Chapter 2 - The Man at the Back Table
Dominic returned three nights later.
Same table.
Same bodyguards.
Same black shirt with tattoos visible beneath rolled sleeves.
This time Henderson personally opened the door.
“Mr. Vance.”
Dominic walked past him.
“Where’s Daisy?”
Every waiter looked at me.
I sighed.
“Apparently I’m being summoned.”
Carlo whispered, “Try not to insult him.”
“No promises.”
I approached table four.
“You again?”
Dominic looked amused.
“Wonderful service.”
“You haven't received any service yet.”
“Still better than most places.”
I handed him the menu.
“Coffee?”
“Black.”
“Short ribs?”
“Surprise me.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“I’m comfortable with danger.”
“I've heard.”
His smile disappeared.
“Have you?”
Before I could answer, a man entered the restaurant.
Older.
Expensive coat.
Silver hair.
Henderson immediately hurried toward him.
The man's eyes swept across the dining room.
Then landed on me.
His expression changed.
I felt it immediately.
Recognition.
He approached the service station.
“Daisy Bennett?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Richard Cole.”
“I don't know you.”
“No. But I knew your father.”
My stomach tightened.
My father, Michael Bennett, had died when I was twelve.
Officially, he’d been killed in a warehouse accident.
“What do you want?”
Cole lowered his voice.
“Your father left something behind.”
Dominic appeared beside us.
“Cole.”
Richard’s face drained.
“Dominic.”
“You’re bothering my waitress.”
“I’m having a private conversation.”
Dominic glanced at me.
“Is it private?”
“I don't know this man.”
Dominic turned back.
“Then it isn't.”
Richard’s jaw tightened.
“This doesn’t concern you.”
“Then leave.”
For several seconds, neither moved.
Finally Richard looked at me.
“Ask your mother about Pier Nineteen.”
Then he walked out.
I stared after him.
Dominic returned to his table.
I followed.
“What was that?”
“You tell me.”
“You know him.”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“Someone you shouldn't meet alone.”
“That's not an answer.”
“It’s the answer you’re getting.”
I leaned closer.
“Pier Nineteen.”
Dominic’s expression changed.
Barely.
But I caught it.
“You know what it means.”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
His bodyguard shifted.
Dominic waved him away.
“Sit down.”
“I’m working.”
“Sit.”
“Stop ordering me around.”
“Daisy.”
Something in his voice changed.
“Please.”
That surprised me enough to sit.
Dominic lowered his voice.
“Your father worked for Vance Freight.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“He worked maintenance.”
“At Pier Nineteen.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened there?”
Dominic looked toward the window.
“Twenty years ago, my father built part of his business through partnerships with men like Richard Cole.”
“What kind of partnerships?”
“The kind I’ve spent years dismantling.”
“Meaning?”
“Bribes. Smuggling. Extortion.”
I stared at him.
“My father wasn't involved.”
“I didn't say he was.”
“Then why did Cole know him?”
“Because Michael Bennett discovered something.”
“What?”
Dominic hesitated.
That frightened me more than any answer.
“What?”
“A ledger.”
I laughed nervously.
“You expect me to believe my father died because of some book?”
Dominic’s eyes met mine.
“I expect you to consider the possibility that your father didn't die in an accident.”
The restaurant disappeared around me.
“No.”
“Daisy—”
“No.”
I stood.
“My mother spent twelve years telling us it was an accident.”
“She may believe that.”
“You don’t know my family.”
“You’re right.”
Dominic stood too.
“But I know Richard Cole.”
“What does he want?”
“The ledger.”
“I don't have it.”
“He apparently thinks you do.”
I stared toward the entrance.
“Then he’s wrong.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“That won't matter.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means from tonight forward, you don't walk home alone.”
I almost laughed.
“You’re assigning me a babysitter?”
“A driver.”
“No.”
“Daisy.”
“I take the train.”
“Not anymore.”
“You don't control me.”
His eyes hardened.
“No. But I know men like Cole.”
“And I know men like you.”
That stopped him.
I picked up my tray.
“You think because everyone fears you, you can decide what happens next.”
Dominic lowered his voice.
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“Your father did.”
I froze.
Slowly, I turned around.
“What did you just say?”
Dominic reached inside his jacket.
He removed an old envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Not typed.
Handwritten.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
My father’s.
My knees almost gave out.
“Where did you get that?”
Dominic held it toward me.
“My father kept it for fourteen years.”
“Why?”
“Because Michael Bennett trusted the wrong Vance.”
I stared at the envelope.
“And now?”
Dominic’s voice dropped.
May you like
“Now you’re going to find out whether he can trust the right one.”
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