In the east wing of the Cole mansion, the night was dark. A few stars appeared in the sky. Mrs. Cole's study smelled of old paper and Coffee. Her lamp on the table was the only light in the room. She stood in front of the window. It was as if she were searching for something or someone in the stars.
She wore a black dress and a single strand of pearls. She turned back at Collins, who stood in a corner of the room. She stepped forward, picked up the handkerchief on her desk, and unfolded it. Her eyes watched Collins like a hawk.
Collins stood with his hands folded. He had worked for the family for years. He wore the look of a man who had learned how to be useful and invisible at the same time.
"Did you send the message?" Mrs. Cole asked in a quiet voice.
"Yes, ma'am," Collins said. "I told her to drop it, I warned her."
Mrs. Cole let out a cold smile. "And did she listen?"
"No ma'am. She is stubborn. I don't think she is the type that we can easily scare away. She'll keep digging." Collins replied.
Mrs. Cole folded her handkerchief and set it down on the desk. She walked toward the side table. The pearls at her throat clicked softly. A chessboard sat on the table. Mrs. Cole took her seat as she moved the pieces on the chessboard.
"Since she won't step back," she said as she picked up the bishop and moved it four steps back diagonally. "Then we'll just have to take her out of the game." She said as the bishop kills a pawn. She raised her head, staring into Collins' eyes like she was staring into his soul.
Collin understood immediately what she meant. He nodded. "There is something else, ma'am."
"Go on." Mrs. Cole said.
"Mr. Donald is attracted to the journalist. He is different around her. he is calmer and softer." Collins said.
"He is young, He is inexperienced. He runs with young men who flatter him and women who flatter him back. He will learn to put the world in order soon." Mrs. Cole said as she focused on the chessboard, gently massaging her chin.
Mrs. Cole signaled Collins to leave. Collins leaves the room immediately.
She stood up and she picked up a picture of Mr. Cole. She pressed her finger on the frame.
"I will never let a nobody destroy your legacy." She said as she placed the frame back in its position.
***************************
That night, Grace lay on her bed in her tiny apartment. The room was dark except for the faint yellow light of the street lamp, which had made its way to the room. She rolled until she lay her back on the bed. She stared at the ceiling. She kept playing her encounter with Donald at the Cole Oil Building.
Before now, she saw Donald as a cold, arrogant billionaire son who looked down on the poor. Now she sees a puzzled man who was handed a mantle he didn't fully understand how to use. She bites her lips as she remembers how he stretched out his hand to help her up.
"Why do I feel this way. I have to get my thoughts straight. I'm so close to the truth, I can't ruin it with these feelings." She whispered to herself.
She had kept herself away from pleasure until her goal was achieved. Now she is falling for the man who was the center of everything. He carried the name she had been obsessed with and wanted to bring down for years. But even though her mind knew this, her heart won't stop pounding and thinking about him.
She moved her fingers around her lips. The finger that had brushed against his. She couldn't stop playing that moment. It felt like her senses left her body.
"What is wrong with me?" she asked as she sat up on her bed. She stood up quickly, switched on her table lamp, and began to check the files that Donald had given her. She felt it would take off her mind from what she felt inside. She flipped through the pages of the files.
They were just information about the workers who had worked with the Cole Oil group in the early to middle 90's. She scanned for Bernard's name. She found his name. Bernard Stone. He was last active in February 1996. He had been ruled out as resigned with a suspicious handwriting that didn't match the one before it. She took her notebook as she wrote the date. She went to her bed, and Donald crept into her thoughts as she fell asleep.
Across the city, Donald sat at the edge of his bed, shirtless. His glass of whiskey lay beside him, untouched. He tried to read, tried to think about ledgers, but her face haunted him. It crept into every one of his thoughts. He couldn't run away from her eyes. She lived rent-free in his head, his mind, and his thoughts.
The way her voice sharpened in his mind whenever she said the truth. The spark in her eyes, the brush of her fingers. He pressed his hand on his jaw. He was restless. He had been raised to bury feelings and to hate the middle class and see them as nothing but a means to an end. He was consumed by her, and he wanted to see her again. His mind searches for a reason to want to see her. She made him feel more alive than ever.
The next morning, Grace forced herself into work, she had no time for fantasies. She had a story to pursue a lead to follow and claims to prove. She dressed quickly and went straight to the City Hospital.
