Chapter 2: No Safe Address

Adrian read Claire’s question three times.

His signature on the document looked real. He remembered signing something in his attorney’s office in September, when Claire was pregnant and the company was receiving threats over a disputed port contract. He had been told it covered emergency contact procedures.

He did not remember approving a plan that placed his wife and children under company-managed security if the marriage failed.

He reached for his phone.

Claire’s message was still on the screen.

You will hear from my lawyer.

He called anyway. It went to voicemail.

For the first time that morning, he obeyed something she had asked without making her repeat it. He did not leave a message.

At June’s house, Claire placed the twins’ carriers on the living-room floor and lowered herself carefully onto the sofa. Every step since leaving the hospital had reminded her that giving birth was not the end of the physical ordeal.

June brought her water. “You can sleep. I’ll watch them.”

“I’m meeting the lawyer in twenty minutes.”

“By video. From that sofa.”

Claire took the glass. “I can manage twenty minutes.”

June did not argue, though her expression said she intended to hold Claire to the limit.

The lawyer, Tessa Ward, appeared on Claire’s laptop at noon. She was direct, soft-spoken, and had been recommended by a former colleague who knew only that Claire needed family counsel quickly.

“I have your photographs,” Tessa said. “June told me you also have an original.”

“In a folder beside me.”

“Keep it there for now. I’ll arrange secure delivery. Has anyone asked you to sign a new document?”

“No.”

“Has Adrian threatened to take the babies?”

“He’s asked where we are.”

“That is a reasonable question for a father. You can confirm their health through me while we establish how the two of you will communicate.”

Claire felt an unexpected sting. She had wanted Tessa to say Adrian had no right to ask anything. The lawyer refused to make the situation simpler than it was.

“I want them to know him,” Claire said. “I don’t want his employees deciding where we live.”

“Then we’ll put both positions in writing.”

Tessa asked about the birth, the medical checks, and the next appointment. She wanted dates, names, and copies of the discharge instructions. Claire answered until June quietly slid the water glass back into her hand.

“What does the arrangement actually do?” Claire asked.

“On its own, it does not settle custody. But a document like this can be used to pressure someone, especially if it appears to show agreement. We need to find out who drafted it, who handled it, and whether anyone tried to use it.”

Claire looked toward the two carriers. Her daughter stirred, then went still again.

“Adrian’s attorney’s name is Owen Price,” she said. “He has worked with the company for years.”

“I’ll contact his office. You should not negotiate the document with him yourself.”

The call ended. Claire finally slept for forty minutes, until her son demanded to be fed.

When she woke again, there were fourteen missed calls from unfamiliar numbers. None had left a message.

June took one look at the screen. “His people?”

“Maybe.”

Claire forwarded the numbers to Tessa and switched the phone to silent.

That evening, Adrian’s head of security, Ben Calder, stood in the doorway of the seaside house’s study. He had worked for Adrian for eight years and had never looked comfortable among the antique maps and polished shelves.

“There are two hospitals we haven’t checked,” Ben said. “I can have someone—”

“No.” Adrian closed the folder. “Call off everyone looking for her.”

“She just gave birth.”

“She says the babies are safe.”

“And you believe her?”

“I believe she has more reason to protect them than anyone in this room.”

Ben’s jaw moved. “I need to know what to tell the men.”

“Tell them to go home.”

After Ben left, Adrian called Owen Price.

“I signed an emergency contacts packet in September,” Adrian said. “Why is there a separation arrangement with my signature on it?”

There was a pause.

“I’m away from the office,” Owen said.

“That wasn’t my question.”

“I need to review the file before I answer.”

“Then go in.”

“I can be there by eight.”

Adrian hung up. He opened his laptop and searched old messages from Owen. On September 14, an email contained a brief description of a security review and three attachments. Adrian remembered reading the first page in an airport lounge. He had signed at Owen’s office two days later, between a meeting and a flight.

He could not recall how many pages had been in front of him.

The thought shamed him. He had required precise records from every employee in his company, yet he had signed papers concerning his family without reading them closely enough to remember their contents.

At eight the next morning, Owen called back.

“The separation arrangement was created as a draft,” he said. “It should not have been in a signed packet.”

“Who created it?”

“I’m checking.”

“Claire’s signature is on it.”

“I saw that.”

“Did you watch her sign?”

“No.”

“Then tell me how it got there.”

Owen took a breath. “The document history shows it was prepared through a request from your executive office. I need time to identify who submitted the final version.”

Adrian’s executive office employed six people. One of them was Sloane Mercer.

He had ended the night with Sloane less than thirty hours earlier.

At June’s house, Tessa called Claire with the same news, though she had received less detail from Owen.

“His office confirms the document came through the company’s legal workflow,” she said. “They’re reviewing its history.”

Claire tightened her grip on the phone. “Will they tell us who touched it?”

“I’ve requested that. For now, we have the original and your account of finding it. That matters.”

After the call, Claire opened the photographs she had taken in Adrian’s study. In one image, behind the signed page, a corner of another sheet was visible. She enlarged it.

It was a routing slip, partly hidden beneath the folder flap. A printed date. An internal reference number. And, in a box labeled

originating department

, two words:

Executive Communications.

Claire had spent enough evenings at company dinners to know who ran that department.

Sloane Mercer had once stood beside Adrian at a charity auction and introduced herself to Claire with a bright smile.

“You must be the one person who can make him leave work on time,” Sloane had said.

Claire had laughed. Adrian had arrived home after midnight that evening.

Now she sent the routing-slip photograph to Tessa.

“I know who had access,” Claire said.