Chapter 37 — Ryan Comes Alone
Ryan stood in the lobby beneath the old stone arch, drenched from rain he had apparently forgotten how to avoid. He looked smaller outside Victor’s house.
That was the first thing I noticed. Not ruined. Not yet. But reduced.
In Marcus’s chambers, Ryan was only a wet man holding a leather folder too tightly. Marcus stood beside me. He had refused to let me come down alone, and for once I did not argue.
Ryan saw me and flinched.
Only slightly. Enough.
“Eleanor,” he said. “No.”
He blinked. “What?” “You do not get to use my full name like a key.”
His jaw tightened. “I need to speak to you.”
“You are speaking.” “Privately.”
Marcus answered before I could. “That will not happen.” Ryan looked at him with exhausted hatred. “This is between me and my wife.”
I almost laughed.
Men loved finding marriage at the exact moment it became a shield. “You told me to leave,” I said.
“I was angry.” “You threw my coat at the door.”
“I was under pressure.” “You called me unstable.”
His face changed. There it was. Calculation adjusting to evidence. “I was trying to protect myself.”
“From your wife?” “From what Victor is saying.”
Marcus said, “Then speak carefully.” Ryan opened the leather folder. Inside was a brown envelope and a small sealed drive bag.
My name was written across the envelope in black ink. Eleanor Hart.
The handwriting was not Ryan’s.
For a second, the lobby seemed to tilt. Ryan saw it. Shame crossed his face and vanished. “I took it before Victor could,” he said.
Marcus did not reach for it. “Where from?” “The safe.”
“Which safe?” Ryan swallowed. “The one in my office.”
“Was Victor present?” “Yes.”
“Who else?” “Diana. Peter. Victor’s driver.”
“Did Victor instruct you to remove this?” Ryan looked at me.
“He told me to secure it.”
“Against whom?” Marcus asked. Ryan’s mouth twitched.
Against my wife. He did not say it. He did not have to.
I stared at the envelope. “What is inside?” “I do not know.”
“Did you open it?” “No.”
I believed him. Not because Ryan had become honest. Curiosity required courage, and Ryan’s cowardice was stronger.
Marcus held out his hand. “Give it to me.” Ryan clutched the folder. “I want something first.”
Of course.
Even crawling, he wanted a bargain. “What?” I asked.
“Written confirmation that you will not pursue me personally if I cooperate.” Marcus’s voice sharpened. “Absolutely not.”
Ryan ignored him. “I can help you.” “You can help yourself,” I said.
“That too.” At least that was honest.
Rain drummed against the glass doors behind him. For a moment, I saw the man I had married: handsome, ambitious, terrified of being ordinary. I had once mistaken that fear for tenderness.
“Ryan,” I said, “you are not the victim because your hiding place caught fire.” His grip loosened. “Victor will destroy me.”
“You helped him build the room.” “I did not know everything.”
“You knew enough to hide a safe.”
His eyes filled, and I hated that my body still recognised the signal. Old sympathy is an old bruise. Press it, and something answers.
I did not move. Marcus said, “Mr Hart, withholding evidence after a preservation notice may become obstruction.”
Ryan looked from Marcus to me. Then, finally, he placed the envelope and sealed drive bag on the reception desk.
Marcus took clear evidence sleeves from his assistant, sealed both items without opening them, and signed across the strips. Chain of custody.
The phrase sounded almost holy. Ryan watched. “You are really going to do this.”
I looked at him. “No. You did this.” His phone rang.
Victor.
Ryan stared at the screen. Then he did something I did not expect. He answered on speaker.
Victor’s voice filled the lobby. “Tell me you still have the package.” Ryan looked at me.
For the first time in our marriage, he chose the truth too late to save himself. “No,” he said. “Eleanor does.”