The old stranger

My thumb hovered over the send button for ten seconds before I pressed it.

Name the place, let's talk.

The reply came instantly.

Café Verona. Eighth and Main. Noon. Miss me already, dear ex?

That bastard.

I got there at eleven-thirty. I couldn't stay in my apartment another minute. Not with that photo burning a hole in my phone.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my mother's face. Then the photo. Me on Julian's lap. Skirt pushed halfway up my thighs. His hand twisted in my hair. My mouth against his.

A broken sound escaped my throat before I could swallow it back.

Café Verona was doing its best trendy coffee shop impression. Exposed brick, Edison bulbs, the smell of burnt espresso. Books nobody actually read lined the shelves. Soft jazz under the hum of laptops and small talk about vacations and deadlines.

It all felt painfully normal.

I picked a table near the back, one that faced the entrance. An Americano arrived a few minutes later. I wrapped both hands around the cup, hoping the warmth would stop them from shaking.

It didn't.

What do you want? Money?

No. If Derek wanted money, he would have asked for it in his first message. He wanted something else. And I knew this wasn't going to end well.

I checked the time. Eleven fifty-three. Eleven fifty-eight. Noon. Every time the door opened, my heart slammed against my ribs before sinking again.

At twelve-oh-seven, the bell chimed once more.

Derek walked in without a hint of urgency, hands in his pockets, like he'd come to meet an old friend, not the woman he was blackmailing.

His dark eyes found me immediately. Then he smiled. The same smile that had once convinced me he was charming now only made my skin crawl.

He slid into the chair across from me.

"You're late."

"Punctuality's for people who need to impress someone." He waved a waitress over. "Cappuccino. Extra foam." She nodded and hurried off. Neither of us spoke until she was out of earshot.

Then I looked him straight in the eye. "What do you want?"

"I need your help."

I almost laughed. "You threatened me."

"I did." He tilted his head. 

"And now you're asking for help?" I shot right back.

"I'm giving you an opportunity."

My jaw tightened. "I do not have anything to help you with."

His expression didn't change. "The photo."

"you are bluffing."

Silence settled between us. For one brief second, I thought I'd called it.

Then Derek reached into his jacket, He unlocked his phone with one thumb and turned the screen just enough for me to see. My stomach twisted.

There I was, Julian's hand buried in my hair, my lips against his, the timestamp glowing beneath the image.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket before I could move. My pulse roared in my ears.

"You bastard."

"I've been called worse. By you, if I remember."

I looked away before he could see the panic spreading across my face. Don't let him see it. I forced myself to meet his eyes again. "What do you want?"

His cappuccino arrived. He smiled at the waitress and thanked her. Once she left, he picked up his spoon and stirred the foam, as if he had all the time in the world.

"I want you to find something for me."

My stomach sank as it clicked into place. "Why should I?"

His eyes lifted, almost amused. "Why?" he repeated, as if the question itself was funny.

"Because I will never help you do anything shady."

"I haven't said anything yet," he said smoothly.

"That's exactly what you are asking."

He just shrugged, unbothered, like my anger was nothing new to him.

"What does that even mean?"

"There's a room on sublevel two," he said it like he was reading off a grocery list. "No badge access. Nobody's logged into it in fifteen years. I want to know what's behind that door."

"Is that it? A door?"

"It's never just a door, Tam."

I leaned forward. "What are you really after, Derek? Nothing good ever came out of you."

A slow smile touched his mouth. "You don't need to know," he said lightly, like it cost him nothing. My fingers tightened around the cup until the ceramic creaked.

"What has the cross family ever done to 

“You do not need to know that."

"So is this some kind of revenge." He didn't answer right away, let the silence stretch. "I didn't say that," he finally said. "You didn't deny it," I shot back.

His smile disappeared. Something cold flickered behind his eyes for the first time since he'd sat down. It vanished almost as quickly as it came.

"I'll decide what you need to know," he said quietly, "and you'll decide whether your mother gets that picture."

The words landed like stones in my chest. I swallowed hard. "You think Julian won't find out?" It came out before I could stop myself.

Derek laughed, a soft, almost amused sound. "He won't hear it from you."

"The first question he'll ask is how someone got that picture." I stayed silent. "The second question?" He tapped the table once. "Why do you keep it from him?"

My mouth went dry.

"You'll look guilty before I ever do." He leaned back again. "I know you, Tam."

Because he wasn't entirely wrong, my jaw ached from clenching it shut.

The silence stretched between us. He picked up his cappuccino and took another slow sip while I sat there trying to steady my breathing. "So," he said at last. "Are we done pretending you have a choice?"

I stared at him. "What exactly do you expect me to find?"

"Whatever's behind that door, Tamara, you'll know it when you see it."

I folded my arms across my chest. "You expect me to risk my job and my life without even knowing what I'm helping you do?"

"I expect you do not want your mother to find out about you and Julian."

The words knocked the air out of me. He hadn't raised his voice. He didn't need to. He knew exactly where to press.

"You make me sick, Derek."

He set his cup down. "You do not have to like me."

"I will never help you."

He smiled again. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

My nails dug into my palms beneath the table. Every instinct urged me to toss the coffee at him, to make a scene, to call the police, or to do anything. Instead, I stayed where I was, because every option ended with my mother opening that photo.

Derek watched the realization settle over me. "There it is," he murmured. "Reality."

 I looked away before he could enjoy it any longer.

"You'll get my message on Monday," he said." Different phone. Different number. Don't contact me on your regular one."

"What if I don't text back?"

"You will."

"I've always known how you think."

 I clenched my jaw. "You don't know me anymore."

"No." His expression hardened. "But I know when you're afraid."

The words settled over the table like smoke. He stood, smoothing a hand over the front of his Henley. For one hopeful second, I thought he was leaving. Then he stopped beside me. My muscles locked. He bent slightly, close enough that I caught the familiar scent of his cologne.

His voice dropped to a whisper. "One more thing."

 I turned my head slowly.

"Ask your stepbrother about his mother." I frowned.

"What?" "His biological mother."

I searched his face for some sign that this was another game. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Exactly." He gave a small nod. "Nobody does."

"What does that even mean, Derek?"

"It means someone worked very hard to erase her."

A chill crawled up my spine. "Who?"

His smile returned. "There you go."

"What?"

"Asking the right questions." He straightened up and grabbed my wrist, his fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. "Pay attention when you say her name." He glanced back over his shoulder. "Watch his face."

He let go and walked out. The bell above the café door jingled behind him.

I didn't move. The room buzzed with life. Milk steamed, cups clinked, and people laughed. Someone even thanked the barista for remembering their order. The world hadn't changed. Mine had.

I looked down at my untouched Americano. It was cold now, a brown ring circling the bottom of the cup. I reached for it anyway. My hand shook so badly that coffee sloshed over the rim. I set it back down. My wrist still tingled where Derek had grabbed it. When I pulled up my sleeve, angry purple marks were already beginning to bloom beneath my skin. I covered them with my hand. No one in the café looked my way. No one knew the conversation that had just happened.

I left a five on the table and walked outside. The summer heat wrapped around me the second I stepped onto the sidewalk. It should have warmed me. It didn't. I wrapped my arms around myself and started walking without choosing a direction.

One thought refused to leave me. A door with no badge access. A name nobody said out loud anymore.

Beneath Meridian's shiny glass walls and the Cross family's perfect image, something lay hidden. And whether I wanted it or not, someone had just handed me the key.