Chapter 2 - Somebody Knows Her Name
Rachel left Reichi Tower at three seventeen in the morning with a temporary access badge, a contract draft in her email, and the strong suspicion that she had just made the worst professional decision of her life.
The rain had stopped.
Chicago shone wet and black beneath the streetlights.
Adrien had wanted a driver to take her home.
Rachel had refused.
He had wanted two security men to follow her.
She had refused that too.
Then he had stood beside her work van with his hands in the pockets of a coat that probably cost more than the van and asked, “Is refusing help a principle or a hobby?”
Rachel had opened the driver’s door.
“Depends who’s offering.”
“Rachel.”
She had looked back.
For once, there had been no amusement in his face.
“Someone triggered a suppression system while we were inside a locked mechanical floor.”
“Yes. I noticed.”
“Someone knew where we were.”
“That’s what happens when buildings have cameras in the walls.”
“Take the driver.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if your building is compromised, I’m not climbing into a car chosen by someone in your building.”
That had ended the argument.
Mostly because Adrien had not found a good answer.
Now Rachel drove west with the heater rattling and one hand tight around the steering wheel.
She checked her mirrors twice.
Nothing unusual.
At the third light, a dark SUV turned behind her.
At the fourth, it remained.
At the fifth, it disappeared.
Rachel exhaled through her nose.
Paranoia was expensive. It burned time, sleep, and judgment.
She told herself not to buy too much of it at once.
Her apartment occupied the second floor of a narrow brick building in Logan Square above a bakery that opened before dawn. At four in the morning, the smell of yeast already drifted through the hallway.
Rachel climbed the stairs, unlocked her door, stepped inside, and froze.
Her kitchen light was on.
She never left lights on.
Not because she was obsessive.
Because she paid her own electric bill.
Rachel did not enter farther.
She backed into the hallway, locked the door again, and called Adrien.
He answered before the second ring.
“Where are you?”
“Good morning to you too.”
“Rachel.”
“My apartment.”
“What happened?”
“The kitchen light is on.”
Silence.
“That’s all?” he asked.
“It’s enough.”
“I’m sending—”
“No. You personally can come if you want. One person.”
Another pause.
“You’re giving me permission?”
“Don’t ruin the moment.”
He arrived twelve minutes later.
Rachel did not ask how.
He wore the same clothes from the gala, minus the dinner jacket. His sleeves were rolled once at the forearms. He looked less like a man on magazine covers and more like someone who had forgotten what sleep was supposed to be.
“You waited in the hallway?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She glanced at him.
“That sounded dangerously close to approval.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Adrien checked the door frame.
“No marks.”
“Locks can be picked without marks.”
“I know.”
“Of course you do.”
He looked at her.
“I’m going in first.”
“No.”
“Rachel.”
“It’s my apartment. I know what belongs.”
“That is not the same as knowing who is inside.”
She considered that.
“Fine. But don’t touch anything.”
“You say that to me a lot.”
“You touch too much.”
The words left her mouth.
They both paused.
Rachel closed her eyes.
“I meant equipment.”
“I assumed.”
His voice was entirely too calm.
“Open the door.”
They entered together.
No one waited in the living room.
No broken glass.
No overturned furniture.
Nothing missing at first glance.
Adrien checked the bedroom and bathroom.
Rachel went straight to the kitchen switch.
“Don’t,” he said.
Her hand stopped.
She looked at him.
“You told me not to touch something.”
“I’m learning.”
Rachel took a voltage tester from her coat pocket.
She always carried one.
Adrien noticed.
“You sleep with that?”
“Only on the second date.”
He looked away, and she saw the corner of his mouth move.
The joke died when the tester chirped near the metal switch plate.
Rachel’s face changed.
“What?”
“The plate is live.”
Adrien stepped closer.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning if I had touched the screws with wet hands or grounded myself properly, I could have gotten shocked.”
“Accident?”
“No.”
She killed power at the apartment breaker, then removed the plate.
A thin strand of copper had been deliberately pinched from the hot terminal against the metal yoke.
Clean.
Simple.
Cruel.
Adrien’s voice dropped.
“Could it kill you?”
“Unlikely at this voltage unless everything went wrong.”
“You keep using that word.”
“What word?”
“Unlikely.”
Rachel studied the tampering.
“This wasn’t designed to guarantee anything. It was designed to scare me.”
Adrien checked the apartment again, slower this time.
Rachel went to her electrical panel in the hall closet.
The cover was slightly crooked.
Her stomach tightened.
She removed it.
At first, nothing seemed wrong.
Then she saw the photograph.
It had been taped to the inside of the panel door.
A glossy print.
Rachel standing in the gala ballroom beneath the emergency service lights.
Taken from above.
From one of the hidden cameras.
Black marker covered the bottom edge.
