Chapter 3 - NOAH HAD HIS FATHER’S EYES
Daniel went to East Los Angeles before sunrise.
Not alone.
His attorney, Rebecca Sloan, insisted on security.
Not Whitmore security.
Independent.
That distinction mattered now.
Maria’s neighbor, Mrs. Elena Ruiz, lived in a small stucco duplex with wind chimes hanging beside the front door.
She looked at Daniel as though billionaire CEOs appeared before breakfast every Tuesday.
“You Maria’s boss?”
“Yes.”
“You’re late.”
“For what?”
“Knowing anything about that woman.”
Fair.
Then Noah appeared behind her.
Seven years old.
Messy dark hair.
Green T-shirt.
Bare feet.
He stared at Daniel.
Daniel forgot how to breathe.
Andrew.
Not identical.
But the eyes.
Gray-blue.
Their father’s eyes.
His own.
Noah frowned.
“Are you Daniel?”
Daniel knelt.
“Yes.”
“Mom says you’re Uncle Daniel.”
His chest tightened.
“She told you about me?”
“Dad did.”
Daniel stopped.
“When did you see your dad?”
Noah looked toward Elena.
She gently said:
“You can tell him.”
“Last Christmas.”
Daniel’s heart slammed.
Andrew had been alive in California nine months earlier.
“Where?”
“Mom said secret.”
Of course.
Daniel did not push the child.
Good.
Noah continued:
“He gave me a train.”
Then disappeared into the bedroom.
Returned holding a wooden model locomotive.
Hand-carved.
On the bottom:
N.C. — Always keep moving. Love, Dad.
Daniel touched the engraving.
Andrew used to carve wooden boats when they were children.
His brother was alive.
Or had been last Christmas.
Then Noah asked:
“Is Mom okay?”
Daniel looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Vanessa hurt her?”
Children notice everything adults try to hide.
Daniel chose honesty.
“Your mom was injured.”
“By Vanessa?”
“We’re still figuring out exactly what happened.”
Noah’s jaw tightened.
“She’s mean.”
“What?”
“She came here once.”
Daniel froze.
“When?”
“Last week.”
Elena stepped in.
A black Mercedes had parked across the street.
Vanessa came to the door.
Claimed she was looking for Maria.
Elena refused to let her in.
Vanessa smiled.
Left.
No threats.
No scene.
But she knew where Noah lived.
That explained Maria’s terror.
Daniel called Rebecca immediately.
“We need temporary protection around Noah.”
“Through lawful channels?”
“Yes.”
Good.
He was learning quickly.
No private army.
No disappearing people.
Then Elena handed him an envelope.
“Maria told me if anything happened to her, give this to you.”
Inside:
A photograph.
Andrew.
Taken seven months earlier.
Beard.
Thin.
Standing outside a roadside diner.
On the back:
Mojave, Route 58. Ask for Samuel Reed.
Daniel stared.
Rebecca said:
“We do not drive into the desert alone.”
“I know.”
He almost resented how often lawyers were useful.
Then his phone rang.
Vanessa.
He answered.
“Daniel.”
Her voice trembled.
“Where are you?”
“Not home.”
“We need to talk.”
“Yes.”
“Maria attacked me.”
“No.”
“You weren’t there.”
“I was there for the aftermath.”
“She came at me with the mirror stand.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“What did she say before it happened?”
Silence.
“Vanessa.”
“She was hysterical.”
“What did she say?”
“That I should stay away from her son.”
There.
Admission.
“You knew about Noah.”
Silence.
“Daniel—”
“How?”
“Maria told me months ago.”
Lie.
Maybe.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because she begged me not to.”
Daniel looked at Noah.
Then:
“Who is Noah’s father?”
Long pause.
“I don’t know.”
Daniel almost laughed.
“Try again.”
Vanessa’s breathing changed.
Then:
“You need to come home.”
“No.”
“Your board meets tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“Charles is already asking questions.”
Charles.
Interesting.
“How does Uncle Charles know anything happened?”
Vanessa stopped.
Daniel’s entire body went cold.
The incident happened after midnight.
Police had not released names.
Hospital staff were confidential.
Daniel had told no board member.
Yet Charles already knew.
“How does Charles know, Vanessa?”
She hung up.
Daniel stared at the phone.
Rebecca said:
“That was useful.”
“Extremely.”
Then a text arrived.
Unknown number.
Only six words:
DO NOT GO BACK TO THE HOUSE.
Then another:
ASK MARIA ABOUT THE BLUE ROOM.
Daniel stared.
The mansion had thirty-eight rooms.
There was no blue room.
May you like
At least none he knew about.
---
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