did not dodge.
“Dominic.”
“Why?”
“Because for two years money has been disappearing from unions and construction bids tied to his people.”
“And stolen art?”
“May be one laundering channel.”
“And Thomas?”
“Skimmed from me, then worked with Dominic’s side business.”
“So everyone steals from everyone.”
“Essentially.”
Norah rubbed face.
“Capitalism with guns.”
Roland laughed.
Actual laugh.
She stared.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You laughed.”
“Rare.”
“It’s unsettling.”
“Good.”
Then he became serious.
“The paper Liam has may be a transaction ledger.”
“Hidden in frame.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Art crosses borders with flexible valuation.”
Norah nodded.
She knew.
Provenance laundering.
Freeports.
Private sales.
Fake restorations.
An artwork could be worth five million on Monday, fifteen on Tuesday if the right experts agreed.
Perfect for moving money.
“You need someone who understands art.”
Roland looked at her.
“No.”
She raised eyebrow.
“I need an expert.”
“Different?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not hiring me.”
“No.”
“Good.”
He paused.
“But would you consult?”
Norah stared.
“For pay?”
“Yes.”
“Independent contract?”
“Yes.”
“My own lawyer?”
He sighed.
“Yes.”
“No fake dating condition tied to it.”
“No.”
“And I can say no.”
“Always.”
That word landed differently.
Norah drank terrible coffee.
“Then maybe.”
His eyes sharpened.
“Maybe?”
“Do not get excited.”
“I never do.”
“Liar.”
His mouth twitched.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
Face changed.
“What?”
Norah asked.
Roland looked at her.
“Thomas just walked into one of my warehouses.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
“Who?”
May you like
Roland’s expression hardened.
“Dominic Russo’s daughter.”
