Chapter 3 — The Stranger Outside The Hotel Knew Exactly Who I Was
Chapter 3 — The Stranger Outside The Hotel Knew Exactly Who I Was
The black SUV remained beneath the hotel window.
The engine was running.
The driver never looked away.
I stepped back from the glass.
My first instinct was to grab my children and leave.
My second was to find out who the hell was watching us.
I chose neither.
Instead, I pulled the curtains closed.
Then I called the number that had sent me the messages.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then went straight to voicemail.
I tried again.
Nothing.
My daughter walked into the room holding her stuffed rabbit.
“Dad?”
I turned.
“Yeah?”
“Are we going home today?”
I forced a smile.
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re having an adventure.”
She smiled.
My son came running from the other room.
“Can we go to the beach?”
“Absolutely.”
I grabbed my keys.
But before leaving, I looked through the curtains one more time.
The SUV was gone.
That should have made me feel better.
It didn’t.
Because whoever had been sitting inside had known exactly where I was.
And they had waited until I noticed them.
At the elevator, I called my brother, Ryan.
He answered immediately.
“What’s wrong?”
“I need you to do something for me.”
“What?”
“Find everything you can about a company called Northstar Consulting.”
There was silence.
“Why?”
“I’ll explain later.”
“Is this about Rachel?”
I stopped walking.
“How do you know?”
“She called me last night.”
My stomach tightened.
“She called you?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“She asked whether you’d talked to me.”
I lowered my voice.
“What else?”
“She sounded scared.”
I looked toward the hotel lobby.
“Ryan, has Rachel ever mentioned Northstar?”
Another pause.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why would she?”
“Because she paid them fifty-five thousand dollars.”
Ryan went silent.
Then he said,
“Wait.”
“What?”
“I’ve heard that name before.”
“Where?”
“Dad’s old business records.”
I stopped.
“Our dad?”
“Yes.”
My father had been dead for seven years.
“What did Northstar have to do with him?”
“I don’t know. But I remember seeing the name.”
“Can you find the records?”
“I’ll look.”
“Send me anything you find.”
He agreed.
I hung up.
My daughter tugged my sleeve.
“Dad, are we going?”
I nodded.
“Yeah.”
We spent the next two hours at the beach.
I tried to act normal.
I bought the kids ice cream.
We built a sandcastle.
My son chased seagulls until he nearly fell into the water.
For a few minutes, I almost forgot about everything.
Then my phone buzzed.
Ryan.
He had sent me a photograph.
I opened it.
It was an old document.
The date was seven years earlier.
At the top was the name:
Northstar Consulting Group.
Underneath was my father’s signature.
I stared at it.
The document was a consulting agreement.
But there was something strange.
Northstar hadn’t been hired by my father.
It had been hired by someone else.
Someone named Rachel Morgan.
My wife.
Except the date was from two years before Rachel and I had met.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
I called Ryan.
“Where did you find this?”
“In Dad’s storage files.”
“Why would Rachel’s name be on a contract from before we met?”
“I don’t know.”
“Keep looking.”
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“Dad made notes in the margin.”
“What do they say?”
Ryan read them aloud.
“‘Rachel has access.’”
I swallowed.
“What else?”
“‘Do not tell Daniel.’”
I closed my eyes.
My wife had been connected to my father’s business before I ever knew her.
And my father had specifically told someone not to tell me.
I called Rachel.
She answered on the first ring.
“Where are you?”
“Not important.”
“It is to me.”
“Rachel, when did you first meet my father?”
Silence.
Then she whispered,
“I knew you would eventually find out.”
My chest tightened.
“Answer me.”
“I met him six months before I met you.”
“Why?”
“He hired me.”
“For what?”
“To monitor something.”
“What?”
“You.”
I couldn’t speak.
My daughter was standing beside me.
I turned away.
“You were monitoring me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your father believed someone was trying to hurt you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“So you were spying on me before we even dated?”
“I wasn’t spying on you.”
“What do you call it?”
“Protection.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because your father made me promise.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was again.
Another secret.
Another promise.
Everyone seemed to have known something about my life except me.
“Rachel.”
“Yes?”
“Who is Ethan?”
She didn’t answer.
“Rachel.”
“He works for Northstar.”
My heart sank.
“So he’s not your lover?”
Another pause.
“He was.”
The answer was so quiet I almost didn’t hear it.
I stared at the ocean.
“How long?”
“Almost a year.”
“Does he know about Northstar?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know about my father?”
“Yes.”
“And the rental house?”
“He was supposed to help me get something.”
“What?”
She started crying.
“Documents.”
“What documents?”
“My father-in-law left them behind.”
I froze.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“What did he leave?”
“A list.”
“Of what?”
“People he believed were involved.”
I looked at my children.
“Who was on the list?”
Rachel didn’t answer.
“Tell me.”
“Your father’s name was at the top.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
She whispered,
“Because he wasn’t the victim.”
I felt my hand tighten around the phone.
“What are you saying?”
“Your father was investigating Northstar.”
“And?”
“He discovered the company wasn’t really a consulting company.”
“What was it?”
Rachel began crying harder.
“It was a private intelligence operation.”
I stared at the waves.
“Who hired them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Rachel.”
“I swear.”
“Then why did you pay them fifty-five thousand dollars?”
“Because they had something I needed.”
“What?”
“A recording.”
My pulse quickened.
“Of what?”
“Your father.”
“When?”
“Three days before he died.”
Everything around me seemed to disappear.
“What did he say?”
Rachel whispered,
“He said your name.”
I waited.
“What did he say?”
Her voice broke.
“He said, ‘If Daniel ever finds out who I really was, he won’t know who to trust.’”
I couldn’t breathe.
My father had spent his entire life telling me he believed in honesty.
Now my wife was telling me he had been hiding an entire operation.
Before I could ask another question, I heard a loud sound behind me.
A car door slammed.
I turned.
Across the parking area, the same black SUV had stopped.
The driver stepped out.
He wasn’t looking at me this time.
He was looking at my children.
I immediately moved between them and the man.
“Get behind me.”
My daughter grabbed my shirt.
The man started walking toward us.
I reached for my phone.
“Who are you?”
He stopped.
Then he pulled something from his jacket.
A photograph.
He held it up.
It was old.
A picture of my father.
Standing beside a much younger Rachel.
I stared at it.
The man said,
“You’ve been asking the wrong questions.”
I stepped forward.
“Who are you?”
He looked at my son.
Then my daughter.
Then back at me.
“I’m the person your father hired to protect his family.”
I frowned.
“My father is dead.”
The man’s expression didn’t change.
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
He lowered the photograph.
“Because the people who killed him have finally realized his son is still alive.”
My blood ran cold.
“You’re saying my father was murdered?”
“I’m saying his death was never what you were told.”
Then he handed me the photograph.
On the back was a handwritten message.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
My father’s.
“If Daniel sees this, take him to the house.”
I looked up.
“What house?”
The man pointed toward the road.
“The one your wife thought she had rented.”
My phone buzzed.
A message from Rachel.
Don’t trust him.
Then another.
He was the one my father warned me about.
I looked from the message to the stranger.
He seemed to know exactly what I had just read.
And then he said something that made my entire understanding of the last twenty-four hours collapse.
“Rachel didn’t rent that house.”
He paused.
“Your father did.”
And suddenly, I understood why the property owner had changed the locks.
The house hadn’t been rented for my wife.
It had been waiting for me.