PART 4 — THE PERSON CALLED NORTH
“He wrote, ‘I know. I’ll handle her.’”
For several seconds, I forgot how to breathe.
My mother did not.
She turned toward Rachel so quickly the chair beside her scraped across the hospital floor.
“Give me that flash drive.”
Rachel placed it in her hand.
My mother looked ready to march directly into a police station and personally demand handcuffs.
“Mom.”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“No, Camila. Your husband just discussed ‘handling’ you after you give birth. I am officially done being polite.”
“I don’t even know what it means yet.”
“It means I’m not letting you go anywhere alone.”
Rachel wiped her eyes.
“I don’t think he meant physically hurting you.”
My mother stared at her.
“And I don’t think you’re currently qualified to interpret that man’s intentions.”
Rachel lowered her head.
Fair.
I looked at the flash drive.
“Did you read the entire conversation?”
“Some of it.”
“What comes before that message?”
Rachel pulled out her phone.
“I took pictures.”
She scrolled.
Then handed it to me.
The email thread had no names.
Only encrypted-looking addresses and short messages.
NORTH:
The numbers need to be clean before September.
ADRIAN:
I’m working on it.
NORTH:
You said that last month.
ADRIAN:
Things changed.
NORTH:
Because of the woman?
ADRIAN:
Which one?
My stomach twisted.
Even facing possible criminal charges, apparently my husband still had room for comedy.
NORTH:
Your wife.
ADRIAN:
She doesn’t know anything.
NORTH:
She owns the company.
ADRIAN:
On paper.
NORTH:
Once the baby arrives, Camila becomes the liability.
ADRIAN:
I know. I’ll handle her.
Then another message.
NORTH:
You have three weeks.
That was it.
I handed the phone back.
My mother whispered:
“What happens in three weeks?”
I counted.
Three weeks from that email was almost exactly my due date.
My blood turned cold.
Rachel must have seen it on my face.
“That’s what scared me.”
“Did Adrian ever mention life insurance?”
She looked confused.
“What?”
“Insurance. On me.”
“No.”
I looked toward the hospital door.
Adrian worked in insurance.
He knew policies.
He knew beneficiaries.
He knew paperwork.
Suddenly every harmless document he had ever asked me to sign flashed through my mind.
Mortgage renewals.
Retirement forms.
Medical coverage.
Tax paperwork.
I grabbed my phone.
Mariana answered immediately.
“How’s Lucy?”
“Fine. I need you back in the room.”
Her voice changed.
“What happened?”
“Rachel brought evidence.”
Thirty seconds later, Mariana walked in.
I showed her everything.
She read the emails twice.
Then a third time.
“This goes to law enforcement.”
Rachel immediately stiffened.
“I know.”
Mariana looked at her.
“You understand that handing this over may expose things you did too.”
“Yes.”
“You may need your own attorney.”
“I know.”
“And you should stop speaking to Adrian.”
Rachel laughed bitterly.
“That won’t be difficult.”
I looked at Mariana.
“What do you think ‘handle her’ means?”
“I’m not guessing.”
“You have an opinion.”
“I have several.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“Mariana.”
She sat beside me.
“Camila, right now your job is keeping yourself and Lucy safe. My job is preventing your imagination from making decisions before evidence does.”
My mother crossed her arms.
“My imagination already has Adrian buried under a parking garage.”
“Which is why nobody is asking you.”
The door opened.
A nurse entered.
She checked the monitor, smiled, and told me everything still looked stable.
“You need rest,” she said.
I almost laughed.
Rest.
Sure.
Maybe afterward I could take up meditation.
When she left, Mariana plugged Rachel’s flash drive into her laptop.
Folders appeared.
BANK.
CML.
RECEIPTS.
EMAILS.
NORTH.
PERSONAL.
My stomach turned when I saw the last folder.
“Open North.”
Mariana did.
There were dozens of PDF files and screenshots.
The earliest email was dated nine months ago.
Before Rachel.
Before my pregnancy test.
Before everything I thought had started this nightmare.
Mariana opened it.
NORTH:
I reviewed your situation. You need a clean borrower.
