Chapter 2 - The Freezer Door
The Bellamy’s VIP party ended shortly before ten.
Tessa was preparing ingredients for Thursday when Boyd entered the kitchen.
“Tessa.”
She kept working.
“Reset table three upstairs. Two people. Wine. Fresh seafood. Tasting plates.”
Tessa stopped chopping.
“I’m finishing tomorrow’s prep.”
Boyd stared at her.
“That wasn't a question.”
“That’s the service team’s job.”
Silence spread through the kitchen.
Tessa could hear the ventilation system humming.
Boyd stepped closer.
“What did you say?”
She looked at him.
For once, she didn’t lower her eyes.
“No.”
Jared stopped wiping his station.
Maggie Callaway, the sixty-one-year-old pastry chef, slowly turned around.
Boyd smiled.
It frightened Tessa more than shouting would have.
“All right.”
He pointed toward the freezer.
“Two trays of scallops. One lobster.”
Tessa hesitated.
“Now.”
She walked into the freezer.
Metal shelving surrounded her.
Cold air burned her lungs.
She found the scallops.
Then—
Clunk.
Tessa froze.
The door had closed.
She hurried toward it.
Pulled the handle.
Nothing.
“Boyd?”
Silence.
She hit the door.
“Boyd!”
Nothing.
Tessa pounded harder.
“Open the door!”
Footsteps disappeared outside.
She understood.
He had locked it.
From the outside.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
Tessa hugged herself.
Her wet eyes stayed fixed on the door.
“Somebody…”
Her voice weakened.
“Please.”
Outside, the kitchen emptied.
Except Maggie.
She had forgotten a tray of pastry shells.
While crossing the kitchen, she heard something.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Maggie stopped.
“Tessa?”
She moved toward the freezer.
“Tessa!”
She grabbed the door.
Locked.
“Who locked this?”
No answer.
Maggie found the emergency key and opened it.
Cold vapor rolled across the floor.
Tessa was sitting between the shelves, arms wrapped tightly around herself.
“Tessa!”
Maggie dropped beside her.
“Look at me.”
Tessa’s lips trembled.
“Don’t tell Boyd.”
“What?”
“He’ll make it worse.”
Maggie stared at her.
Then she noticed Tessa’s sleeve had pulled upward.
Marks.
Old ones.
New ones.
Maggie went pale.
“How long?”
Tessa covered her arm.
“Maggie—”
“How long?”
“Three years.”
Maggie stared at her.
“Boyd?”
Tessa said nothing.
“His father knows?”
A tiny nod.
Maggie sat back.
“My God.”
“Please.”
“Why didn't you leave?”
“They have my passport.”
“What?”
“And my papers. Garrett says I owe him eighty-seven thousand dollars.”
Maggie’s face changed.
“You believe that debt is real?”
“I don’t know anymore.”
“Police.”
“No.”
“Tessa—”
“Garrett knows the mayor.”
“We can find somebody.”
“I tried.”
Tessa looked directly at her.
“They found my money. They found my ticket.”
Maggie became silent.
Tessa whispered, “Everybody finds out eventually.”
Maggie helped her stand.
But that night, Maggie did something nobody else at the Bellamy had done in three years.
She refused to look away.
She went home.
She opened her laptop.
She searched Garrett Peton.
Boyd Peton.
Bellamy ownership.
Shipping contracts.
Cold-storage vendors.
Seafood distributors.
Then one name kept appearing.
Conrad Voss.
Thirty-three.
CEO of Voss Maritime Logistics.
The Bellamy depended heavily on companies within his distribution network.
But the public biographies did not explain the whispers surrounding Conrad.
People along the coast knew there were two versions of him.
The executive photographed at charity dinners.
And the tattooed man in the charcoal suit whose influence extended far beyond shipping docks.
Maggie found a number she had saved years earlier.
She called.
A man answered.
“Voss.”
“My name is Maggie Callaway.”
Silence.
“I work at the Bellamy.”
Another silence.
“I think a woman is going to die there if somebody doesn't help her.”
Conrad’s voice changed.
“Tell me everything.”
Maggie did.
He never interrupted.
When she finished, he asked one question.
“Is she there tomorrow night?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The call ended.
Forty-five minutes later, Maggie looked through her apartment window as three black Escalades passed toward the harbor.
May you like
She suddenly wondered exactly whom she had called.
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