Chapter 2 - The Silent Hunt
The rain in Montreal was different from the warm, tropical downpours of Miami. It was needle-sharp, freezing, and smelled of wet asphalt and old stone.
Four months had passed since the night of the snowstorm in Greenwich.
In a small, second-floor apartment above an old French bakery in the Mile End district of Montreal, Claire stood by the window, swaying gently from side to side.
Julian was fast asleep against her shoulder, wearing a soft blue cotton onesie. He was growing rapidly, his cheeks round and rosy, his dark eyes bright and observant whenever he was awake. He was a quiet baby, as if he understood intuitively that his survival depended on discretion.
Claire looked at her reflection in the dark window pane. She had cut her long, honey-blonde hair into a sharp, chin-length bob and dyed it a deep, rich chestnut brown. She wore plain wool sweaters and jeans. She was no longer Claire Moreland, the billionaire trophy wife of New York’s most feared syndicate boss.
She was Clara Vane, a widowed freelance graphic designer living on a modest inheritance.
"He slept for four hours straight," Jenna said softly, walking out of the small kitchen holding two bowls of steaming potato soup. Jenna had altered her appearance as well, wearing dark glasses and keeping her hair tucked into beanies whenever she left the apartment.
"He's getting stronger," Claire murmured, kissing Julian's soft temple before gently placing him into his wooden crib in the corner of the room. "Malcolm called this morning from a payphone in Toronto."
Jenna set the soup bowls on the small pine table. "What did he say?"
"Damian has turned the Eastern Seaboard upside down," Claire replied, sitting down and wrapping her cold hands around the warm ceramic bowl. "He’s spent over twenty million dollars in four months. He hired three separate intelligence firms, put trackers on every one of our old acquaintances, and subpoenaed the medical records of every private clinic from Maine to Florida."
Jenna shivered. "Did Malcolm say if he’s close?"
"No," Claire said firmly. "Malcolm built seven layers of false identities for us. The paper trail ends at a dummy corporation in Panama that allegedly rented a sailboat to a woman matching my description in the Bahamas. Damian’s men spent the last three weeks dragging the waters near Nassau thinking my boat capsized."
"Good," Jenna spat, her eyes flashing with lingering anger. "Let him search the bottom of the ocean. Let him think he lost everything."
Claire stared down at her soup.
She thought she would feel a sense of triumph knowing Damian was suffering. She thought picture-perfect revenge would taste sweet. But as she sat in the small, drafty apartment listening to the Montreal rain, all she felt was a deep, dull ache.
She didn't miss the money. She didn't miss the estate.
She missed the man Damian used to be—the young, ambitious law student who used to bring her hot coffee in cheap paper cups when they lived in a tiny walk-up in Queens, before his father was assassinated and the heavy, blood-stained mantle of the Moreland family was forced onto his shoulders.
In New York, inside the cavernous penthouse office of Moreland Enterprises overlooking Wall Street, the atmosphere was suffocating.
It was 11:00 PM.
Damian sat behind his massive mahogany desk. The room was dark, lit only by the glowing monitors showing global shipping lanes and financial markets.
He looked terrible.
He had lost fifteen pounds. Dark, purple shadows bruised the skin beneath his eyes. His tailored suits hung loosely on his broad frame, and his dark hair was silvering rapidly at the temples. A half-empty bottle of bourbon sat on his desk next to a file five inches thick.
A knock sounded at the door.
Miller, his head of security, stepped inside, his posture rigid. Behind him walked Marcus Vance, Damian’s chief legal counsel and long-time family friend.
"Tell me," Damian said, his voice raspy, stripped of all warmth.
Miller swallowed hard. "The salvage team in the Bahamas finished scanning the reef off Exuma, Boss. They... they found remnants of a fiberglass hull matching the 38-foot vessel registered to the Panama entity. No bodies were recovered, but the coast guard says given the current..."
Miller trailed off, unable to finish the sentence under Damian’s terrifying, hollow glare.
"She’s not dead," Damian whispered.
"Damian," Marcus Vance spoke up gently, stepping forward and placing a hand on the edge of the desk. "It’s been four months. You haven't slept more than two hours a night. You’ve paralyzed the family’s operations. The Capos in Brooklyn are getting restless. They think you’re losing your grip because of a personal tragedy—"
"She is not dead!" Damian roared, slamming his palms flat onto the mahogany desk so violently that a glass paperweight jumped and shattered on the floor.
He stood up, towering over both men, his eyes bloodshot and blazing with a terrifying, unhinged intensity.
"Claire is smarter than all of you combined!" Damian growled, his chest heaving. "She planned this! She knew I would check the hospitals, she knew I would check the private jets! She built a ghost shell because she knew I would chase ghosts!"
He reached down, picked up the five-inch file, and slammed it against Miller’s chest.
"Stop looking at boats! Stop looking at tropical islands! Claire hates the heat—she’s always hated the heat! Look for cold cities! Look for places with good public libraries, quiet neighborhoods, and small bakeries! Look for Malcolm Reed’s old law school contacts!"
Miller caught the file, nodding frantically. "Yes, Boss. Right away."
"And Miller," Damian added, his voice dropping into a desperate, agonizing whisper.
"Sir?"
"Find my son."
When Miller and Vance left the office, Damian walked over to the glass wall overlooking the glittering, cold lights of Manhattan.
May you like
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the gold wedding ring Claire had left on the hospital tray four months ago. He rubbed the cold diamond against his thumb.
"I know you're out there, Claire," he whispered into the dark glass. "And I will tear this world apart until I find you."
