Chapter 3 - The Man at the Gas Station
Claire recognized danger before she understood its shape.
Three years married to Vincent Moretti had taught her that men in expensive black suits rarely appeared in deserted places by coincidence.
The stranger approaching her car wore neither a suit nor a tie.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in faded jeans and a dark jacket.
But his eyes were unmistakably professional.
They swept across the station cameras, the highway, and the driver before settling on Claire.
"Drive," she whispered.
Her driver looked confused.
"Ma'am?"
"Please. Right now."
The stranger raised one hand.
Then he spoke through the closed window.
"Claire Bennett?"
She froze.
Bennett.
Her maiden name.
Almost nobody used it anymore.
The man stepped back, keeping both hands visible.
"My name is Daniel Mercer. Your father sent me."
Claire stared at him.
"My father has been dead for six years."
Daniel's expression didn't change.
"I know."
The driver shifted into gear.
Daniel moved aside.
"Check your phone," he called. "The message I sent you has a photograph attached."
Claire's fingers trembled as she opened the message again.
Below the warning was a photograph she hadn't noticed.
Her father stood beside Daniel Mercer.
The picture was dated seven months before her father's death.
Both men stood outside a building Claire knew.
The original Moretti Grand Casino.
Her pulse thundered.
"Stop," she told the driver.
Daniel approached cautiously.
Claire lowered the window a few inches.
"What do you want?"
"To keep you alive."
She laughed bitterly.
"Everybody in my husband's world says that before asking for something."
"I don't work for your husband."
"Then who do you work for?"
"Your father did me a favor once. I've been trying to repay him ever since."
Claire studied his face.
Something about him felt familiar.
Then she remembered.
A photograph from her father's funeral.
Daniel had been standing near the back of the church.
He hadn't approached her.
"Why contact me now?"
"Because yesterday someone accessed the sealed records from your father's death investigation."
Claire frowned.
"What records?"
"Records you were told didn't exist."
He handed her a small envelope through the window.
Inside was a photograph of a destroyed sedan.
Her father's car.
The front end was crushed against a concrete barrier.
Claire had seen the accident photographs years ago.
But this image showed something different.
A second vehicle.
A black luxury SUV parked nearby.
Daniel pointed to the license plate.
"It was registered to Moretti Holdings."
Claire felt suddenly cold.
"Vincent?"
"Not necessarily. That company had several authorized drivers."
"Then why send me that message?"
"Because the investigators found evidence the collision wasn't accidental. That evidence disappeared before the case was closed."
Claire stared at the photograph.
Her father, Robert Bennett, had been a respected financial investigator.
He was stubborn, honest, and impossible to intimidate.
He had also strongly opposed her relationship with Vincent.
She remembered their last argument.
"Moretti doesn't love people the way you think he does," her father had warned.
She'd accused him of judging Vincent because of his reputation.
Three days later, Robert Bennett was dead.
Claire pressed the photograph against her chest.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Because I didn't have enough proof. And because I thought you were safer not knowing."
"That's not your decision."
"You're right."
Daniel looked toward the highway.
"But I need you to understand something. Someone has been watching you for months."
Claire's skin prickled.
"Who?"
"I don't know yet."
He handed her a business card without a company name.
Only a number.
"Call me when you're somewhere safe."
Then he returned to his SUV.
Claire watched him drive away.
Her driver cleared his throat.
"Do you still want Flagstaff?"
She nodded.
"Yes."
But her thoughts remained trapped six years in the past.
Meanwhile, back in Las Vegas, Vincent entered his private office at the Grand Moretti.
Marco stood beside his desk.
"We found something."
Vincent looked up immediately.
"Claire?"
"No. Isabella."
Vincent frowned.
Marco placed a security photograph on the desk.
It showed Isabella entering Vincent's home office at 3:41 that morning.
While Claire had been hospitalized.
"What was she doing there?" Vincent asked.
"That's what I wanted to know."
Marco slid another photograph forward.
Isabella was removing a folder from Vincent's locked cabinet.
A folder labeled:
BENNETT INVESTIGATION — CONFIDENTIAL.
Vincent went completely still.
"Who gave her access?"
"We're checking."
Vincent stared at the folder.
He hadn't opened it in years.
Not since the death of Claire's father.
A death that had nearly destroyed his relationship with Claire before their marriage even began.
Vincent swallowed.
"Get Isabella here."
Marco hesitated.
"Sir, there's something else."
"What?"
"That folder was supposed to be destroyed six years ago."
Vincent slowly looked up.
"Who ordered it destroyed?"
May you like
Marco's voice dropped.
"Your father."
