She considered that. Moved on. "Kiser's under federal surveillance. He's not making moves. Deb is —" She gestured vaguely. "You saw her. She could barely stand up at the gala, let alone coordinate a sustained intimidation campaign."
"Which leaves Travis."
"Travis can't afford his rent, let alone custom photo printing." She leaned back, chewing her bottom lip. "But there's a piece I can't stop thinking about. He showed up at my coffee shop three times after I ended things. He made new social media accounts after I blocked him. That's fixation, like you said. But fixation and resources are two different things."
"So maybe we talk to him."
Her eyes sharpened. "You think that's smart?"
"I think we either clear him or we don't. Right now he's taking up space on the board, and we can't afford dead weight." I closed my laptop. "You know where he'd be on a Tuesday morning?"
"Grindstone Coffee on Elm. He goes every day before work. Has since we were together." She paused. "I know that because he told me six times. Not because I've been keeping tabs."
"Noted."
GRINDSTONE COFFEE WASa narrow storefront between a dry cleaner and a nail salon. Scuffed wood floors, mismatched furniture, the smell of dark roast and cinnamon. Regulars claimed their spots with territorial devotion.
Travis Yount was by the window. I'd pulled his photo from social media, and the match was immediate: late twenties, thin, sandy hair that needed a cut, the hunched posture of someone who spent ten hours a day staring at a screen. He had alaptop open, a half-finished latte at his elbow, and earbuds in. Unaware.
Charlie and I had agreed on the approach: she'd talk, I'd watch from across the room. Close enough to intervene, far enough not to spook him.
She walked up to his table. He pulled out one earbud, looked up, and his whole face changed. Surprise, then hope, naked, embarrassing hope that made my jaw tighten.
"Charlie." He stood up too fast, knocking his latte. "Hey. Wow. I didn't — how are you?"
"I'm fine, Travis."
"You look great. You always look great." He was smiling too wide, hands jammed in his jacket pockets, bouncing on his heels. "Do you want to sit? I can get you something. A cortado, right? You always ordered the cortado."
"I'm not staying."
The hope dimmed but didn't die. "Right. Yeah. Sure. It's just — I've been meaning to reach out. I know things ended weird between us, and I was hoping maybe you'd reconsidered —"
"Travis." Her voice was firm but not cruel. "I haven't reconsidered. I'm not here for that."
The hope died. Watching it leave his face was uncomfortable; less about sympathy, more about recognizing a man who'd built an entire future on a foundation that didn't exist and was just now figuring that out.
"Oh." He sat back down. "Then what —"
"Someone's been threatening me. Seriously threatening me. My apartment was broken into, someone tried to run me off a bridge, and I've been receiving escalating harassment for weeks."
His face went pale. "Charlie, that's — are you okay? That's terrifying."
"I'm handling it. But I need to know — have you noticed anything unusual around my place lately? You live in the neighborhood."
His eyes dropped to the table. A flush crept up his neck. "I, um. I don't really —"
"Travis."
He swallowed. "I've walked by your building a few times. Recently." The flush deepened. "Not in a — I mean, I wasn't — I just sometimes walk that way. It's on my route."
"It's twelve blocks out of your way."
"I like the exercise." He couldn't look at her. Then, quietly: "I wanted to tell you. I've been seeing someone around your building. An older guy. He didn't fit the neighborhood, looked like money. Dark car, parked down the block. I noticed because I was —" He trailed off, mortified.
"Because you were watching my building."
"I'm sorry. I know that's —"
