Chapter 2 - Eight Months EarlierEight months earlier, Grace Whittaker had believed the worst problem in her marriage was her husband's family.
He had entered the Grand Harbor Hotel at 7:18 on a rainy Thursday evening with two attorneys behind him, his phone vibrating in his hand, and a merger worth nearly four hundred million dollars waiting upstairs.
Everything about the lobby looked exactly the way Nathan liked things to look.
Polished.
Expensive.
Controlled.
Crystal chandeliers reflected in Italian marble. Men in tailored suits crossed the floor beneath gold-framed paintings. A pianist played softly beside the bar while hotel staff moved with practiced smiles.
Then Nathan saw the maid.
She was near the far wall, pushing a mop across a patch of wet marble.
Pregnant.
Very pregnant.
One hand gripped the wooden handle. The other rested against the curve of her stomach.
She paused every few steps as though her back hurt.
Nathan's eyes moved over her without interest.
Then he noticed her shoes.
Cheap black work shoes.
The left heel worn down more heavily on the inside.
His footsteps stopped.
A strange pressure closed around his chest.
He knew that uneven wear.
Eight months earlier, he had teased his wife about it as she stood barefoot in their kitchen.
“You walk like you're always turning left,” he had said.
Grace had thrown a dish towel at him.
“I walk perfectly.”
“Your shoes disagree.”
She had laughed.
That laugh had disappeared from Nathan's life forty-eight hours later.
So had Grace.
His wife had vanished without a suitcase, without accessing their joint accounts, without calling her sister, without using her passport.
Police found her abandoned car near a bus terminal.
Her phone was discovered smashed beneath an overpass.
For eight months, Nathan had hired investigators, offered rewards, searched hospitals, tracked rumors, and paid people who claimed to have seen her in six different states.
Nothing.
Eventually, newspapers stopped calling.
Friends stopped asking.
Nathan did not stop looking.
Now he stared at the pregnant maid.
His attorney touched his shoulder.
“Nathan? The investors are upstairs.”
Nathan did not answer.
The maid turned slightly.
A strand of brown hair slipped loose from beneath her housekeeping cap.
Nathan's briefcase fell from his hand.
It struck the marble with a crack.
The woman looked up.
Their eyes met.
The mop slipped from her fingers.
Nathan forgot how to breathe.
“Grace.”
Her face turned white.
She took one step backward.
Nathan moved toward her.
“Grace?”
She shook her head quickly.
“No.”
His entire body went cold.
He knew that voice.
“Grace.”
“Please.”
She looked around the lobby with sudden terror.
Not surprise.
Not embarrassment.
Terror.
Nathan's anger, grief, and disbelief collided inside him.
“Where have you been?”
Her lips trembled.
“Don't.”
“You've been gone eight months.”
Several guests were staring now.
Nathan didn't care.
“I thought you were dead.”
Grace grabbed the mop again.
“You need to leave.”
Nathan stared at her stomach.
His gaze dropped slowly.
The pregnancy was unmistakable.
Eight months.
His face changed.
“Grace…”
She wrapped both arms protectively around herself.
Nathan stepped closer.
“How far along are you?”
Her eyes filled.
“Nathan, please.”
“How far?”
She whispered the answer.
“Thirty-five weeks.”
Nathan felt the floor disappear beneath him.
Thirty-five weeks.
He calculated automatically.
He and Grace had been together eight months ago.
Before she vanished.
Before their final breakfast.
Before the note that had never existed.
His voice became almost inaudible.
“Is the baby mine?”
Grace closed her eyes.
That was enough.
Nathan's knees nearly weakened.
He had spent eight months mourning his wife.
All while she had been carrying his child.
“Why?” he whispered.
Grace looked toward the revolving doors.
Then toward the staircase.
Then over Nathan's shoulder.
As if she expected someone.
Nathan followed her gaze.
A tall man stood near the concierge desk.
Gray suit.
Silver hair.
Watching them.
The instant Nathan noticed him, the man turned and walked away.
Grace panicked.
“We can't do this here.”
Nathan grabbed her wrist—not painfully, but desperately.
“You are not disappearing again.”
Grace looked down at his hand.
Then back into his eyes.
“You don't understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
Her breath came quickly.
“Nathan, someone tried to kill me.”
His grip loosened.
The hotel sounds seemed to disappear.
Grace leaned toward him.
“And they didn't stop looking when I vanished.”
Nathan's expression hardened.
“Who?”
Grace's eyes moved toward the doors again.
When she spoke, her voice was barely louder than the rain hitting the windows.
“Someone inside your family.”
Nathan stared at her.
Grace picked up the mop.
“Walk away.”
“No.”
“If they realize you've found me, they'll know where I am.”
“Grace—”
“They'll know where our baby is.”
That sentence stopped him.
Grace turned.
She pushed the mop toward the service corridor.
Nathan followed.
Behind them, the silver-haired stranger stepped back into view.
He pulled out his phone.
And made a call.
“She found him,” he said.
A pause.
Then:
“Yes.”
Another pause.
May you like
His eyes remained fixed on Nathan and Grace.
“I'll take care of it.”
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