ADRIAN:
My wife.
NORTH:
Credit?
ADRIAN:
Excellent.
NORTH:
Debt?
ADRIAN:
Low.
NORTH:
Income?
ADRIAN:
Enough.
NORTH:
Would she cooperate?
ADRIAN:
She doesn’t need to know.
My hand went numb.
My mother covered her mouth.
Nine months.
He had planned to use me nine months ago.
Before Lucy existed.
Before he could blame panic.
Before he could blame Rachel.
Before he could blame gambling.
This had begun as a decision.
Mariana kept scrolling.
NORTH:
You’ll need an address not directly connected to your residence.
ADRIAN:
My mother has property.
NORTH:
Use it.
ADRIAN:
And signatures?
NORTH:
You know your wife better than I do.
My throat tightened.
“He forged them.”
“Yes,” Mariana said quietly.
Another email.
ADRIAN:
CML approved.
NORTH:
Good.
ADRIAN:
What does CML even stand for?
NORTH:
Doesn’t matter.
Adrian replied:
Camila Martinez-Lewis.
My maiden name.
My married name.
My initials.
CML.
He had named the fake company after me.
I started laughing.
Not because it was funny.
Because sometimes rage needs somewhere ridiculous to go.
“He named it after me.”
My mother touched my shoulder.
“Sweetheart.”
“He stole my identity and gave the company my initials.”
Rachel whispered:
“I didn’t know.”
I looked at her.
“I believe you.”
She blinked.
That surprised both of us.
I wasn’t forgiving her.
Not remotely.
But I believed she had not known this part.
There are different species of betrayal.
Rachel had participated in one.
Adrian had built an ecosystem.
Mariana opened another document.
A spreadsheet.
Rows of client names.
Payments.
Dates.
Account numbers.
Transfers.
And a column labeled N.
“What is N?” I asked.
“North, probably.”
The numbers were enormous.
$12,400.
$28,000.
$17,600.
$43,500.
Money entered.
Money moved.
Some disappeared.
Some returned.
Some were sent to accounts connected to CML.
Then Mariana stopped.
“Oh.”
“What?”
She enlarged one row.
A payment of $74,000 had been transferred into an account ending in 4408.
Beneficiary:
CAMILA LEWIS.
“That isn’t my account.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“Because we checked your accounts this morning.”
I leaned closer.
“Then whose is it?”
Mariana clicked through another folder.
There was a bank statement.
Same account.
Same number.
Same beneficiary name.
But the mailing address wasn’t mine.
It was a post-office box in Queens.
“She opened a bank account under my name too?”
“Someone did.”
Rachel moved behind us.
“I’ve seen that number.”
All three of us turned.
“Where?”
“Adrian’s phone.”
My heart raced.
“How?”
“He used to receive alerts from an account ending in 4408.”
“Did you ever ask?”
“He said it was a client trust account.”
Mariana looked grim.
“It wasn’t.”
She opened more statements.
Hundreds of thousands had passed through that account.
Some transfers went toward credit cards.
Some to CML.
Some back into Adrian’s company.
And then we saw recurring payments.
$4,200.
Every month.
Same recipient.
NORTHSTAR MANAGEMENT LLC.
My skin prickled.
“Northstar.”
Rachel whispered:
“North.”
Mariana searched the folder.
There was an invoice.
NORTHSTAR MANAGEMENT LLC
Strategic Consulting Services
No phone number.
No recognizable address.
Just a registered agent.
“I need to search corporate records,” Mariana said.
She started typing.
A few minutes later, her face changed.
“What?”
“Northstar Management was dissolved two months ago.”
“Who owned it?”
“The public filing lists another LLC.”
“Which is?”
She clicked.
That company belonged to another company.
Then another.
Shell after shell.
Layers.
Someone had gone to significant trouble to hide ownership.
Finally Mariana leaned back.
“This was designed not to be easy.”
My mother said:
“Then whoever North is knows what they’re doing.”
Exactly.
A knock came at the door.
We all froze.
The nurse stepped inside.
“There’s a gentleman asking to see you.”
My stomach dropped.
“Adrian?”
She checked.
“Yes.”
