The Trace

The first thing Maya Sinclair heard when she stepped into the Rivera estate was a man yelling behind a closed door. Not just yelling. Snapping. Like someone who had just lost his patience. “-I said no. Do not involve her”. A woman whispered something hurriedly, and then a male voice murmured back, trying to calm him. Maya froze in the hallway. Great. Nothing like arriving at your first meeting with a grieving family just to hear the widower losing his s**t before you can even step inside. She cleared her throat deliberately, in an attempt to clear the air. The door swung open. Adrian Moretti stood there. He didn’t look angry anymore, he looked worse, controlled. His dark eyes peered into hers , slow and cutting, like he was assessing the threat instead of greeting the lawyer that was hired to save his world from crumbling. “So”, he said, voice calm. “You’re the lawyer they brought in”. What sort of dumb statement was that. Maya stood there wondering if she had dressed like a clown going to a birthday party. Maya lifted her chin. “Yes, I’m Ms. Sinclair. Here for the meeting.” His jaw flexed. “Right.” He didn’t move aside. He stared at her like she was a problem. Aya Rivera, Isabella’s mother, gently touched his arm. “Adrian, please. Let her in.” He stepped back. Maya squeezed past him. She felt the heat radiating off his body; pain, grief, anger- it made her pulse jump in an unprofessional way. Carlos Rivera offered her a shaky smile.”Thank you for coming on such short notice. We’re under a lot of pressure.” “I understand,” Maya said, putting her folder down. “I read the emails you forwarded.” Aya sank into a chair. “Our poor Bella didn’t deserve any of this.” Adrian’s head snapped toward her, and for just a split second, Maya saw the truth: he wasn’t cold. He was barely holding himself together. Then he shut down again. Maya opened her folder and began. “Here’s what we know so far. There were multiple transactions made but it's unclear who made them, huge transactions, all routed into a nonexistent shell corporation. Whoever sent them covered their tracks extremely well.” Carlos nodded grimly. “Yes. That’s why we reached out.” “But that’s not the part that concerns me most,” Maya continued. “The threats she received told her to stay quiet. To pay. Or they’d ruin your family.” Adrian’s gaze locked on Maya. Hard. Steady. “And you’re assuming this blackmail is connected to her death?” he asked. “I’m not assuming anything yet.” His expression didn’t change, but his grip on the chair tightened. Aya whispered. “Bella didn’t know who was behind it. None of us do. “She didn’t want to involve anyone until she understood what was happening.” Adrian closed his eyes briefly, like the words scraped something raw inside him. Then his voice came out calm again— calm. “These transactions could be explained.” “Can they?” Maya countered softly. The air went still. Carlos cleared his throat. “We’re hoping you can look deeper. Track the source. Connect the dots.” Maya nodded. “I’ll need access to Isabella’s laptop, phone, cloud accounts, financial devices, work hard drives—anything that stores data.” “No.” The refusal was instant. Aya looked stunned. “Adrian…” “No,” he repeated, his tone final. “Her devices aren’t a part of this investigation.” Maya’s voice stayed calm. “If someone was blackmailing her, her devices might hold clues. Without them, they remain anonymous.” He stiffened. “We’re not handing them over.” Aya whispered, “Adrian, please—” Maya closed the folder slowly. “Then there isn’t much more I can do.” Adrian turned to her so fast she almost stepped back. “You’re here to examine the threats, to find out who was blackmailing her, not dig into her personal life.” “I’m here to uncover the truth.” His jaw clenched. “Sure you are.” Silence covered the room. There it was. The crack in the porcelain. Maya stood. “If there’s something you know—” “There isn’t.” “Are you sure?” Their eyes locked again—enemy to enemy, but charged with something neither dared name. Adrian stepped closer. Close enough she could feel the tension vibrating off him. “You don’t know what you’re walking into,” he murmured. “And you don’t get to decide where I walk.” Carlos rubbed a hand over his face. “Everyone, please…” Aya whispered, “We just want answers. Both of you want the same thing.” Adrian tore his gaze away first. “I have to go.” He left the room without giving anyone a chance to stop him. Maya went after him. He was halfway down the hallway, shoulders tight, head bowed like he was bracing against something only he could feel. “Mr Moretti?.” He stopped, but didn’t turn. “Why don’t you want me looking at her devices?” Maya asked. He finally turned his head slightly, just enough for her to see the shadow in his eyes. “Because they won’t help you.” “How do you know that?” His jaw tightened. “Because whatever happened to Isabella…” He swallowed, voice tightening. “…isn’t something you can fix by going through her devices.” “And you know that because…?” He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. His silence was an answer to something buried deep. Maya’s pulse kicked. “Tell me.” “No.” “Mr Moretti—” He stepped toward her so suddenly she sucked in a breath. His voice dropped, dark and low. “Drop this case.” “I can’t.” “You should.” “Why?” His eyes scanned hers, searching, calculating, warning. He exhaled shakily. “Because dragging this up will only reopen wounds that never healed. And I’m not letting that happen again.” Her breath caught. That spark of grief — sharp, unguarded, human — vanished just as fast as it appeared. He stepped back. “You need to be careful, Ms. Sinclair.” And then he walked away. Maya stood frozen in the hallway, heartbeat pounding in her throat. This wasn’t just a case. This wasn’t just a grieving husband. This was a man drowning in secrets. And she had just stepped into the water with him.