Chapter 2: The Question He Couldn't Answer
At nine the next morning, Ryan was waiting outside my office.
He stood beside my old Honda, hands in his coat pockets.
I slowed down.
He looked exhausted.
“Maya.””
I kept walking.
“Can we talk?””
“No.””
“Please.””
I stopped at the entrance.
“You have five minutes.””
He nodded.
“I deserve that.””
“No,” I said.
“You deserve honesty.””
He looked down.
“What happened last night?””
“You tell me.””
“I don't understand.””
“Who is Alexander Bennett?””
Ryan's face changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
His shoulders stiffened.
His eyes moved away from mine.
“You said he was your father.””
“He is.””
“I mean… who is he?””
I stared at him.
“You know exactly who he is.””
Ryan rubbed his jaw.
“I've heard the name.””
“Where?””
“At work.””
“What work?””
“My father's company.””
“Whitmore Advisory.””
“Yes.””
I folded my arms.
“What does your father's company have to do with Bennett Holdings?””
“Nothing.””
“Then why were millions transferred between them?””
His face went completely still.
I knew then.
He knew.
“You already knew,” I whispered.
“Maya—”
“You knew.””
“No.””
“Don't lie to me.””
“I didn't know about the money.””
“Then how did you know Bennett Holdings?””
He said nothing.
Five seconds.
Ten.
That silence told me more than an answer could.
I turned toward the door.
He caught my wrist.
I pulled away.
“Don't touch me.””
“I didn't use you.””
I looked back.
“That's your defense?””
“No.””
“Then what is?””
He stepped closer.
“I loved you.””
The words hurt.
Not because they were beautiful.
Because I wanted to believe them.
“Did you know who I was when we met?””
“No.””
“When did you find out?””
He looked at the pavement.
“Three months ago.””
My chest tightened.
Three months.
He had known for three months.
“You had three months to tell me.””
“I was going to.””
“When?””
“I don't know.””
“After you got what you wanted?””
His eyes flashed.
“You think I stayed with you for money?””
“I don't know what to think.””
“That isn't fair.””
I laughed bitterly.
“Fair?””
I pulled out my phone.
“Your mother told me I wasn't good enough for you.””
“I know.””
“She asked what I brought to the relationship.””
“I know.””
“She humiliated me in front of everyone.””
“I know.””
“And you stood there.””
“I was afraid.””
“Of your mother?””
“No.””
“Then what?””
He looked at me.
“Of losing you.””
For a second, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked the question I'd been avoiding.
“Who hired you?””
Ryan's face drained of color.
I knew immediately.
He stepped back.
“Maya…”
“Who hired you?””
“I can't answer that.””
“Why?””
“Because if I tell you, you're in danger.””
I stared at him.
“You're already lying to me.””
“I'm trying to protect you.””
“From who?””
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
I stepped closer.
“Was it your father?””
“No.””
“Your mother?””
“No.””
“Vanessa?””
“No.””
“Then who?””
Ryan looked around the parking lot.
“Not here.””
“Fine.””
“Tonight.””
“Where?””
“Your apartment.””
I shook my head.
“No.””
“Then somewhere private.””
“I don't trust you.””
He flinched.
Good.
At least one thing I'd said had finally reached him.
“Tonight,” he repeated.
“I'll tell you everything.””
He walked away.
I watched him disappear into the street.
Then I called my father.
“Did you know Ryan found out about me three months ago?””
There was silence.
“Yes.””
I closed my eyes.
“You knew?””
“We discovered it yesterday.””
“No.””
I turned toward the office window.
“You knew before Thanksgiving.””
“We suspected.””
“And you let me date him?””
“Maya—”
“You let me fall in love with him while you investigated him?””
“We were trying to determine whether he was involved.””
“And if he wasn't?””
“We would have told you.””
I swallowed.
“And if he was?””
My father didn't answer.
I knew.
He would have taken Ryan away from me without telling me why.
I ended the call.
That afternoon, I went through every message Ryan had ever sent me.
Nothing obvious.
Nothing criminal.
Just memories.
Drive safe.
Did you eat?
I miss you.
Wear the blue sweater tonight.
I stopped.
The blue sweater.
I had worn it the first time he met my father.
Ryan had never met my father.
Not officially.
I had never told him that the blue sweater was something my father had given me.
I searched the old messages.
There it was.
Four months ago.
Ryan had written:
You should wear that blue sweater to dinner. It looks expensive.
At the time, I'd laughed.
Now I wondered how he knew.
I kept scrolling.
Another message.
Three weeks later.
Your office must be busy today.
I stared at the screen.
I had never told him I was working late.
I had simply said I was tired.
How did he know?
I searched harder.
And then I found something I'd forgotten.
A photo he'd sent me from his car.
The dashboard.
A street outside.
I zoomed in.
Behind him was a building.
Bennett Holdings.
My blood ran cold.
The photo was dated five days before he claimed he'd discovered my identity.
He had known earlier.
Much earlier.
I called him.
He answered immediately.
“Maya?””
“When did you first learn who I was?””
Silence.
“You said three months.””
“I was wrong.””
“How wrong?””
“Maya…”
“How long?””
His voice dropped.
“Since the beginning.””
I stopped breathing.
“You knew before we met.””
“No.””
“You knew who I was before you walked into that coffee shop.””
“I knew the name.””
“Why did you approach me?””
“I didn't know you would be there.””
“Then why were you there?””
He said nothing.
I closed my eyes.
“Ryan, answer me.””
Finally, he whispered:
“I was following someone.””
“Who?””
“My father.””
The line went quiet.
Then Ryan said something that made my hands go numb.
“He was supposed to meet your father that morning.””
Before I could respond, I heard a loud crash from somewhere near him.
Ryan cursed.
“What happened?””
“Maya, listen to me.””
“What?””
“Don't go home.””
A second crash.
Then Ryan whispered:
May you like
“Someone knows I told you.””
The call went dead.