“No.”
The word came from all four of us.
The nurse blinked.
Mariana stood.
“Please tell hospital security he is not authorized to enter.”
The nurse nodded and left.
Thirty seconds later, my phone rang.
Adrian.
Decline.
Again.
Decline.
Then messages.
PLEASE LET ME EXPLAIN.
YOU ARE IN DANGER IF YOU KEEP DIGGING.
STOP TALKING TO RACHEL.
I sat up straighter.
Another message.
SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHO SHE’S DEALING WITH.
Then:
NEITHER DO YOU.
My mother whispered:
“Call the police.”
Mariana was already dialing.
Two officers arrived less than an hour later.
I told them everything.
The fake company.
The accounts.
The forged documents.
The emails.
North.
The message about handling me.
Rachel gave them the flash drive.
They took photographs of her phone.
They asked whether Adrian owned weapons.
“No,” I said.
Then I remembered something.
“Wait.”
Everyone looked at me.
“His father had a handgun.”
My mother’s face changed.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
After my father-in-law died, Teresa had supposedly given it to a family friend.
Supposedly.
One officer wrote it down.
They arranged for security to accompany me when I left.
They told me not to return home until someone confirmed Adrian wasn’t there.
By late afternoon, the contractions had stopped.
The doctor discharged me.
“You need to reduce stress.”
I stared at her.
“Could you write that on a prescription and give it to my husband?”
She smiled sympathetically.
Outside, two officers waited near the entrance.
My mother drove.
Mariana sat beside me.
Rachel had gone with another officer to answer more questions.
I should have felt safer.
Instead, every passing car made me nervous.
We went to my mother’s house.
Not mine.
The locks were checked.
Curtains closed.
Phones charged.
For the first time in my adult life, I slept in my childhood bedroom because I was afraid of my husband.
I woke at 2:11 a.m.
My phone was vibrating.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
I stared at it.
Then ignored it.
It rang again.
Unknown.
Again.
On the fourth call, I answered.
“Hello?”
No voice.
Just breathing.
“Who is this?”
Silence.
Then a distorted voice said:
“Tell Mariana to stop.”
The line went dead.
My whole body turned cold.
I ran down the hallway.
My mother woke instantly.
“What happened?”
I showed her.
Mariana, sleeping on the couch downstairs, called the detective we had spoken with.
The number was likely spoofed.
Untraceable at first glance.
But there was no question anymore.
North knew about us.
Worse.
North knew Mariana’s name.
At seven that morning, Mariana looked exhausted but furious.
“We need to assume someone has access to information we don’t understand yet.”
My mother poured coffee.
“Could it be Adrian?”
“The voice could have been disguised.”
“But?”
“But he’s been texting Camila directly. Why suddenly hide?”
Exactly.
My phone buzzed.
An email.
No sender name.
Subject:
STOP.
Inside was one sentence.
YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER TO THINK ABOUT.
I felt my knees weaken.
My mother read it over my shoulder.
Her face went gray.
Mariana immediately photographed the screen.
“This changes things.”
“How?”
“Because now someone other than Adrian appears to be threatening you.”
My hand rested on Lucy.
Anger replaced fear.
Maybe whoever North was thought mentioning my daughter would make me obedient.
It did the opposite.
“You want me to stop?”
Mariana looked at me.
“I want you safe.”
“No. Whoever sent this.”
I looked at the message.
“They want me afraid.”
“They probably do.”
“Then they made a mistake.”
My mother sat beside me.
“What are you thinking?”
“I want to know who North is.”
For the next four hours, we went through every file Rachel had copied.
Email after email.
Invoice after invoice.
There were no names.
No photographs.
Nothing obvious.
Until Mariana found metadata attached to an old spreadsheet.
“Wait.”
“What?”
She clicked.
The document creator field showed initials.
L.M.
Rachel’s boss was Lauren Menchaca.
My chest tightened.
“No.”
Mariana looked at me.
“Initials prove nothing.”
But suddenly every interaction with Lauren replayed in my head.
How quickly she had helped.
How easily she had accessed records.
How she had asked for the date and location of my baby shower.
