Chapter 37
I deleted the messages while Morrison's eyes tracked the movement of my thumb.
"Richard made bail two hours ago," she said, stepping fully into my apartment. Two more agents followed her in, their suits identical, their expressions carved from the same block of granite. "We need to move up the timeline."
Daniel's hand found the small of my back, steadying me. Or maybe steadying himself. The heat of his palm burned through my shirt.
"Timeline for what?" My voice came out steadier than I felt. The jade bracelet clicked against my wrist as I set the phone down on the counter, screen-side down.
Morrison's gaze flicked to Daniel, then back to me. "The wire. We need you to meet with Richard tonight."
"Tonight?" The word scraped out of Daniel's throat. "She's not ready. We haven't—"
"Richard's spooked." Morrison cut him off with the efficiency of someone who'd done this a thousand times. "He knows we're closing in. If we wait, he'll run, and we'll lose our chance to get him on record admitting to the fraud."
I pressed my palms flat against the counter, feeling the cool granite under my fingertips. Flour still caked under my nails from this morning's batch of scallion pancakes. Before the world tilted sideways. Before Daniel showed me a photo of his dead mother, alive.
"What exactly do you need me to say?" I asked.
Morrison pulled out a tablet, swiped through several screens. "We've drafted a script. Key phrases that will get him talking about the falsified documents, the offshore accounts, the timeline of when he started moving money."
"A script." Daniel's laugh held no humor. "You want her to perform for you."
"I want her to help us put a criminal behind bars." Morrison's tone could have frozen water. "The same criminal who's been systematically destroying your family's company and framing you for it. Or would you prefer we let him walk?"
The neither spoke between them like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap.
"Let me see it," I said.
Morrison handed me the tablet. The script ran three pages, dense with legal terminology and carefully constructed questions designed to elicit specific responses. My eyes caught on phrases like "misappropriation of funds" and "fraudulent documentation" and "conspiracy to commit wire fraud."
"This sounds like a lawyer wrote it," I said.
"A lawyer did write it." Morrison's expression didn't change. "We need admissible evidence, Ms. Chen. That means following protocol."
"It also means Richard will smell the trap from a mile away." I scrolled through the document, my stomach tightening with each paragraph. "He's not stupid. If I walk in there and start asking about offshore accounts and wire fraud, he'll know something's wrong."
"Then make it sound natural." Morrison took the tablet back. "You're a smart woman. Improvise."
Daniel's hand tightened on my back. "This is insane. You're asking her to walk into a room with a man who's already tried to frame her once, who knows the FBI is investigating him, who has everything to lose—"
"Which is exactly why he'll talk to her." Morrison's gaze shifted to me. "You're not a threat to him, Ms. Chen. You're a civilian, a small business owner, someone he thinks he can manipulate. He'll underestimate you."
The words landed like stones in my chest. Not a threat. Someone he can manipulate.
"When?" I asked.
"Nora—" Daniel started.
"When?" I repeated, louder this time.
Morrison checked her watch. "We've arranged for Richard to meet you at his office in ninety minutes. He thinks you're coming to discuss a settlement regarding the false statement he tried to get you to sign."
"And if he doesn't show?"
"He'll show." Morrison's certainty was absolute. "He needs to know what you told us. He needs to control the narrative."
I looked at Daniel. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. The same jaw I'd traced with my fingers last night, in the dark, when the world was simpler and mothers stayed dead and love felt like something I could hold onto.
"Okay so," I said, and Daniel's eyes closed briefly, recognizing the phrase. "What do I need to do?"
The wire was smaller than I expected. A thin strip of metal and plastic that the female agent—she'd introduced herself as Chen, no relation—taped between my breasts with the clinical efficiency of someone who'd done this too many times to count.
"Breathe normally," Agent Chen said, pressing the edges of the tape down. "Don't touch it, don't adjust it, don't acknowledge it in any way. If Richard gets suspicious and asks to check your phone, let him. The wire's not connected to your phone."
"Where's it connected to?" I asked.
