Chapter 4 - MARCUS’S REAL JOB
Marcus did not go straight to prison.
Real investigations are less satisfying than that.
He hired a lawyer.
Then started talking once his employer discovered he had accessed staff records without authorization.
The monthly payments came from:
Calder Investigative Services.
Owner:
Felix Calder.
Seventy-one.
Former executive vice president of Moretti Maritime.
Retired.
Giovanni knew him immediately.
“My father trusted him.”
“Did Elias?”
“No.”
That mattered.
Marcus claimed Calder hired him to report on me.
Not hurt me.
Not steal anything.
Simply:
Where I lived.
Whether I planned to move.
What jobs I applied for.
Who I dated.
Whether I still carried the folder.
“What jobs I applied for?”
Marcus looked embarrassed.
“Yes.”
Twice I had nearly left Northstar.
A translation company withdrew an offer after an anonymous complaint about falsified credentials.
A hotel rejected me after someone alleged I stole from a previous employer.
Both accusations were false.
Marcus admitted Calder instructed him to provide names of prospective employers.
“Did you send the complaints?”
“No.”
“Did you know somebody would?”
“I guessed.”
That was enough for me.
“You kept me poor.”
“I didn't control your life.”
“No.”
I leaned toward him.
“You just sold the map.”
He looked away.
Then Rachel asked:
“Why the humiliation?”
Marcus shrugged.
“I didn’t know Moretti was coming until that night.”
“So all the insults?”
He gave me an ugly smile.
“That part was free.”
Not every cruelty needed conspiracy.
Important.
Marcus was a petty man who discovered somebody would pay him for behavior he already enjoyed.
Calder had been watching me.
But why?
According to Marcus:
“He wanted to know when you opened the envelope.”
“How would you know?”
“You always carry it.”
“Why?”
“Your mother told someone you would.”
My chest tightened.
Mom had died three years ago.
Whatever system was watching me had been arranged before she died.
Then Marcus added:
“Calder asked one other thing.”
“What?”
“Whether you really spoke all nine.”
There it was again.
Not my father.
May you like
Not the folder.
The languages.