How she had appeared there personally.
How she had called me first thing the next morning.
How she always seemed one step ahead.
My stomach twisted.
“Could Lauren be North?”
“I don’t know.”
My phone rang.
We all stared at it.
LAUREN MENCHACA.
Nobody moved.
It rang again.
I answered on speaker.
“Hello?”
“Camila.”
Lauren sounded rushed.
“Are you somewhere safe?”
My eyes met Mariana’s.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“I need you to listen carefully.”
Something in her voice made my skin prickle.
“I reviewed more internal records.”
“So have we.”
Silence.
“What does that mean?”
“I have copies of Adrian’s files.”
Another pause.
“From where?”
“Rachel.”
Lauren cursed quietly.
“Camila, you should not have those.”
My heart began pounding.
“Why?”
“Because whoever Adrian was working with may know those files were copied.”
“Who was he working with?”
“I’m trying to determine that.”
“Someone called North.”
Absolute silence.
Lauren didn’t breathe.
Didn’t speak.
Nothing.
I looked at Mariana.
She was watching the phone like it might explode.
Finally Lauren said:
“Where did you hear that name?”
There it was.
Not Who is North?
Where did you hear that name?
“You know it.”
“Camila—”
“You know who North is.”
“I need you to tell me exactly what Rachel gave you.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
Her voice sharpened.
“This is not a game.”
“I know. Someone threatened my daughter this morning.”
Lauren went completely silent.
Then:
“What?”
“An email.”
“What did it say?”
I told her.
Her breathing changed.
“Camila, listen to me. Do not respond to anything else. Do not contact Adrian. Do not contact Rachel.”
“And you?”
“What?”
“Should I stop contacting you too?”
Silence.
That silence terrified me more than any answer.
“Lauren.”
“I am trying to protect you.”
“From whom?”
She exhaled.
“North isn’t one person.”
My blood turned cold.
“What?”
“It’s a name used internally.”
“By who?”
“I can’t explain this over the phone.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No.”
“Then I’m hanging up.”
“Camila, wait.”
I almost disconnected.
Then Lauren said:
“Your husband wasn’t stealing company money by himself.”
“We know.”
“He wasn’t even the person who started it.”
My grip tightened.
“Who did?”
“A group of employees has been moving money through dormant accounts, false vendors, and client reimbursements for almost three years.”
Three years.
Long before Adrian’s gambling debts.
Long before Rachel.
Long before CML.
“How many employees?”
“We don’t know.”
“How are you involved?”
“I found evidence last year.”
“And you didn’t report it?”
“I tried.”
“To whom?”
“Our former chief financial officer.”
“What happened?”
“He disappeared.”
Nobody in the room moved.
“What do you mean disappeared?”
“He resigned without notice. Two weeks later, he moved overseas.”
“Where?”
“No one knows.”
My mother whispered:
“Oh my God.”
Lauren continued.
“After that, I started collecting evidence privately.”
“So why did you act surprised when I told you about Adrian?”
“Because I didn’t know he was involved until you sent those messages.”
I wanted to believe her.
I desperately wanted one person in this nightmare to be telling the truth.
“What about L.M. in the spreadsheet metadata?”
Lauren went silent again.
Then she said:
“That was me.”
Mariana’s eyes narrowed.
I felt sick.
“You created the spreadsheet.”
“I copied the transactions into a separate file while investigating.”
“Why was it on Adrian’s drive?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
The answer stopped me.
“I expect you to verify everything I say.”
Rachel had said almost the exact same thing.
Maybe truthful people sounded like that.
Or maybe everyone had learned a new way to lie.
“Who is North?”
“I told you. It isn’t one person.”
“Then what is it?”
“A communication name.”
“For the group?”
“For whoever is giving instructions at the time.”
My skin crawled.
“So Adrian might not know who he was talking to?”
“Exactly.”
“Then how do we find them?”
Lauren hesitated.
“There’s one person who might know.”
“Who?”
“Adrian’s mother.”
My heart sank.
“Teresa?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Northstar Management existed before your fake company.”
“We know.”
“But you probably don’t know who originally incorporated it.”
I stared at Mariana.
