Chapter 10 - THE NIGHT THE HARBOR WENT DARK
The evidence was devastating.
But it wasn't complete.
Lorenzo Moretti had died five years earlier.
Vincent Salerno was under investigation.
Cassandra Wren had begun cooperating with authorities.
And several former associates were disappearing.
Then the threats started.
A black car followed me home.
Someone left a dead flower outside my apartment.
An anonymous message appeared on my phone.
STOP READING.
I reported everything.
Rebecca arranged additional protection.
Gabriel offered me a secure apartment.
I refused to move into one of his properties.
Instead, I stayed temporarily with a friend while police investigated.
Gabriel respected that.
One evening, he called.
"Have you eaten?"
I smiled despite myself.
"Is that your professional question?"
"No."
"Then yes."
"What did you eat?"
"Toast."
He sighed.
"Mara."
I laughed.
"What?"
"Toast isn't dinner."
"Neither is espresso, but I've seen you survive on it."
He chuckled.
It was the first time we'd spoken without discussing murder, inheritance, or financial crimes.
And it felt strangely wonderful.
Over the following weeks, Gabriel began calling more often.
Sometimes to discuss the case.
Sometimes to ask about my day.
Sometimes because he couldn't sleep.
I learned that he loved jazz.
Hated thunderstorms.
And had never learned how to cook anything more complicated than scrambled eggs.
He learned that I collected old postcards.
Loved thunderstorms.
And had once dreamed of opening a historical manuscript restoration studio.
One night, he asked:
"Why didn't you?"
I looked around my friend's small guest room.
"Life got expensive."
He was quiet.
Then said:
"That doesn't mean the dream is gone."
I smiled faintly.
"No."
The following morning, investigators discovered that several waterfront companies connected to the old conspiracy were preparing to destroy their archives.
Rebecca coordinated emergency preservation orders.
One facility refused access.
Another reported a sudden electrical failure.
Then, shortly after midnight, a warehouse caught fire.
Gabriel called me.
His voice was urgent.
"Mara, the Providence records facility is burning."
I sat upright.
"What?"
"The one that held the original corporate files."
My heart pounded.
"Did they get the documents out?"
"Most of them."
"And the rest?"
Silence.
Then Gabriel said:
"There's something you need to know."
"What?"
"The fire started after someone used my security credentials to enter the building."
I froze.
"Who?"
May you like
Gabriel's voice hardened.
"Someone inside my own company."