WALK AWAY, RACHEL MORGAN.
Adrien read it over her shoulder.
Every trace of humor left the room.
“They know your name,” he said.
“They knew it before they came here.”
“How many people have your home address?”
“Clients. Licensing board. Tax office. Half the internet if you pay twelve dollars.”
Rachel removed the photo with gloved fingers and placed it inside a clean plastic sandwich bag from her kitchen.
Adrien watched.
“You have evidence bags?”
“I have sandwiches.”
“That is almost normal.”
“Don’t sound disappointed.”
He walked to the window and looked down at the street.
Rachel could see anger in the set of his shoulders now.
Not the theatrical anger of powerful men accustomed to obedience.
This was quieter.
Personal.
She did not like that either.
“You’re staying somewhere else,” he said.
“No.”
He turned.
“Someone entered your apartment.”
“Yes.”
“Someone altered your electrical system.”
“Yes.”
“Someone left a threat with your full name.”
“Yes.”
“And your conclusion is to remain here?”
“My conclusion is that they want me frightened out of the job.”
“That does not make staying wise.”
“It makes leaving useful to them.”
Adrien stared at her.
Rachel leaned against the counter.
“You want to know what people misunderstand about intimidation?” she asked.
He waited.
“It costs something. Time. Access. Risk. Whoever did this had to come here, get through my lock, open my panel, prepare a photograph, and alter the switch. That means I’m no longer random.”
“You say that as if it is good news.”
“It means I touched something important.”
“You nearly touched a live plate.”
“And now I won’t.”
His jaw tightened.
Rachel softened her voice by half a degree.
“I’ll stay somewhere else tonight.”
Adrien’s expression did not change.
“That’s not what you said ten seconds ago.”
“I updated the plan.”
“Where?”
“Hotel.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“Any hotel can be found through payment records, cameras, staff, or reservation systems.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“One of my residential properties.”
She laughed once.
“Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Because your properties are the problem.”
That silenced him.
The bakery downstairs turned on its ovens. A faint vibration came through the floor.
Rachel looked again at the threat.
Then she noticed something else.
In the photograph, behind her shoulder, one of the ballroom’s blue hidden indicators glowed.
But the angle was wrong.
She took the photo to the window.
“Look.”
Adrien came closer.
“What?”
“This camera didn’t take the picture.”
“How can you tell?”
“Because the camera that should be taking it is visible in the frame.”
Adrien studied the image.
Rachel pointed to the upper left corner.
A tiny black lens sat behind decorative woodwork.
“The photo came from another camera facing it.”
“So?”
“So we only found the obvious layer.”
His eyes met hers.
Rachel felt the cold again.
“Someone was watching the watchers.”
Adrien called Tomas.
No answer.
He called again.
Still nothing.
Rachel checked the time.
Four forty-two.
“Maybe he’s busy.”
“He answers.”
“Everyone?”
“Me.”
Adrien made a third call.
This time someone picked up.
Not Tomas.
Rachel could hear a male voice speaking quickly through the phone.
Adrien’s expression sharpened.
“When?” he asked.
A pause.
“Don’t touch it. Don’t enter his office. I’m coming back.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” Rachel asked.
“Tomas is missing.”
She straightened.
“Missing how?”
“He left the security center fourteen minutes after we went to the mechanical floor. His badge never exited the building.”
“Maybe he used another exit.”
“His phone is still in his office.”
Rachel thought of the hidden network moving toward the roof.
“Anything else?”
Adrien nodded.
“His office door was locked from the inside.”
“That’s impossible if he left.”
“Apparently not.”
Rachel looked down at the photograph again.
The blue diode in the frame seemed almost brighter now.
A message.
A warning.
Or proof.
Someone had entered her home while she was inside Reichi Tower.
Someone had known exactly when she would not be there.
Someone had also removed the head of security without setting off any alarm Adrien trusted.
Rachel sealed the sandwich bag.
“Your trust problem just got worse.”
Adrien looked toward the door.
“No,” he said. “It got smaller.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the list of people capable of doing this is short.”
Rachel picked up her tool bag.
“That should make you feel better.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Good.”
She switched off the compromised kitchen circuit completely and closed the panel.
“Where are you going?” Adrien asked.
“Back to your tower.”
“You said you would stay somewhere else.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“When I’m tired.”
“You’ve been awake all night.”
Rachel opened the apartment door.
“I’m angry now. It’s different.”
Adrien followed her into the hall.
For the first time since the gala blackout, Rachel felt something clearer than fear.
Whoever had entered her apartment believed intimidation worked because it usually did.
They had made one mistake.
They had chosen an electrician who had spent fifteen years being told to step aside whenever a room became difficult.
Rachel had built a career by not moving.
May you like
She locked the door behind her.
“Let’s find Tomas.”
