Chapter 5 - The Unspoken Lie
Emma read the six words twice.
Who told you that you were here to work?
Her mind raced back through every minute of the night—Frank Moran’s panicked face in the diner, the four-thousand-dollar cash promise, the black SUV waiting in the dark alley, the sleek black silk dress that fit her so perfectly, and Nolan Pierce’s easy, rehearsed explanations.
“She is the temporary replacement server provided by Moran’s logistics contact...”
That was what Pierce had said aloud to Voss just three minutes ago.
Emma slowly looked up from the paper.
Adrian Voss was sitting motionless at the head of the table, his gray eyes fixed on her with an intensity that felt like a physical weight pressing against her ribs. He wasn't waiting for a spoken answer. He was waiting to see how she reacted to the truth.
Beside him, Nolan Pierce was standing with his hands folded in front of his charcoal suit. His face was a mask of professional composure, but a thin line of sweat had formed along his hairline near his right temple.
“Ms. Brooks,” Pierce said loudly, his voice filling the quiet room as he leaned toward Voss so the old man could see his mouth. “Mr. Voss is simply asking if your agency fully explained your duties for the evening.”
Emma looked at Pierce.
He’s lying, she realized. He didn't translate what Voss wrote on that paper. He’s telling Voss one thing and telling me another.
She looked down at the paper again. The question was explicit. Voss hadn't asked if she knew her duties. He had asked who told her she was here to work—implying that whatever reason she had been brought to this house, it had nothing to do with serving food, pouring wine, or acting as an extra pair of hands.
Emma felt the blood drain from her face as the horrifying reality clicked into place.
Frank Moran hadn't sent her here to earn four thousand dollars. Frank had been in debt—probably to Voss’s organization. He had used Emma as collateral, or as a sacrifice to settle an account. And Nolan Pierce had brought her into this private room under false pretenses, using her as a pawn in whatever dangerous game he was playing against his deaf boss.
Why would Pierce bring a random diner waitress into a private, high-level meeting under the guise of a server, while telling his deaf boss something entirely different?
Because Pierce needed a scapegoat. Or a distraction. Or a body.
Emma looked around the room. The mahogany double doors were locked from the inside. Two armed guards stood in the dark corners beyond the chandelier’s light. Mrs. Vance was standing by the sideboard, holding a tray with a silver water pitcher, her face totally expressionless.
She was trapped in a room with a deaf mob boss, an armed chief of staff who was actively deceiving him, and no way to speak without Pierce controlling the narrative.
If she spoke aloud, Pierce would simply translate her words into whatever lie suited him best. Voss couldn't hear her voice. He could only read lips, and Pierce was standing in a position that allowed him to control the flow of communication entirely.
Unless, Emma thought, her survival instincts kicking in with cold, razor-sharp clarity, I stop using my voice.
Emma picked up the gold pen resting on the table.
Nolan Pierce took a rapid step forward. “Ms. Brooks, there is no need to write. You can simply state your answer aloud so I can relay it to Mr. Voss—”
Voss raised a single finger.
May you like
Pierce stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw tightening so hard his cheek muscles bulged.
Emma leaned over the black walnut table, lowered the gold nib to the paper beneath Voss’s question, and wrote her reply in clear, bold print.
