Chapter 3 - The Shadow in the Boardroom
By 1:15 AM, Daniel Carew was sitting at barstool four of The Brass Anchor, nursing a glass of bourbon that he had barely touched. Sal, the bartender, was wiping down the sticky laminate counter with a greasy rag, casting nervous glances at Daniel every few minutes.
"You look like you saw a ghost, man," Sal muttered, tossing the rag into the sink.
"Just a long week," Daniel replied smoothly, forcing a relaxed, charismatic smile to his face. He checked his watch for the fourth time in ten minutes. The alibi was locked in. Sal would testify in court if he had to—not out of loyalty, but out of fear of the loan default being called in immediately. "Business is stressful, Sal. You know how it is."
"Yeah, well, stress is one thing. You look like you just buried a body," Sal joked, pouring himself a splash of cheap gin.
Daniel’s stomach tightened into a hard knot, but he laughed—a warm, natural sound that completely masked the icy spike of adrenaline shooting through his veins. "Just need a vacation, my friend."
He finished his bourbon, slapped a fifty-dollar bill onto the counter, and told Sal to keep the change. He walked out into the crisp night air, feeling a sudden surge of triumph. The hardest part was over. Lily was gone. The evidence was destroyed or abandoned in the woods. By tomorrow afternoon, her disappearance would be logged as a missing person case, and he would play the role of the heartbroken, bewildered boyfriend to absolute perfection.
He climbed back into his SUV and drove to his downtown penthouse apartment. He stripped off his clothes, tossed them into the washing machine on a high-heat sanitation cycle, took a long, scalding shower to wash away the phantom scent of pine and snow, and climbed into his king-sized bed.
Sleep came easily. A clean conscience was easy to maintain when you convinced yourself you were the victim.
The next morning, the sun broke over Madison in a blinding sheet of winter glare. Daniel dressed in a bespoke charcoal Brioni suit, styled his blonde hair with precision, and stepped out of his building into the crisp morning air, ready to resume his life as one of the city's most promising young real estate developers.
His phone buzzed as he stepped into the marble lobby of Carter-Vance Holdings, his commercial development firm.
It was a text from his business partner, Marcus: Emergency meeting in the executive boardroom. Now. Bring your ledger files.
Daniel frowned. He strode across the polished granite floor, punched the private elevator code, and rode up to the forty-second floor. The corporate suite was quiet, pristine, and bathed in natural light from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking Lake Mendota.
When Daniel pushed open the heavy mahogany doors of the boardroom, expecting to see Marcus pacing nervously by the window, he stopped dead in his tracks.
Marcus wasn't standing by the window. In fact, Marcus was slumped awkwardly in a leather executive chair, sweating profusely, his face the color of skim milk, staring in wide-eyed terror at the head of the conference table.
Sitting in Daniel’s custom leather chair—the one reserved exclusively for the primary shareholder—was a man Daniel had never seen before in his life.
The stranger was in his late thirties, wearing a meticulously tailored obsidian-grey suit that screamed old money and absolute power. His dark hair was combed back with silver-threaded precision, and resting on the table before him was a pair of thin, silver-rimmed glasses and a heavy gold signet ring bearing a crest Daniel didn't recognize.
"Good morning, Mr. Carew," the stranger said. His voice was soft, silken, and carried a chilling weight that instantly dropped the room's temperature by ten degrees. "Please, close the door. We have a great deal to discuss regarding your recent extracurricular activities."
Daniel’s heart slammed against his ribs. He gripped the handle of his leather briefcase so hard his knuckles turned white.
"Who the hell are you?" Daniel demanded, forcing bravado into his tone. "This is a private corporate meeting. Security will—"
"Security is currently having a very pleasant breakfast three floors down, courtesy of my associates," the man interrupted smoothly, lifting his gaze to meet Daniel’s eyes. Those eyes were the color of winter ice—devoid of warmth, emotion, or mercy. "My name is Lorenzo Moretti. And before you decide to reach for the panic button in your pocket, Mr. Carew, you should know that I didn't come here to talk about real estate."
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Moretti slowly leaned back, resting his steepled fingers against his chin.
"I came here to talk about a young woman named Lily Marsh."
