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However, its boot was the perfect dumping ground for her junk. Things that had no place in the home. There were useful things too, like snow shovels and snow chains, because you never knew if it might snow at some point, it had been known to happen. Water, a first aid kit, a battery-powered jump starter—which probably needed charging—but there were also random things, like a book on house plants she’d picked up on a whim, but found way too tall for the bookshelf. There were also some weird adaptors and attachments to things she was pretty sure she didn’t even own anymore, candles, well, just in case she ever needed to produce a last-minute gift if they ended up somewhere. Oh, and countless folders of paperwork of no importance, but for some reason, she just couldn’t bring herself to throw it away.
Her car was a tip on wheels.
She often joked she kept it that full so there was no space for someone to shove her in the boot if they tried to grab her. Unfortunately, even now it felt too soon to joke about some things. But still, she found making light of things often helped her cope, or made others more comfortable.
The paperwork was actually the reason she was going down there. She’d made a binder for all the potential properties she was viewing for the training school. The agent who showed her the last place had given her several print-offs, but she’d left them in the car. With a viewing tomorrow, she needed to remind herself of the address. Not to mention check the water and oil levels.
Her low heels echoed off the stone walls as her fingertips traced the smooth rail. Just last week there had been a texture to the rail, the first signs of wear beneath the paint. This week, it was gone, sanded and repainted, keeping the tone of the building matching the expectations of those who lived there. The new paint felt like silk beneath her fingertips, and she wondered if it would provide any grip should she slip, or if her hand would simply glide down the rail as she tumbled.
It was then, as she thought about lying broken at the bottom of the staircase, she realised how silent and deserted the stairwell was. She wasn’t even sure people took the stairs, preferring the convenience of the elevator. If she fell, it could be hours, days even, before someone found her.
She shook the thought from her mind, releasing the rail to reach into her purse and remove her car keys. Her fingers wound around the soft leather tassels of her keyring as she pulled it free, snagging one of the many folded tissues. She uttered a curse as it flitted down the staircase, her pace quickening to recapture it.
The sound of her heels dulled the moment she reached the concrete floor. Pushing the large double doors open, she shivered slightly as the cool air from inside rushed to greet her. When first she’d been told about the underground parking, she’d envisioned a dark and stifling space, suffocating with air that hung heavy with the scent of rubber and fuel. And whilst the air was tinged with such odours, there was a current of breeze from the underground air system. She wanted to call it an AC system, but as the weather grew cooler the temperature here remained exactly the same.
The doorman had laughed, telling her the parking area was climate controlled, after all, some of the cars in this building were worth a small fortune themselves. Heaven forbid the climate was less than ideal. That said, she’d noticed several cars had their own little tent things with nearly silent generators attached that she assumed were to further protect them.
Each apartment had parking bays allocated to them, which consisted of several spaces. The bays were cordoned off from the main area where cars wishing to leave would drive, ensuring no one accidentally drove into the side of someone else’s baby. Rich people seemed strange when it came to cars. Something she’d noticed when someone put in a complaint about her car lowering the standard of the parking area.
It wasn’t as if her little car leaked, or looked unsightly. It just wasn’t the same price as an apartment. To be fair, she’d been all for getting a second-hand run about. She didn’t see the point in spending big bucks for something that would rarely be used, but that was one thing Miles had insisted on. She either brought one from new, or he brought her one. If he’d made true on his threat, she dreaded to think what she’d have ended up with.
Ivy wasn’t poor, but that was only thanks to the money her father had left her, that and the untouched trust fund he’d set up for her when she was in school. The thing was, she’d always preferred paying her way. That was why she’d got a part-time job while she did her MBA. A part-time job that she’d enjoyed so much she took the role full-time after graduating. She had lived in a small one-bedroom apartment, and paid her own bills, right up until the day her owner had stepped in, donating a small fortune to the business to let her go, allowing him to blacklist her, leaving her vulnerable to his plan.
She pressed the button on her key, smiling as the orange lights flashed a welcome as she rounded the corner. The smile lasted for but a second. The key slipped from her hand as she looked at the white streaks of paint covering her beautiful metallic purple car. White letters sprawled in thick strokes across the side to spell the word whore, while black and burgundy paint had been sprayed haphazardly across the rest of the car.
Black and burgundy. Just like her wedding colour scheme. She stepped forward one, two, three steps, getting a better view of the horror. The tyres had been slashed and beneath the windscreen wiper was a manila envelope.
Manila always meant bad news.
At least, that’s what one of her old teachers had said before she moved to America. It was one of those phrases that had stuck with her, and one of the reasons she always used decorative stationery when writing letters.
Manila was bad. Well, the vandalised car pretty much assured her it wasn’t going to be fan mail or an invitation to a local event. But still, that envelope now held her gaze fixed, like she was locked in a staring contest with a deadly viper.
She hadn’t realised she was shaking until her hands grasped the envelope, missing on the first try to grip its pointed edge. It wasn’t sealed. It was folded down, but left open. No saliva meant no evidence.
The sound of her sharp intake of breath seemed so loud against the silence as she peered inside, heart quickening as bile rose in her throat. She shoved the envelope deep into her bag, her shoulder now feeling the strain of its presence as tears prickled her eyes. Her fingers skimmed across her phone, freezing as her thoughts raced.
How could this happen? What was in there shouldn’t exist. It should… it… she expelled a breath. She had to look at them properly, figure out why someone had sent them. What they wanted.
The lead balloon in her stomach filled with acid at the thought.
Breathe.
One thing at a time.
This was nothing.
Nothing she couldn’t deal with. She was not alone. She was not helpless.
Breathe.
The air was tainted with the taste of spray paint, but it had the desired effect. She knew what she had to do next. A glance around the car park confirmed she was alone. No one lurking in the shadows, no one was watching from afar.
Finally unfreezing, her ice-cold fingers wrapped around her phone, typing in the number for the apartment’s main desk. She stood in silence, back to the wall, not feeling the cool, rough texture through her clothes as she pressed against it, not realising it was pivotal to her remaining standing at that moment as she waited, focusing on her breathing, waiting for the apartment’s security to arrive.
Everything happened in a blur the moment their footsteps became audible through the haze. She was aware of being spoken to, a blanket around her shoulders, questions, a warm drink placed in her hands as photos were taken, police came, and CCTV footage was copied.
Whoever had gained access had been careful. Wearing neutral, dark colours, they’d kept their face hidden, almost as if they’d known how to ensure they remained unseen by the CCTV. They appeared from nowhere and disappeared as quickly as they’d arrived.