Inside the records department of the hospital, Grace searched for the Bernard Stone Family file. It had been 29 years, so this will definitely take a while.
After several hours of searching, she found the file. BERNARD STONE. Boldly written on the dusty file. She opened it. She went through the file until the second to last page. April 14, 1996. She only saw receipts and drug prescriptions. The reason Mrs. Bernard was in the hospital wasn't stated. When she turned the to the next page, it was ripped. Someone had ripped off the last page because it had information that shouldn't come to light. Someone was obviously trying to hide something. She wrote down the name of the drug prescription and the nurses who attended to her.
She left the hospital for the office.
Donald could not concentrate at the office, the files blurred. He couldn't think straight; his mind constantly drifted to Grace. Finally, he shoved his paper aside and stood.
"I need to see her." he said as he picked up his jacket and stormed out of the office.
The elevator opened as he walked outside the building's halls. He had no reason to see her.
"What do I say when I finally see her?" he asked himself
"I'll drive myself." He said to his driver as he took the keys from his hand.
He drove fast, barely aware of the traffic. His car pulled up in front of the modest building that housed Grace magazine. For a billionaire, he was used to glass buildings and offices. The small building looks fragile and human.
He stepped out of the vehicle and made his way to the reception. People stared at him, his black SUV, his tailored suit. They knew it was Donald Cole. But none dare approach him. He frowned as he walked, as if every second he wasted outside, something terrible would happen.
"Grace McCarthy?" he said without greeting the receptionist
"She didn't clock in today." The receptionist replied.
Donald's face had changed into something that scared the receptionist.
"Fuck!" He said angrily. He picked up his phone to call his secretary as he walked out of the building. She picked almost immediately.
"Send Grace's number." He said to his secretary.
"Okay, sir." The secretary replied.
Within five seconds, his phone beeped. It was a message from his secretary. She had sent him the number. He immediately called the number without pausing. He was restless. He picked up his phone and called her. The line rang once, twice, then her voice.
"Hello?" Grace said
He exhaled in relief. He was finally calm. Her voice calmed the storm that made him so restless.
"Grace." Donald said.
There was a pause. Donald could hear her pause in the silence.
"Donald?" she whispered. "Why are you… How did you get my number??"
"I am in front of your office, where are you?" he said plainly.
Her heart skipped a bit. The thought of him there, in that crowd. People would talk, and her colleagues would want to know what was going on. Mr. Paul would query her. A Lot of things had gone through her head in a few seconds.
"Grace?" Donald said to confirm if she is still on the line.
"I'm not in the office right now," She managed to say. "But I'll be back in two hours. Moreover, there's something I need you to see."
"Two hours?" his voice was low. "I'll wait."
When he ended the call, he leaned against his car and crossed his arms. He'd wait all day if he had to. His mind was finally calm. Her voice had calmed the storm that stirred in him.
But Grace never made it back from the hospital.
She stepped out of the hospital. She followed a narrow path to the bus stop. The path was lonely and quiet.
A black van stopped abruptly, blocking her from passing. The window was tinted. It was almost impossible to see the men inside. The door opened. Three men were inside the vehicle. One grabbed Grace as he gagged her mouth. She was pulled inside the van aggressively. Grace struggled and tried to shout for help, but the man overpowered her.
She kicked and thrashed, but there were too many of them. She tried to force her way out, but she couldn't.
"Pretty thing," one of them said. "We will have some fun with you, then we will stab you and dump your body as a lesson to your fellow journalists."
Her heart pounded with terror. Was this her end? she thought. Was this how far the Coles would go? They tried to force themselves on her, but she kept resisting. One of them had taken off his trousers. The evening pressed closer.
Back at the office, Donald had been waiting for Grace for three hours now. He kept trying to reach her, but her line was unreachable. He became unsettled. He stared at his watch. He started his car and drove retracing the path to the City Hospital. The street grew narrower and darker.
Then he saw it.
On the ground under thick flickering streetlight lay a battered notebook. Its edges were bent, and its pages were smeared with dirt. He could recognize it anywhere. It was her notebook. He had seen it on the desk, at the conference, at the factory. She always held it like it was a shield.
He rushed down from his car, picked it up, and stared at both ends of the street. He didn't see anyone. The silence of the evening was heavy.
"Where the fuck are you, Grace?" he whispered as he gripped the notebook.
He knew she was in danger, and he was the only one who could save her.