Chapter 8 - The Dossier
I looked down at the folder, hesitating before my fingers reached out to flip the cover open.
Inside weren't financial ledgers or real estate titles. They were police reports, medical records, and eviction notices—all bearing my name, my old addresses, and the dates spanning the past two years.
“Where did you get this?” I gasped, my breath catching in my throat as I stared at a copy of the hospital report from the night I had tried to call the police on Derek, only for them to believe his lies.
“Information is my primary currency, Clara,” Arthur said, his tone entirely devoid of mockery. “When someone enters the Onyx Room week after week and serves my drink without ever trying to sell me a story, I tend to notice. When a man like the one tonight puts his hands on an employee under my roof, I make it a point to know who he is.”
I flipped through the pages, my hands trembling as the ugly, hidden history of my life was laid bare on a stranger's table. “He’s going to come back,” I whispered, the reality crashing down on me. “Your men threw him out, but he knows where I work. He knows I have no one.”
“He won't be coming back,” Arthur said, and the absolute flatness of his tone sent a chill straight down my spine.
May you like
I looked up sharply. “What does that mean?”
“It means Derek checked into a county holding cell twenty minutes ago for violating a multi-state parole warrant regarding a stolen vehicle,” Arthur stated calmly, picking up his scotch glass at last and taking a slow sip. “And even if he manages to post bail next week, my associates have arranged for him to find greener pastures three states away. Permanently.”