"Us." She stepped back, examining her work. "We'll be in a van two blocks away. The range is good for about half a mile, but we'll stay close."
Daniel stood in the corner of my bedroom, his back to us, staring out the window at the street below. He hadn't said a word since Morrison left to coordinate with the rest of the team.
Agent Chen packed up her equipment. "You're going to do fine, Ms. Chen. Just remember—keep him talking. The more he says, the better our case."
She left, closing the door softly behind her.
I pulled my shirt back on, buttoning it with fingers that only shook a little. The wire pressed against my skin, foreign and cold.
"You don't have to do this," Daniel said, still not turning around.
"Yes, I do."
"No." He turned then, and the look on his face made my breath catch. "You really don't. This is my family, my mess, my—"
"Your uncle tried to destroy my business." I crossed the room to him, stopping just out of reach. "He tried to make me sign a false statement. He's been using my lunch boxes as part of his cover story. This stopped being just your mess the moment he dragged me into it."
"He could hurt you."
"He could." I held his gaze. "But he won't, because you're going to be in that van with Morrison, listening to every word, ready to come in if things go wrong."
"That's not—" He stopped, jaw working. "I can't protect you from two blocks away."
"I don't need you to protect me." The words came out sharper than I intended. "I need you to trust that I can handle this."
the dynamic had changed his expression. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition.
"Did you eat?" he asked quietly.
The question, so perfectly Daniel, so completely him, made my throat tight. "No."
He moved past me to my dresser, pulled open the top drawer where I kept emergency snacks. Protein bars, packages of almonds, a bag of dried mango that was probably six months old. He selected a bar, unwrapped it, broke it in half.
"Eat," he said, handing me a piece.
I took it. The chocolate was slightly melted, sticking to my fingers. We stood there in my bedroom, eating protein bar halves in silence, while the wire pressed cold against my chest and the clock ticked down toward the moment I'd walk into Richard Park's office wearing a federal recording device.
"My mother used to make me eat before tests," Daniel said. "Said I couldn't think properly on an empty stomach."
The past tense hung between us. Used to. Before she died. Except she hadn't died, had she? She was alive somewhere, hidden, and Daniel had known for—how long? Hours? Days? Weeks?
"How long have you known?" I asked.
His hand stilled halfway to his mouth. "Known what?"
"That she's alive."
The protein bar fell from his fingers, hit the floor. Neither of us moved to pick it up.
"Three days," he said finally. "I've known for three days."
Three days. While we'd been planning the wire, coordinating with Morrison, preparing to trap Richard. While he'd kissed me in my kitchen and told me he trusted me and looked at me like I was something precious.
"You lied to me," I said.
"I didn't lie. I just—"
"You just didn't tell me the truth." My laugh tasted bitter. "That's the same thing, Daniel."
"I couldn't." He stepped toward me, hands raised like he was approaching something wild. "Nora, I couldn't tell anyone. If Richard found out I knew, if the truth landed: someone had been hiding her—"
"So you told no one." The words felt like glass in my mouth. "Not Morrison, not the FBI, not me."
"I was trying to protect her."
"By lying to everyone who's trying to help you?"
"By keeping her alive!" The shout filled the room, bounced off the walls, settled into the silence that followed. Daniel's chest heaved, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "You don't understand. Whoever's been hiding her for six years, they had a reason. A good enough reason to fake her death, to keep her away from me, from everyone. If I tell the FBI, if I tell anyone, and word gets back to the wrong person—"
"You think Richard knows," I said.
He didn't answer. Didn't need to.
I sat down on the edge of my bed, suddenly exhausted. The wire dug into my skin, a reminder of what I was about to do. Walk into a room with a man who might know where Daniel's mother was. Who might have been the reason she disappeared in the first place.
"Is that why you really want me to do this?" I asked. "Not to clear your name, but to find out what Richard knows about your mother?"
Daniel's silence was answer enough.
Richard's office occupied the top floor of a building in the financial district, all glass and steel and the kind of view that cost more per month than most people made in a year. The receptionist—young, blonde, wearing a smile that didn't reach her eyes—directed me to wait in the lobby.
