Ledger of Secrets

6796 words

Claire’s heels clicked against the polished hardwood of Harrison’s Manhattan office, the sound swallowed by the hum of the city thirty stories below. She stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, one hand pressed against the cool glass, the other clutching the ledger they’d pulled from the safe two hours ago. Her reflection stared back, sharp cheekbones and tighter lips than she remembered, her navy blazer creased from the long drive down from Martha’s Vineyard. The skyline was a grid of steel and ambition, indifferent to the weight in her chest. She could still smell the faint cigar smoke embedded in the leather of her father’s chair behind her, a ghost of him lingering in every corner of this room. “You gonna stand there all day, or we gonna figure this out?” Oliver’s voice cut through, rough around the edges, like he’d just rolled out of bed despite it being past noon. He was slumped in one of the armchairs, legs sprawled, a half-empty coffee cup dangling from his fingers. His flannel shirt was untucked, stubble creeping along his jaw, but his eyes—those were sharp, watching her like he knew she was holding something back. Which, of course, she was. Claire didn’t turn. “I’m thinking,” she said, her voice clipped, each word measured like she was in a deposition. “This isn’t a...