The apartment was on the third floor. Not Alexander's floor—his was the penthouse, eighteen above. Mine was 3B, and it was more space than I'd ever had alone.
View of the Sound. Kitchen with appliances I didn't know how to use. Bedroom with a bed that didn't fold into a couch. Bathroom with a shower that had two shower heads.
Closet filled with clothes.
I opened the closet and just stood there. Dresses I hadn't chosen. Shoes in my size. A coat I'd tried on at Nordstrom once, just for fun, just to feel what expensive felt like.
They'd been watching me longer than I knew.
My bag was on the floor. One duffel. Everything I owned. Father's watch, which I put on the nightstand. My laptop, three years old, screen cracked. Photos of my dad in a folder I never looked at anymore. The laminated bill, which I'd taken from the kitchen island because it felt like evidence.
I put the bill in the nightstand drawer. Closed it.
First night, I didn't sleep. I lay in the bed and stared at the ceiling and thought about exit strategies. Forty-seven thousand plus 8.9 percent compound. What that would look like in one year, two years, five. What I'd do when I was free.
I didn't cry. I don't cry.
At 6 AM, my phone rang.
"Breakfast in twenty," Alexander said. "We have a flight to New York. Pack for three days."
Click.
I showered in the two-headed shower. Dressed in clothes I didn't choose. Put on my father's watch, then took it off—it didn't go with the dress. Left it on the nightstand.
Alexander was waiting in the lobby. Suit. Small bag. No assistant.
"Coffee," he said, handing me a cup. "Car's outside."
The car was black. The driver was silent. The coffee was exactly how I like it—which I'd never told anyone.
At the airport, we didn't check bags. Didn't go through security with everyone else. Walked to a different area, showed different IDs, got on a small plane with eight seats and two flight attendants.
"Private," Alexander said, seeing my face. "Easier."
I sat by the window. Watched Seattle shrink. Thought about my mother waking up, finding my room empty, finding the note I'd left.
I'm gone. Don't look for me. The debt is paid.
She'd probably check the bank account first. See the deposit. Then she'd call Brent. Then she'd go back to breakfast like nothing happened.
I was already a ghost.
"First rule," Alexander said across the aisle. "In New York, you're not Maren Cole from Seattle with the complicated family. You're Maren Cole, my companion. You're interesting. You're worth knowing. You believe that, other people will too."
"I don't believe that."
"You will."
I looked at him. "How do you know?"
He didn't answer. Just opened his laptop and started working.
I watched clouds for two hours.