Chapter 4 - The Empty Loft
The cab ride home cost half my night's tips, but I didn't care. My fingers were locked around the black metal card Roman had slid across the table, my thumb tracing its smooth, cold edge like a talisman.
Don't be surprised if he isn't the only one waiting for you.
The words echoed in my head with every turn of the taxi's tires against the wet asphalt. By the time the cab dropped me off outside my building, the rain had turned into a steady, freezing drizzle that soaked through my thin jacket.
I climbed the three flights of stairs to the loft I shared with David, each step feeling heavier than the last. The hallway was dim, smelling of old carpet and stale takeout.
When I reached our door, I noticed something strange.
The lock wasn't latched properly. The heavy wooden door was cracked open an inch, a sliver of warm yellow light spilling out onto the grimy linoleum floor.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I pushed the door open with my fingertips.
"David?" I called out, stepping inside.
The loft was an absolute disaster. Drawers had been pulled out and dumped upside down across the floor. Clothes, papers, and empty shoe boxes were strewn everywhere. The television was still on, casting a flickering blue glow over the chaos, but the room was dead silent.
David wasn't there.
At least, not the living version of him.
A sharp smell of metallic copper cut through the scent of old coffee and laundry detergent. I followed it toward the small kitchenette at the back of the open-plan space.
There, sitting on the counter next to my half-empty coffee mug, was my laptop. And stacked neatly beside it were three manila folders stamped with red ink.
EVIDENCE PRESERVATION NOTICE.
My breath caught in my throat. I stepped closer, my sneakers crunching on broken glass from a picture frame we'd bought on our second anniversary.
Sitting on top of the folders was a handwritten note in David’s sloppy cursive:
Nora, I'm so sorry. They found the ledger. If I don't give them you, they take me. You're smart, you'll figure it out. Love, D.
I stared at the paper until the letters blurred together into meaningless black ink.
He hadn't just used my name as collateral—he had actively framed me as the mastermind behind the entire dock operation to buy himself a clean getaway. Every trip I thought he was taking to the hardware store, every late night he spent "networking," every sweet word he whispered while holding me close—it had all been building toward this exact moment.
He had sold me out to save his own skin.
A sudden creak from the fire escape outside the frosted glass window made me freeze.
I whipped around. The shadows outside shifted. Someone was standing on the landing, peering through the glass, watching my every move.
May you like
Before I could scream, the window latch rattled, and the glass began to slide open.
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