Chapter 5 - Eighty-Seven Thousand Dollars
Tessa discovered someone had been inside her apartment on a Thursday evening.
Nothing obvious was missing.
Her secondhand television remained on the dresser. Her laptop was where she'd left it. Even the forty-three dollars hidden inside an old coffee can remained untouched.
But Emily's photograph was facing the wall.
Tessa never left it that way.
The picture had been taken during her sister's final summer, when the chemotherapy had temporarily stopped and Emily had insisted on going to the beach.
In the photograph, Emily wore an enormous yellow hat.
She was laughing.
Tessa remembered taking the picture and thinking, irrationally, that anyone who could laugh like that couldn't possibly be dying.
Now someone had turned the photograph around.
She checked the door.
No broken lock.
No obvious damage.
Then she noticed the envelope.
It lay beneath the kitchen table.
Her name was printed across the front.
Inside was an account statement from Harbor Recovery.
The amount due was $41,680.
Underneath, someone had written a sentence in red ink.
Some debts can be forgiven. Some mistakes cannot.
Tessa sat down because her legs suddenly felt unreliable.
She had never given Harbor Recovery permission to enter her home.
She had never told them where she worked, either.
But the collection agent who called the previous week had asked whether she enjoyed her job at the Costa estate.
At the time, she'd assumed it was a coincidence.
Now she wasn't sure.
Her phone rang.
An unfamiliar number.
She almost ignored it.
Then she answered.
"Hello?"
"Miss Miller."
A man.
Calm.
Almost pleasant.
"Who is this?"
"Someone who would prefer not to make your life difficult."
Her stomach tightened.
"If you're calling about my debt, you can send everything in writing."
"Of course. Although we aren't actually concerned about payment this evening."
"What do you want?"
"A conversation."
"About?"
"Your work."
Tessa stood.
"I don't discuss my employer."
"Very loyal."
The man chuckled softly.
"Your sister was loyal to you, too, wasn't she?"
Tessa's breath caught.
"Leave Emily out of this."
"There's no reason to get upset."
"Then stop talking about her."
A pause.
"Tomorrow, you'll find a small document in the east wing. Nothing valuable. Just a copy of a medical report."
Tessa stared at the wall.
"What?"
"We'd like you to bring it to someone."
"No."
"You haven't heard the offer."
"I'm not stealing anything."
"Stealing is an ugly word."
"Then pick another one. The answer is still no."
The pleasantness disappeared from his voice.
"You owe a considerable amount of money, Miss Miller."
"I'm aware."
"That situation could become much easier."
"I said no."
She ended the call.
For several seconds, she stood frozen.
Then she called the police.
An officer took her report. Another explained that she should preserve the envelope, avoid disturbing anything else, and contact her landlord about possible unauthorized access.
Tessa followed the instructions.
But after the call, she sat on her bed and cried.
Not because she regretted refusing.
Because she was tired.
Tired of having every good decision create another problem.
Tired of working until her feet went numb and still being treated like someone who hadn't tried hard enough.
Tired of watching people use Emily's memory as another way to hurt her.
At 9:17 p.m., Damian's phone rang.
Paul was calling.
"Miss Miller reported an unlawful entry at her apartment."
Damian stood so abruptly his chair struck the wall.
"Is she hurt?"
"No. She's spoken with police."
"Where is she?"
"At home. One of our security staff was nearby and confirmed she's safe from outside the building. They haven't approached her."
Damian grabbed his coat.
"Send me the address."
Paul hesitated.
"Boss, be careful. She didn't ask us to come."
Damian stopped.
Paul rarely corrected him.
But tonight he was right.
Damian looked at the coat in his hand.
His instinct was to send six armed men, put Tessa in a car, and move her behind his walls.
That instinct had kept him alive.
It had also destroyed nearly every relationship he'd ever had.
"Call her," he said finally. "Tell her what we've learned about the lender. Ask whether she wants help."
Twenty minutes later, Tessa's phone rang again.
She almost didn't answer when Paul introduced himself.
"I'm calling because we've discovered a connection between the company holding one of your debts and a former business associate of Mr. Costa."
Tessa closed her eyes.
"Is that why somebody was in my apartment?"
"We don't know. But it's possible the incidents are connected."
She looked around the studio.
"What am I supposed to do?"
"That's your choice. You can speak with your investigating officer and an independent attorney. Mr. Costa is willing to cover reasonable emergency accommodation and legal expenses, without requiring anything from you in return."
Tessa gave a bitter little laugh.
"People keep telling me things are free. Then they tell me what I owe."
"I understand why you're skeptical."
She was silent.
Paul continued.
"May I tell Mr. Costa you want to speak with him?"
Tessa looked at Emily's photograph.
"Yes."
Damian arrived at the building forty minutes later.
He came alone.
Tessa met him downstairs, where the bowling alley's neon sign cast blue light across the cracked sidewalk.
She looked exhausted.
Damian had prepared six different things to say.
All six disappeared when he saw her.
"Are you okay?"
"No."
It was such a simple answer that he almost didn't know what to do with it.
Tessa folded her arms.
"Someone came into my apartment. A stranger called me. And apparently the person collecting my sister's medical debt knows people who work with you."
Damian nodded.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I believe someone is trying to get information about my mother's medical care."
"From me?"
"Possibly."
"Why not ask the nurses?"
"Because they're being investigated."
Tessa stared at him.
"Is Beatrice in danger?"
"We're taking precautions."
"That's not an answer."
Damian looked toward the dark windows above them.
"I don't know how much danger she's in."
Tessa's expression tightened.
For several moments, neither spoke.
Finally she said, "I can't go back upstairs tonight."
"Then don't."
"Mr. Costa—"
"Damian."
She looked startled.
He continued.
"I can arrange a hotel under your name, paid for by the estate's employee emergency fund. You don't have to return to work, stay on my property, or agree to anything else."
"Why would you do that?"
"Because threats against an employee connected to my household require a response."
Tessa studied him.
"Is that the only reason?"
Damian could have lied.
He was very good at it.
Instead, he said, "No."
She looked away first.
The next morning, Tessa received confirmation that the collection company had been served with a formal request to preserve communications and account records.
By afternoon, her new attorney had begun reviewing the debt.
Damian had referred her to an independent legal assistance organization, then stepped away from the legal discussions at her request.
For the first time in months, somebody was examining what the collectors were allowed to demand instead of simply ordering her to pay.
But relief didn't last.
At 4:30 p.m., Paul entered Damian's office carrying a photograph.
It had been found inside an old envelope among Beatrice's personal papers.
The image showed a much younger Beatrice standing outside a hospital beside two men.
One was Damian's father.
The other was Salvatore Rinaldi.
On the back, in Beatrice's handwriting, were six words:
Never let Salvatore near the children.
Damian stared at the photograph.
May you like
He had no siblings.
At least, none he knew about.
