Chapter 13: Someone Walked In As Me

“Who’s the notary?” I asked, before the doors finished opening.

Grant stepped out with a tablet under his arm and a visitor badge in his other hand, the plastic kind with a printed name. He took one look at Lex’s face and stopped.

“I went down to pull the lobby log,” he said. “What happened?”

I held out the last page. “Somebody swore to being me at four-fifty. Read it.”

He read it. The corridor light hummed. Lex stood a step behind me, not crowding, just there.

“Daniel Voss, Notary Public,” Grant said slowly. “Suite 1904.” He started typing. “Nineteen is multi-tenant. Pierce’s firm has 1902. Nineteen-oh-four is Meridian Business Services. They rent mailboxes, conference rooms, and a notary by the hour.”

“So it’s not Pierce’s office,” I said.

“It’s not Pierce’s door,” Lex said. “Doesn’t mean he’s clear.”

“It means we say what we know.” I pointed at the tablet. “Did Meridian book a visitor pass today?”

Grant scrolled. His mouth went flat. “4:41 p.m. A pass issued to L. Roswell for Suite 1904. Appointment booked by phone that morning. The guard scanned a driver’s license at the desk.”

“Whose photo is on the scan?”

“The image is blurred. It looks like the camera caught it mid-turn.”

“That’s convenient.”

“It’s a bad camera,” Grant said. “In this case I’d rather call it a bad camera than a bad guard.”

I almost laughed. Then I thought about the question I hadn’t asked.

“Wait. Meridian doesn’t just fill out forms. Somebody had to choose them.” I looked at Lex. “How did Marlowe Bridge end up using a mailbox-and-notary shop in your building? Anyone can notarize anywhere in New York. Why this one?”

Lex’s eyes sharpened. “Because Meridian already knew Marlowe.”

“Or because somebody wanted the address to point at you.”

“Both can be true.”

Grant looked up. “Miss Roswell, Ivy told you to ask who pays Marlowe’s registered agent.”

“I’ve been waiting to.” I texted Dana before I could talk myself out of it. Four minutes later, my phone buzzed, and I read the reply out loud so nobody had to wonder.

“The Water Street agent invoices Marlowe Bridge once a year. The bill goes to, and is paid by, Meridian Business Services.”

Nobody said anything. The elevator closed behind us with a soft, patient sound.

“So Meridian handles Marlowe’s paperwork,” Lex said at last, “and the same company supplied the notary who swore you were here today.”

“It’s a lead,” I said. “It’s not a confession.”

“No. But it’s a better lead than I had ten minutes ago.”

Grant’s phone buzzed. He listened, thanked someone, and lowered it. “Security says Meridian’s corridor cameras belong to Meridian, not the building. We can request footage, but it takes a formal letter. Their owner is in Singapore until Monday.”

Lex stood very still. “Monday.”

“They can’t release it sooner without his authorization.”

“So I own the building and I can’t open one door in it.” His voice stayed even, but I could hear the grit under it. “Draft the letter. Don’t use Legal’s template, it’s too polite.”

“We shouldn’t wait for Monday,” I said.

“I agree we shouldn’t. I disagree about the method.” He turned. “If we storm Meridian tonight, their lawyers have a reason to call us the aggressors. I’d like to hand them a letter, and then a court.”

“By then someone has wiped it.”

“Which is why the letter says preserve everything and treats any deletion as spoliation.”

“That sounds like a threat wearing a tie.”

“It’s a legal threat. They’re more effective.”

I thought about it. I hated that he was right and hated more that I’d wanted him to say it politely. “Fine. Preservation letter tonight. But Dana reads it first, and I want a copy.”

“Done.”

“And nobody tells your board until we know what Meridian looks like.”

“That,” he said, “I’d already decided.” The corner of his mouth moved. “Though I enjoyed being told.”

My phone buzzed with a text I didn’t want. Ivy.

Then you’ve found the door. Don’t walk through it alone.

“She’s good at saying nothing in two lines,” I muttered.

“Which suggests practice,” Lex said.

A second notification slid in under hers, a forwarded email from Dana. The subject line read, Fox Holdings, Settlement Meeting.

Ryan had sent a calendar invite to the bank, copied to me. Thursday, ten a.m., his offices, “to resolve outstanding questions regarding Ms. Roswell’s involvement in Marlowe Bridge.” He’d attached a short note saying I had “kindly agreed to attend.”

“I never agreed to anything.”

“He wants the bank to see you walk in,” Lex said. “If you don’t show, you look guilty. If you do, you’ve sat down at his table.”

“Then I’m sitting down at his table.” I turned off the screen. “With Dana. And a recorder. And a list of questions.”

“You’re sure?”

“No.” I tucked the phone away. “But I’d rather ask him questions than listen to his answers on someone else’s schedule.”

Grant cleared his throat. “Miss Roswell, there’s one more thing on the visitor record. Sir, you should see it too.”

He turned the tablet toward us. Beneath the pass was the ID that the guard had scanned. One line of tiny gray type.

Driver License No. 7 4 0 2 9 1 8 8.

I stopped breathing for a moment.

“That’s not my number,” I said.

“Is it not?”

“It’s my old one.” The words came out slowly. “The license I had at nineteen. The one in my wallet on the F train. DMV cancelled it three days later and issued me a new one.”

Grant’s finger moved down the screen. “I cross-checked it against the notary record for Marlowe Bridge’s founding papers. Same week, same Queens stamp.” He swallowed. “Same license number, Miss Roswell. Seven years apart.”

The corridor seemed to grow very long.

That wallet had never been stolen by a stranger. Somebody had kept my face in their pocket for seven years.