I sat in a leather chair that probably cost more than my industrial mixer and tried not to think about the wire taped to my chest. Tried not to think about Daniel in a van two blocks away, listening. Tried not to think about the fact that the man I loved had lied to me for three days about his mother being alive.
Loved. Past tense? Present? I didn't know anymore.
"Ms. Chen." Richard emerged from the hallway, all expensive suit and practiced charm. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
I stood, shook his offered hand. His palm was dry, his grip firm but not aggressive. The handshake of a man who'd spent decades perfecting the art of seeming trustworthy.
"You said it was important," I said.
"It is." He gestured toward his office. "Please."
The office was exactly what I expected. Mahogany desk, leather chairs, abstract art on the walls that probably cost six figures. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, the sun setting behind the buildings in shades of orange and pink.
Richard closed the door behind us.
The click of the lock made my pulse spike.
"Can I offer you something to drink?" he asked, moving to a bar cart in the corner. "Water, coffee, something stronger?"
"Water's fine."
He poured two glasses from a crystal pitcher, handed me one. I took it but didn't drink. Couldn't. My throat felt too tight.
"I appreciate you agreeing to meet with me," Richard said, settling into the chair behind his desk. "I know our last conversation was... contentious."
"You tried to get me to sign a false statement," I said.
"I tried to protect my nephew." His tone was reasonable, almost gentle. "Surely you can understand that, Ms. Chen. Family loyalty."
"By framing him for fraud?"
Richard's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. Calculation. "Is that what Daniel told you? That I framed him?"
"Daniel didn't have to tell me anything." I set the water glass down on his desk, not bothering with a coaster. "The FBI already showed me the evidence."
"Ah." He leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers. "Agent Morrison. Yes, she's been quite persistent in her investigation. Tell me, what exactly did she show you?"
This was it. The moment Morrison had prepared me for. Keep him talking. Get him to admit to the fraud, the falsified documents, the offshore accounts.
But all I could think about was Daniel's mother. Alive. Hidden. And Richard's careful, calculated expression as he waited for my answer.
"She showed me the transfer records," I said. "The ones with Daniel's signature."
"Forged signatures are remarkably easy to produce these days," Richard said. "Wouldn't you agree that in the digital age, anyone with the right software could create a convincing forgery?"
"Is that what you did?"
He smiled. "I'm not sure what you're implying, Ms. Chen."
"I'm implying that you've been running fraud schemes through Park Industries for years." The words came easier now, fueled by anger. "That you created false evidence to frame Daniel when the FBI started investigating. That you tried to use me and my business as part of your cover story."
Richard's smile never wavered. "Those are serious accusations. Do you have proof?"
"The FBI has proof."
"Then why are you here?" He leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "If the FBI has all this proof, why send you to talk to me? Why not arrest me themselves?"
Because they need you to admit it on tape, I thought. Because they need your confession to make the case stick.
But I couldn't say that. Couldn't let him know about the wire.
"They want me to testify," I said instead. "About the false statement you tried to get me to sign. About the meetings we had, the things you said."
"I see." Richard stood, walked to the windows. The setting sun cast his shadow long across the floor. "And what did I say, exactly, that the FBI finds so interesting?"
"You told me Daniel was guilty. That the evidence against him was overwhelming. That if I didn't cooperate, my business would be destroyed."
"Did I?" He turned back to face me. "Or did I simply suggest that cooperation might be in your best interest? That's not a threat, Ms. Chen. That's advice."
"Advice that came with a false statement for me to sign."
"A statement that would have protected you from being implicated in Daniel's crimes." His voice hardened slightly. "I was trying to help you, kiddo. Trying to keep you from going down with him."
"Daniel didn't commit any crimes."
"Are you certain of that?" Richard moved closer, and I forced myself not to step back. "How well do you really know my nephew, Ms. Chen? You've been seeing him for what, a few months? Do you know where he was six years ago? Do you know what he was doing?"
