CHAPTER 14
1421 Words
The café was nearly empty when Eva arrived.
It sat on a quiet corner street, tucked between a closed florist and a tailor whose window display hadn’t changed in years. The kind of place people only visited when they didn’t want to be seen—or didn’t want to be overheard.
Eva chose it deliberately.
She stepped inside, the bell above the door chiming softly. Warm air wrapped around her immediately, carrying the scent of roasted coffee beans and something faintly sweet. The lighting was low, amber-toned, casting soft shadows along the walls.
Her heels clicked once, then twice, before she slowed her pace.
She scanned the room.
Four tables occupied. Two were empty. One held an elderly man hunched over a newspaper, stirring a cup he wasn’t drinking. The last table—near the window—held a woman sitting very still, both hands wrapped tightly around a mug.
That was her.
Eva recognized her not by her face, but by her posture.
Rigid. Guarded. Waiting.
She approached without hesitation.
“Good morning, Clara,” Eva said gently.
The woman looked up sharply, her eyes widening just a fraction before she recovered. She stood halfway, then seemed to think better of it and remained seated.
“Mrs. Harrington,” Clara replied, her voice low. “Eva. Please.”
Eva sat opposite her, setting her bag neatly beside the chair. She removed her coat with measured movements, folding it over the back of the seat. Her expression was calm, composed—but her eyes missed nothing.
Clara looked thinner than Eva remembered. Her blouse hung loosely at the shoulders, the fabric creased where her fingers had been twisting it. There were faint shadows beneath her eyes, the kind that came from poor sleep rather than long nights.
“Thank you for coming,” Clara said, though her tone suggested the opposite.
“Thank you for agreeing,” Eva replied.
A server passed by, glancing at them briefly before continuing on. Eva waited until the sound of footsteps faded.
“You said this was dangerous,” Eva continued quietly. “I assume you wouldn’t say that lightly.”
Clara let out a small breath, almost a laugh—but there was no humor in it.
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you deserved to know,” she said. “But I also wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t afraid.”
Eva nodded once.
“That makes two of us,” she said.
Clara’s gaze flicked to Eva’s face, lingering this time. Her eyes softened briefly before tightening again.
“You look… different,” she said.
“So do you,” Eva replied.
They sat in silence for a moment. The hum of the coffee machine filled the space between them, steady and indifferent.
Clara was the first to break it.
“I didn’t see who pulled the trigger,” she said quickly, as though needing to establish that boundary immediately. “I want to be clear about that.”
“I didn’t ask if you did,” Eva replied.
That stopped her.
Clara frowned slightly. “Then what are you asking?”
Eva leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs slowly. The movement was deliberate, controlled.
“I’m asking what changed,” she said. “Before that night.”
Clara’s fingers tightened around her mug.
“I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do.”
Clara swallowed.
“You were my husband’s executive assistant for eight years,” Eva continued evenly. “You knew his schedule better than I did. You knew when meetings ran late, when calls came in after midnight, when he came home distracted.”
Eva leaned forward slightly now, her voice lowering.
“And you knew when something stopped being normal.”
Clara’s shoulders sagged just a little.
“I noticed things,” she admitted. “Small things at first. New security protocols. Meetings moved without explanation. Files locked that never were before.”
She hesitated, glancing toward the door.
Eva followed her gaze, then looked back at her calmly.
“No one followed you,” Eva said. “I made sure.”
Clara exhaled shakily.
“He stopped letting people wait outside his office,” she continued. “Even me. He took calls in the stairwell. He deleted logs.”
Eva’s face remained unreadable, but something sharpened in her eyes.
“And you asked him about it,” Eva said. Not a question.
“Yes,” Clara replied. “Once.”
She paused.
“He told me to forget I’d noticed anything.”
Eva’s lips pressed together briefly.
“That doesn’t sound like him,” Eva said.
“It wasn’t,” Clara agreed. “That’s when I knew something was wrong.”
The server returned, placing a cup of tea in front of Eva. She hadn’t ordered it, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she wrapped her hands around it, absorbing the warmth.
“When was this?” Eva asked.
“About a month before…” Clara trailed off, then forced herself to continue. “Before they were killed.”
The word landed between them like something fragile.
Eva didn’t react outwardly. But her grip on the cup tightened, knuckles paling slightly.
“What else?” she asked.
Clara hesitated longer this time.
“He started moving money,” she said. “Not large sums. Careful ones. Hidden in places only someone very familiar with the system would look.”
Eva’s gaze dropped briefly to the surface of the table, then returned.
“For what purpose?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Clara said quickly. “I never saw where it went. But I saw where it didn’t.”
Eva tilted her head slightly.
“Which was?”
“Anywhere that benefited him.”
Silence followed.
Eva sat very still, her breathing slow, even. Pieces were aligning—not neatly, not cleanly—but enough to form a direction.
“He was protecting something,” Eva said quietly.
Clara nodded.
“Or someone,” she added.
Their eyes met.
The implication did not need to be spoken aloud.
Eva’s throat tightened, just briefly. She swallowed it down.
“Did he know he was being watched?” Eva asked.
“Yes,” Clara said without hesitation. “By the end, he absolutely knew.”
Eva leaned back again, eyes drifting to the window. Outside, people passed by, unaware, uninterested.
“When was the last time you spoke to him?” Eva asked.
“The afternoon before,” Clara replied. “He asked me something strange.”
“What?”
“If I trusted you.”
Eva’s breath caught—so subtly even she almost missed it.
“And what did you say?” Eva asked.
Clara looked at her now, truly looked.
“I said yes,” she replied. “Without hesitation.”
Eva closed her eyes briefly.
Not in grief.
In resolve.
“I need you to remember everything,” Eva said quietly. “Not just what you think matters. Tone. Timing. Who lingered in hallways. Who suddenly avoided eye contact.”
Clara shook her head.
“That puts me at risk.”
Eva opened her eyes.
“I know.”
“And you’re asking anyway.”
“Yes.”
Clara studied her for a long moment.
“You’re not asking as a widow,” she said slowly. “You’re asking as someone who intends to finish something.”
Eva didn’t deny it.
“My husband stood between something dangerous and the people he loved,” Eva said. “They removed him.”
Her voice hardened—not with anger, but with certainty.
“I won’t let that be the end of the story.”
Clara nodded once, decision settling in her posture.
“Then I’ll help,” she said. “As much as I can.”
Eva reached into her bag and slid a small notebook across the table.
“Start here,” she said. “And don’t talk to anyone else.”
Clara’s fingers closed around it.
Eva stood, placing her coat back on with unhurried precision.
As she turned to leave, she paused.
“Clara,” she said softly.
“Yes?”
“If anything happens—anything at all—you contact me first.”
Clara nodded.
Eva walked out of the café, the bell chiming behind her.
Outside, the street felt louder, brighter. Eva inhaled deeply, the air sharp in her lungs.
The truth was no longer buried.
It had begun to speak.
And Eva was listening.
- Writer
