ChapterThree
951 Words
The tag shouldn't have mattered. It was no larger than a business card. Yet Caleb found himself reading it for the third time. His thumb traced the embossed lettering. A strange ache stirred somewhere at the edge of memory. The scent of fresh lavender. A brass bell chiming overhead. An elderly woman laughing.
Then...
Nothing.
The images dissolved before he could catch them.
A knock sounded at the door. His assistant stepped inside.
"The investors have been informed that dinner has been cancelled."
Caleb didn't look up.
"Good."
She hesitated.
"Is everything alright?"
His eyes remained on the small cream tag.
"Tell me something.”
“Yes, sir?"
"How long has Moore Holdings been buying flowers from Brooks Florist?"
She frowned.
"I'm not sure."
"Find out."
She nodded and turned to leave.
"And Olivia..."
She paused.
"Don't send anyone else."
She looked back.
"I'll handle this one myself.”
—
Across the city...
Elena sat cross-legged on the floor behind the counter. Invoices surrounded her. The calculator displayed the same answer every time. Not enough.
She rubbed her eyes and started again. Different numbers but still the same ending. A shadow fell across the paperwork.
"You've been arguing with that calculator for an hour."
Elena looked up. Her grandmother stood holding two mugs of tea.
"I think it's winning."
Mrs Dalia handed her one mug before lowering herself into the chair opposite. You've forgotten something."
"I have?"
"The lilies."
Elena blinked.
"What about them?"
"They're thirsty."
She turned.
The white lilies near the display window had begun to droop.
Her stomach tightened.
She had never forgotten to water them.
Not once.
"I'm sorry."
Mrs Dalia smiled gently.
"No."
She reached across the table and squeezed Elena's hand.
"You're tired."
The kindness in those two words almost undid her.
***
The bell above the door chimed. A woman in her early thirties hurried inside, phone pressed to one ear.
"I'm already here."
She ended the call and forced a polite smile.
"Miss Brooks?"
"That's me."
"I'm from Rosewood Events."
Elena's smile brightened.
"The Harrison wedding?"
The woman looked uncomfortable.
"I'm afraid they've decided to go in another direction."
Silence.
“The order has been cancelled."
Elena's fingers tightened around the mug.
"The wedding is next Saturday."
"I know. The couple's family has a preferred vendor now."
Another pause.
“I'm... sorry."
She wasn't. She was embarrassed. The door closed behind her. Mrs Dalia quietly picked up the cancellation invoice from the counter. Neither woman spoke. Elena did the maths in her head. That booking had covered almost half this month's expenses.
Now...
It covered nothing. She smiled anyway. A small fragile one. Mrs Dalia watched her carefully.
"For how long?"
Elena looked confused.
"How long what?"
"How long were you planning on protecting me from whatever is breaking you?"
The smile disappeared.
—
Olivia knocked once before stepping into Caleb's office.
"The information you requested."
She placed a slim folder on his desk. Caleb looked up from the contract he had been reviewing.
"The florist?"
Olivia nodded.
"Brooks Florist."
He closed the file in front of him and reached for the folder instead.
"Who owns it?"
"Dalia Brooks."
He frowned slightly.
"I thought the woman I met was Elena Brooks."
"She is. Dalia Brooks is her grandmother. The business has been in the family for twenty-three years."
Caleb opened the folder, scanning the first page in silence.
"A family business."
"Yes."
"How is it performing?"
Olivia hesitated.
"Barely surviving."
His eyes lifted.
"Define 'barely.'"
"According to public records, they're behind on repayments."
"By how much?"
She glanced at her tablet.
"The largest loan reaches maturity in two weeks."
Caleb's expression didn't change, but the room seemed to grow quieter.
“Also sir…”
“What?”
“I found something strange. Moore Holdings has ordered flowers from Brooks Florist for twenty-six years."
His expression shifted.
"Twenty-six?"
"Every Tuesday."
Silence.
"The account was opened by your grandmother."
Caleb looked back at the little shop.
"What else?”
“There are handwritten instructions attached to the account."
"What do they say?"
Olivia hesitated.
"They're unusual."
"Read them."
Paper rustled.
Then—
“Some promises should outlive the people who make them.”
The line settled over Caleb like unexpected rain. His grandmother had written that.
—
Forty minutes later...A black sedan rolled slowly past Brooks Florist. Caleb sat in the back seat. He hadn't planned to come. Curiosity had simply...changed his route.
"There it is, sir.”
The driver slowed. Caleb looked through the window. He still couldn't remember where he had seen the name Brooks Florist before. People moved in and out carrying bouquets. He looked through the window again. At the little flower shop standing stubbornly between towering buildings. At the woman inside rearranging white lilies. He couldn't see her face clearly. Only the quiet care with which she handled every stem.
The back door remained closed. He had no intention of going inside.
An elderly woman emerged from the back of the shop carrying a watering can. She paused to rearrange a pot of white lilies near the entrance before her gaze drifted across the street.
It landed on the black sedan. Then on the man behind the wheel.
She froze.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. A soft, disbelieving smile touched her lips.
"Arthur..." she whispered.
Caleb frowned. The woman blinked, as though waking from a dream.
"No..." she murmured, shaking her
head. "You have his eyes."
Before Caleb could react, she turned and disappeared back into the shop. He remained where he was, his eyes fixed on the doorway. For the first time that day, he was certain of one thing.
He hadn't come here by accident.
- Writer
