My confidence is mostly a facade, but I do my best to maintain it before turning on my heels and walking to the bedroom. If Lex sees a flicker of doubt in me, he’ll call it off. We can’t trust anyone but ourselves with this, so we don’t have a choice. Not if we ever want to get our lives back.
In order to slay the dragon, we first have to enter its den.
Despite Andrea’s rush to fly to the East Coast, I negotiate forty-eight hours to organize our trip. That allows me to find the perfect place for us to stay. Nestled in the heart of Manhattan, the apartment hotel complex is extremely secure, and our condo has a view over Central Park, as Andrea wanted. From the photos of our rental’s lobby, I noticed a few security cameras I’ll be able to tap into, which means we won’t have to bother ourselves with a security detail. It’s better that way, to lie low and not draw attention to ourselves.
I didn’t think our fake identity would serve again, but here we are, being Alexandra and Andrew Wilson once more. It might have been wiser to work on new passports and names, but we never burned ourselves on those, so this should be fine. I use those names to book us a red-eye to JFK and our apartment. Wilson is too common to raise any suspicions, which is perfect for us.
We take off from Seattle at ten in the evening and land five hours later in New York, at 6 a.m. local time. We’re both out of it as I drive us to our temporary address. I rented a black SUV with tinted windows, which should bring us enough anonymity and security. Andrea is so tired, she barely looks at the city outside.
A valet takes the key once we arrive, and a bellhop grabs our things from the trunk. The concierge welcomes us in the hall after the doorman opens, which he only does after we’ve confirmed our identity to him. Once we’ve been informed about the hotel’s amenities, the bellhop leads us to our apartment. I dismiss him before he can step in with us, handing him a twenty-dollar bill and wishing him a good day.
As we step into our apartment, Andrea perks up. “Wow,” she breathes out, eyes on the view.
The sun is rising over Central Park, bathing it and us in a warm glow. Seventeen floors up, we can see it all—the entire length of the park, the surrounding buildings, the fiery sky…
“Is the view good enough for you?” I ask with unmasked content.
“More than good. This is amazing.”
She leaves her suitcase behind as she walks to the sliding doors that lead to a terrace. The sounds from the traffic below barely reach this high, but we can still hear them when she opens the glass door. Still entranced by the spectacle, she steps out. I follow, eyes fixed on her as she rests her forearms on the stone railing. Standing behind her, I lay my hands on each side of her, watching the city as well. Right now, with jasmine in my nose, the sun on my face, and the beauty of dawn, I feel like I could learn to love this city through her eyes.
“You like it?” I whisper, pressing a gentle kiss on her exposed shoulder.
“It’s amazing. I feel like Blair Waldorf.”
“Who?”
“It’s from a show I used to watch. You wouldn’t like it.”
I come closer, close enough to feel her warmth through our clothes, watching the scattered clouds slowly change color. The siren of a fire truck resonates all the way here, breaking through the faint buzz of the activity below. She bends over and watches it until it disappears at a corner.
“Why do you like this city so much?” I ask, curious to hear what she sees in this steaming pile of overpriced shit.
“I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because so many movies were filmed here.The Dark Knight Rises,Spider-Man,When Harry Met Sally,Ghostbusters,Taxi Driver… I feel like I’ve lived here before.”
“We’ll need to come back once all this is over, to do a dorky tour.”
“It’s not dorky,” she defends herself, turning around in the little space I give her.
She returns her elbows to the railing, looking up at me with her beautiful eyes. “Speaking of all this being over… Are we still aiming for Paola?” she asks.
“She’s the maid we know the most about. She has children, so I think she’ll be easy to convince.”
“Right. So like… do we approach her on Saturday, after her daughter’s soccer match?”
“So early?”
Andrea shrugs. “We’re as ready as we’ll ever be. Might as well get it over with.”
Thanks to the audio we pulled from hacking into Becker’s security system, we know which high school her daughter goes to. We know that the girl, Elena, is part of the soccer team, and we know she’s enrolled in its summer camp. Their website informed us there’s a match this weekend, and we heard Paola mention she’d be there to support her daughter.
We found out their surname, Perez, but it’s too common to lead us anywhere. Our safest bet is to attend that soccer match, and eitherapproach Paola then, or follow her home and wait for a better moment. Stalking anyone feels very wrong, but our intentions are honest, so it’s not that reprehensible, is it?
Andrea yawns, shielding her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Let’s get some sleep first,” I suggest.
“Good idea. We’ll set everything up later.”
