Chapter 3 - A Name in the Ashes
The King Street warehouse belonged to Calloway Maritime on paper, but Graham had not used it in years. It was a brick structure with boarded windows and a rusted sign, the sort of property people passed without seeing.
By the time we arrived, flames had swallowed the upper floor. Firefighters moved through smoke while police kept curious onlookers behind barricades. Graham stepped from the car, and the noise around us seemed to lower.
He was feared because he never needed to remind anyone why.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said to me.
“You brought me.”
“I told you to stay in the car.”
“And I ignored you.”
His mouth tightened. “That habit is becoming dangerous.”
“So is keeping me ignorant.”
An investigator in a soaked navy coat approached. She was in her forties, with copper hair pulled into a severe braid and a badge clipped to her belt.
“Mr. Calloway,” she said. “Agent Tessa Reed, Port Crimes Task Force.”
Graham’s face became expressionless.
“This is my wife.”
“I know who she is.” Tessa looked at me. “Mrs. Calloway, a firefighter found a metal cashbox in the office. The lock had been forced. Your name appears in documents inside.”
“What kind of documents?”
“Property transfers. Bank authorizations. A series of shell companies connected to foreign freight.”
Graham turned sharply. “She has nothing to do with my business records.”
Tessa’s gaze remained on me. “That is what we’re trying to establish.”
The cashbox had been scorched around the edges but not destroyed. Inside were copies of permits, invoices, and signatures. My name appeared on three authorizations approving warehouse leases in Beaufort and Wilmington.
The signatures looked like mine.
They were not.
“I never signed these,” I said.
“You’re certain?”
“I’m certain.”
Graham took the documents from my hand. His thumb stopped over one page, and for the first time that night his composure cracked.
“Where did you get this?” he asked Tessa.
“It was in the cashbox.”
“Who else has seen it?”
“Enough people.”
He lowered his voice. “You should leave.”
“I’m not leaving until I understand why a stranger is signing my name.”
Tessa studied us both. “Someone is building a case. The question is whether they’re building it against Mr. Calloway, against you, or against both of you.”
An explosion sounded inside the warehouse. A section of roof collapsed, sending sparks into the night. Graham seized my shoulder and pulled me behind a fire truck.
“Get in the car,” he ordered.
“Did you know about those companies?”
“Not here.”
“Did you know?”
His silence answered.
The drive home was conducted under escort. I sat in the back seat with the documents on my lap while Graham stared through the window.
“How long?” I asked.
“How long what?”
“How long have you known someone was using my name?”
“I didn’t know.”
“You recognized the paperwork.”
“I recognized the network.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I knew there were old entities connected to the company. I didn’t know your name had been added.”
“How reassuring.”
“Elena—”
“No. You don’t get to use that tone when you’ve spent ten years deciding which truths I’m strong enough to hear.”
He turned toward me. “I was trying to keep you safe.”
“By making me look guilty?”
“By keeping you away from the parts of my life that attract danger.”
“Your entire life attracts danger.”
The car stopped beneath the porte cochere. Graham did not move to get out.
“You need protection,” he said.
“I need a lawyer.”
“You have one.”
“No. I have your lawyer. I want someone who works for me.”
His expression changed, not with anger but with hurt so quickly hidden I almost doubted I had seen it.
“I’ll arrange it.”
“I’ll arrange it myself.”
Inside the house, I went directly to the study. The safe waited behind a painting of Charleston Harbor. I opened it and removed the navy box.
The watch lay inside exactly as I had left it, polished silver case gleaming beneath the velvet. I lifted the lid and read my engraving.
Every moment still begins with us.
Behind me, Graham said, “You found it.”
I closed the case.
“No,” I said. “I found what I was trying to give you.”
His eyes fixed on the box. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because I finally heard you.”
He flinched as if I had struck him.
Before either of us could say more, a small envelope slid from beneath the study door.
There was no stamp. No name.
Inside was a photograph of me leaving Mara’s office in Savannah.
May you like
On the back, six words had been written in black ink.
Your husband cannot protect you from us.
