Chapter 2 - The Secret of Harbor House
The euphoria of the park was abruptly sobered forty-eight minutes later when private security and local police arrived to clear the area, and Adrian tried to figure out who Callie was and how she possessed a video of his late wife.
In the back of Adrian’s bulletproof Maybach, the tension was thick enough to cut with a glass blade. Theo sat in the passenger seat, his legs exhausted and resting gingerly on the floorboards, fast asleep from the sheer nervous energy of the afternoon.
Callie sat across from them, clutching the cracked phone like a holy relic.
"Harbor House," Adrian said, breaking the silence as the car smoothly merged onto the FDR Drive. "It was an abandoned community center on the edge of the Rockaways. The city condemned it two years ago."
"It wasn't abandoned when your wife was there," Callie said, her voice small but defiant. She refused to lean back against the leather upholstery. "She came every Tuesday and Thursday. She brought a portable speaker, old tap shoes, and boxes of sandwiches. She told us we were her kids when our own families couldn't handle us."
Adrian’s jaw tightened. "Maris never told me about this. She told me she was volunteering at a soup kitchen in Manhattan."
"Because you were building Vale Global," Callie replied bluntly, showing a maturity far beyond her nine years. "She said you were trying to buy the whole world a roof, but some kids just needed a floor to dance on. She made us promise never to tell anyone where she went, because if the city found out she was using an unpermitted building, they'd shut it down."
Adrian looked at the girl, seeing past the oversized jacket and the tangled hair. There was a fierce, unyielding spirit in her—the exact same spirit Maris had possessed.
"Why did you approach us today, Callie?" Adrian asked gently. "How did you know who Theo was?"
Callie pulled a folded piece of construction paper from her pocket and handed it to him. Unfolding it, Adrian saw a crayon drawing of a boy in a wheelchair, labeled Theo, the boy who forgot his song.
"Your wife left this in her locker at Harbor House the week before the accident," Callie whispered. "She said if she ever couldn't come back, I had to find you. She knew you’d take Theo to Central Park on Sundays because you always talked about it when she was sad."
Adrian stared at the drawing. A cold realization settled into his stomach. Maris hadn't just volunteered at Harbor House; she had kept records. She had kept notes, financial receipts, and perhaps something much more dangerous.
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Because the night Maris died in that rainy intersection, the police had ruled it a tragic accident. A truck with failed brakes had T-boned her sedan.
But Adrian knew, with sudden, terrifying clarity, that brakes didn't just fail on a brand-new vehicle unless someone wanted them to.
