“He’s not getting near you or Mason,” I say, my voice low and unwavering. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
The officers nod, already moving into position, radios crackling as they coordinate. I pull her into my arms, holding her tightly as she presses her face into my chest. “I don’t know how to do this?—”
“We’re safe here,” I tell her, even as my eyes track every sound beyond the door. “I promise you. I’ve got you. I won’t let him touch you.”
Marcus Chen isn’t finished yet.
Neither am I.
HARPER
The police presence outside the building changes the way everything feels.
I can see them down on the street through the floor-to-ceiling windows, unmarked cars parked at careful angles along the curb, officers posted in places that look casual until you know what you’re looking for. It isn’t dramatic—no lights, no sirens—but it’s constant. A quiet, watchful net drawn tight around Aiden’s building.
Marcus Chen is officially a manhunt now.
Officers keep coming up to check on us. The worddangeroushas been used more than once, along withunpredictable,escalating, andarmed with intent. Hearing it out loud makes my stomach turn in slow, nauseating circles. This is no longer about a former employee with a grudge. This is about someone the police believe could hurt people if they don’t find him quickly.
People like me. People like my son. People like Aiden.
All because of me.
I know he says it’s unlikely Marcus will light this building up. He wants to see me suffer. But that doesn’t make me feel better when I keep thinking I smell smoke.
I sit at Aiden’s kitchen island with a detective across from me, a statement recorder blinking red between us. Aiden stands nearby, close enough that I feel him without looking. Not hovering but not leaving either. He’s made himself a solid presence, a quiet line I can lean against if I start to tilt. I need that more than I realized.
The detective asks me to start from the beginning.
I tell them about hiring Marcus, about how good he seemed at first—charming, hardworking, eager to pick up shifts. Then there were register discrepancies, the way my stomach dropped when I finally checked the camera footage. Palming others’ tips. Swiping bottles of the expensive stuff and selling it to the restaurants around us.
That really hurt—another restauranteur came to me about it. Said Marcus had tried to sell him a bottle of vintage Dom for twice what it was worth, and that didn’t sit right with him. When he asked him where he got it, he ran.
I had saved that bottle for my bar’s one year anniversary, for the staff to share, and they all knew about it.
So, I confronted him. About that, about the money, about the tips, all of it. And that was when I saw the monster behind the eyes.
“What did he say?” the detective asks.
“That I was ruining his life,” I answer. “That people like me get what’s coming to them.” I hear myself say it and the guilt flares sharper than it has all day.
They nod, scribbling notes. Then they tell me things I didn’t know.
Marcus has a history of violence. Anger issues documented in two previous workplaces. He threw a wine bottle at his previous boss’s head. He’d been fired twice for theft and threats. A restraining order was filed by an ex-girlfriend who claimed hebecame volatile when he felt wronged. He was violent with her when he learned of the order.
I ruined his life, my brain insists. If I had let it go. If I hadn’t fired him. If I hadn’t confronted him. If I had been more understanding, more patient, more forgiving—“This is my fault,” I say out loud before I can stop myself. “I should have… handled it quietly. I didn’t have to push him. I should have done things differently. If I had?—”
Aiden’s head snaps toward me. “No. He stole from you, from his coworkers. He deserved to be fired or worse.”
“Maybe no one has given him a chance, or maybe?—”
“You did exactly what you were supposed to do,” Aiden continues. “You protected your business and your employees. His reaction is not your responsibility.”
I want to believe him. But the pattern feels too familiar.
My marriage failed because of me. My bar is gone because of me. Now there are police outside the building because of me. I look down at my hands and see every choice I’ve made laid out like evidence, each one pointing to the same conclusion.
Everyone I touch gets hurt.