Six years ago. When his mother disappeared.
"What happened six years ago?" I asked.
Richard's expression shifted. Just for a second, just a flicker, but I saw it. Surprise. Or maybe fear.
"Nothing that concerns you," he said.
"Then why bring it up?"
"I'm simply pointing out that Daniel has secrets. Things he hasn't told you. Things he hasn't told anyone." He was close enough now that I could smell his cologne, expensive and cloying. "Did he tell you about his mother?"
My heart stopped. Started again, too fast.
"His mother's dead," I said.
"Is she?" Richard tilted his head, studying me. "Are you sure about that?"
The wire pressed against my chest, recording every word. In the van two blocks away, Daniel was listening to this. Hearing Richard confirm what he'd suspected.
"What do you know about Daniel's mother?" I asked.
Richard smiled. "I know that some people are better off staying dead, Ms. Chen. I know that digging up the past can be dangerous. I know that my nephew should leave well enough alone."
"You know where she is."
"I know a lot of things." He reached past me, and I flinched before realizing he was just opening a desk drawer. "I know, for instance, that you're wearing a wire."
The world tilted.
Richard pulled a small device from the drawer, held it up. A bug detector, the kind that picks up radio frequencies. The kind that would have started beeping the moment I walked into the room if he'd turned it on.
"Did you really think I wouldn't check?" he asked. "Did Morrison really think I was that stupid?"
My mouth went dry. "I don't know what you're—"
"Please." He set the detector on the desk. "Don't insult my intelligence. The FBI has been investigating me for months. They've tapped my phones, followed me, frozen my accounts. Of course they'd try to wire someone close to Daniel."
"If you knew, why let me in?"
"Because I wanted to see if you'd go through with it." He moved back to his desk, opened another drawer. "I wanted to see how far you'd go for him. How much you'd risk."
His hand emerged holding a gun.
"And now I know," he said.
The door burst open before I could scream. Morrison came through first, weapon drawn, two agents behind her.
"FBI! Drop the weapon!"
Richard didn't drop it. Didn't raise it either. Just held it loosely at his side, his expression almost amused.
"Agent Morrison," he said. "Right on time."
"Put the gun down, Mr. Park."
"Or what? You'll shoot me?" He laughed. "We both know you won't. Not with Ms. Chen in the room. Not without cause."
"Threatening a federal witness is cause," Morrison said.
"I haven't threatened anyone. I simply showed Ms. Chen a firearm that I legally own and keep in my office for protection." His smile widened. "Isn't that right, Ms. Chen?"
I couldn't speak. Couldn't move. The gun was still in his hand, still pointed at the floor, but all I could see was the barrel. All I could think was that Daniel was listening to this, hearing this, and I'd deleted the messages about his mother, destroyed evidence, and for what?
"Last chance," Morrison said. "Put it down."
Richard's finger moved toward the trigger.
Everything happened at once. Morrison fired. Richard dropped. The gun clattered across the floor. And Daniel came through the door, his face white, his eyes finding mine across the chaos.
"Nora," he said.
But I was already moving, already running, not toward him but toward Richard, who was clutching his shoulder and laughing, actually laughing, blood seeping between his fingers.
"Ask him," Richard gasped, looking at Daniel. "Ask him what he did six years ago. Ask him why she had to disappear."
"Shut up," Daniel said.
"Ask him about the accident. About the car. About—"
Morrison kicked the gun further away, pressed her hand to Richard's wound. "Someone call an ambulance."
But I was looking at Daniel, at the expression on his face. Not surprise. Not confusion.
Guilt.
"What is he talking about?" I asked.
Daniel's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"Daniel," I said. "What accident?"
The ambulance sirens started in the distance, growing louder, and Richard kept laughing, kept bleeding, kept looking at Daniel with something that might have been triumph or might have been pity.
"Tell her," Richard said. "Tell her what you did."
And Daniel, the man who never lied by omission, who asked if I'd eaten instead of how I was, who'd held me in the dark and made me believe in something real—
Daniel looked at me and said nothing at all.