What Happened in Part 1:

Clara had secretly raised three-year-old Nora after the death of James Cole, the younger brother of feared Connecticut crime figure Adrian Cole.

While working inside Adrian’s mansion, Clara watched in growing alarm as Nora unknowingly copied habits she had inherited or learned from stories of James, eventually making Adrian laugh for the first time since his brother’s death.

The truth began surfacing when Nora produced James’s engraved silver pocket watch from her toy purse and innocently announced that her daddy had given it to her mother.

Adrian immediately recognized his brother in Nora’s features and asked Clara the question she had spent almost four years dreading: how old was the child?

PART 2

“Three.”

The word barely left my mouth.

Adrian did not move.

Nora, blissfully unaware that twenty-seven adults had forgotten how to breathe, began trying to put his silk tie back around her neck.

Adrian looked at me.

“Three what?”

“Years.”

“When is her birthday?”

I knew why he was asking.

Numbers.

Dates.

Proof.

“February eighteenth.”

His fingers closed around James’s watch.

James died the previous June.

Eight months before Nora was born.

Adrian understood immediately.

His face became expressionless.

That frightened me more than anger.

“Nora,” he said softly.

She looked up.

“Yes?”

“Would you go with Mrs.

Holloway for a minute?”

Nora frowned.

“Why?”

“Because your mother and I need to talk.”

“About me?”

“Yes.”

She considered this.

“Say nice things.”

For the first time, something broke briefly through Adrian’s composure.

Pain.

“I’ll try.”

Mrs.

Holloway took Nora’s hand.

Nora immediately reclaimed her plastic purse.

Adrian kept the watch.

She noticed.

“You can borrow it.”

His eyes closed for half a second.

“Thank you.”

She followed Mrs.

Holloway out.

Everyone else remained.

Adrian raised his head.

“Out.”

Twenty-six people suddenly discovered urgent obligations elsewhere.

Marco stayed.

Adrian looked at him.

“You too.”

Marco hesitated.

“Adrian—”

“Please.”

That word changed Marco’s expression.

He left.

The doors closed.

Only Adrian and I remained.

The crystal vase I had been polishing still sat crooked on the sideboard.

Adrian placed James’s watch on the table.

Very carefully.

“How long did you know my brother?”

“Two years.”

His eyes lifted.

“Two?”

“Yes.”

“He never mentioned you.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

I almost laughed.

Not because anything was funny.

Because that question had tormented me too.

“James said people around your family used relationships as leverage.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened.

“He said that?”

“Yes.”

“About me?”

“Not specifically.”

“That is not an answer.”

“He was afraid of the world attached to your name.”

Adrian looked toward the door through which Nora had disappeared.

“And yet you brought his daughter into my house.”

“I didn’t know this was your house when I took the job.”

That stopped him.

He stared.

“The agency listing said Cole residence.

There are thousands of Coles.”

“You didn’t recognize Marco?”

“I had never met Marco.”

“My photograph?”

“You don’t exactly appear in lifestyle magazines.”

A strange sound almost escaped him.

Not laughter.

Close.

Then his expression hardened again.

“When did you realize?”

“First day.”

“And you stayed.”

“I needed the work.”

“You needed work badly enough to bring James’s child here?”

“Nora wasn’t supposed to be here.”

He frowned.

“My childcare arrangement collapsed three weeks ago.”

Mrs.

Holloway had offered to let Nora stay in the staff dayroom while I worked.

Then Nora discovered the main staircase.

And Adrian.

And apparently decided the most intimidating man in Connecticut was an excellent subject for imitation.

“You should have told me.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you?”

That answer was harder.

“Because James told me not to.”

Silence.

Adrian sat.

Not behind the desk.

In an ordinary chair.

“Start at the beginning.”

So I did.

I told him about the coffee shop in Boston.

James had ordered an espresso that cost more than my lunch.

I told him it tasted like mud.

He said I had terrible taste.

I said expensive mud remained mud.

He came back the next day.

And the next.

Eventually he admitted the coffee was terrible.

Adrian looked down.

“He hated espresso.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“He drank tea.”

I laughed before I could stop myself.

“That liar.”

Adrian’s mouth moved.

“He was trying to impress you.”

“He failed.”

“Apparently not completely.”

No.

Not completely.

I continued.

James never told me much about the Cole family.

Only that his brother carried responsibilities he wanted no part of.

That their father had built an empire by confusing fear with respect.

That James wanted something ordinary.

A small house.

Maybe a restaurant.

Children.

He wanted children badly.

My voice broke there.

Adrian noticed.

I hated that he noticed.

“When did he learn you were pregnant?”

“He didn’t.”

Adrian stared.

“What?”

“I found out six days after he died.”

Everything inside the room seemed to settle.

“He never knew Nora existed?”

“No.”

Adrian looked toward James’s watch.

“Then why did Nora say her daddy gave it to you?”

“Because I told her he did.”

“You lie to her?”

“I tell her stories.”

“That isn’t the same.”

“I know.”

I folded my arms around myself.

“She asks where her father is.

I tell her he died before she was born.

She asks whether he loved her.”

Adrian said nothing.

“What am I supposed to say?”

His expression softened almost imperceptibly.

“So I tell her he left pieces of himself behind for her.”

“The watch.”

“Yes.”

“And the habits?”

I swallowed.

“Some of those she copied from photographs and videos.”

“There are videos?”

“A few.”

“Others?”

I looked at him.

“Others are just her.”

The stubborn mouth.

The slow glance when she thought someone had said something foolish.

The way she tapped a finger twice before making up her mind.

Things James had done constantly.

Adrian looked almost shaken by that.

Then he asked:

“Why hide her from me?”

Here it was.

The question underneath everything.

I sat opposite him.

“Because the night James died, he called me.”

Adrian went still.

“What time?”

“Eleven seventeen.”

His face changed.

Police placed the crash around midnight.

“What did he say?”

“Not much.”

I had replayed those seven minutes for almost four years.

James breathing too quickly.

Traffic somewhere behind him.

Rain.

“He said he had found something.”

“What?”

“He wouldn’t tell me.”

“Exact words, Clara.”

I closed my eyes.

“He said, ‘If anything happens tonight, do not go to Adrian.’”

Adrian did not blink.

I continued.

“He said, ‘Take what I gave you and disappear.’”

“What had he given you?”

“The watch.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Adrian stood and walked toward the window.

I could see tension across his shoulders.

“Did he say why not to come to me?”

“No.”

“You assumed he feared me.”

“What else was I supposed to assume?”

His head turned.

“That he feared for me.”

I stared.

Adrian returned to the table.

“The night James died, he called me too.”

My pulse changed.

“He did?”

“Eleven twenty-three.”

Six minutes after me.

“What did he say?”

“That he had made a mistake.”

“What mistake?”

“He wouldn’t say.”

Adrian picked up the watch again.

“He asked me where I was.”