The address led to a brownstone in Brooklyn Heights.
Alexander had found it through the shell company—M. Reeves, the name on the Delaware registration, led to a law firm in Manhattan, which led to a real estate purchase eighteen months ago under the same alias. Marcus Reeves. The name Marcus had been born with, before Alexander had known him, before everything had fallen apart.
They took Alexander’s car—a black Mercedes with tinted windows that wouldn’t attract attention in this neighborhood. The drive from Manhattan was quiet, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Vivian watched the city pass by outside her window, the familiar landmarks giving way to the bridge and then to Brooklyn’s tree-lined streets.
She was exhausted. They both were. But sleep was impossible with the clock stil
