Ethan’s hands moved on autopilot, but his eyes kept sliding back to the photograph. The words left his mouth before he could stop them. “That picture—the girl in the silver frame. Who is she?”
Julian froze. Something cold and calculating flickered across his face. “That’s… personal. Why do you ask?”
“Because she’s my wife.”
A long silence stretched between them. Julian finally set his phone down, walked to the desk, and lifted the frame as if seeing it for the first time in years. “Your wife,” he repeated, voice low. “Her name?”
“Lena Caldwell. Lena Moreau before we married.”
Julian placed the frame back exactly where it had been. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
“Not until you tell me why you have a photograph of my wife on your desk.”
“You delivered a package. That’s all. I don’t owe you answers.” Julian reached for his phone again. “Security is one call away.”
Ethan knew when he was outmatched. He got the electronic signature, walked back to his van on legs that didn’t feel entirely his, and drove away. But the image of that photograph burned behind his eyes the whole way home.