“Who?”
Lauren said:
“Your father-in-law.”
Silence swallowed the room.
“My father-in-law is dead.”
“I know.”
“He died four years ago.”
“I know.”
“Northstar was created three years ago.”
“No.”
Lauren’s voice dropped.
“The company you found was created three years ago.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“There was an older Northstar.”
“How old?”
“Eleven years.”
I stopped breathing.
“Owned by Adrian’s father?”
“Yes.”
“What did it do?”
“That’s what you need to ask Teresa.”
I stood.
“No.”
“Camila—”
“She’s already lied.”
“I know.”
“She helped Adrian use my identity.”
“I know.”
“Then why would she tell me anything?”
“Because there’s something she doesn’t know you have.”
“What?”
Lauren took a breath.
“A payment record.”
“What payment?”
“The original Northstar account made one final transfer before it closed.”
My heart pounded.
“How much?”
“Six hundred thousand dollars.”
My mother gasped.
“To who?”
Lauren hesitated.
“Teresa.”
The room went dead silent.
Six hundred thousand dollars.
Adrian had told me his mother loaned him eighty thousand from the sale of his father’s property.
He never mentioned six hundred thousand.
“What happened to it?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to find out.”
I looked at Mariana.
She was already reaching for her keys.
“No,” my mother said.
“You are not going to Teresa’s house.”
“We’re not,” Mariana replied.
“We’re asking the police to bring her here.”
Two hours later, Teresa arrived at my mother’s house accompanied by a detective.
She looked exhausted.
Her hair was messy.
She wore no makeup.
When she saw me, her eyes filled.
“Camila.”
I didn’t hug her.
“Sit down.”
She did.
The detective remained nearby.
Mariana placed a printed bank record on the table.
Teresa looked at it.
Her face changed immediately.
That was all I needed.
“You recognize it.”
She said nothing.
“Six hundred thousand dollars.”
Teresa closed her eyes.
“Where did you get this?”
“So it’s real.”
She opened them.
“Camila.”
“What was Northstar?”
Her hands began shaking.
“Who told you that name?”
Everyone kept asking me that.
Never What is it?
Always Who told you?
“What was Northstar?”
Teresa looked toward the detective.
Then toward Mariana.
Finally, she whispered:
“It was my husband’s company.”
“For what?”
“Investments.”
“Illegal ones?”
She looked down.
My heart sank.
“Teresa.”
“He moved money for people.”
“What people?”
“I never asked.”
“That is a lie.”
She looked at me.
“I learned not to ask.”
The fear in her face was real.
“What happened to the six hundred thousand?”
“It was supposed to disappear.”
“What does that mean?”
“Before my husband died, he told me to close everything.”
“Why?”
“Because he wanted out.”
“Out of what?”
She started crying.
“I don’t know all of it.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I swear.”
“What did he tell you?”
Teresa wiped her face.
“He said there were people at Adrian’s company using insurance accounts to move money. He helped them create vendors and accounts.”
My stomach twisted.
“How long?”
“Years.”
“And when he died?”
“He left me instructions.”
“What instructions?”
“To take the six hundred thousand and never touch it.”
I stared at her.
“You told Adrian about it.”
“No.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Not until last year.”
There it was.
“What happened last year?”
“He came to me crying about his debts.”
“And you gave him access.”
“I gave him eighty thousand.”
“What about the rest?”
“I told him it didn’t exist.”
“Then how did he learn about Northstar?”
Teresa’s face collapsed.
“He found his father’s files.”
Everything clicked.
Adrian discovered the old network.
He had debt.
He had access to an insurance company connected to it.
And someone noticed.
“North contacted him after that?”
“I think so.”
“You think?”
“He started asking strange questions.”
“What questions?”
“About accounts. Names. His father’s old contacts.”
She looked at me.
“Then one night he came over terrified.”
“When?”
“About nine months ago.”
Exactly when the first email from North appeared.
“What did he say?”
“That someone knew about his gambling debt.”
I felt cold.
“He was being blackmailed.”
Teresa nodded.
“At first.”
“At first?”
“He said they could make the debt disappear if he helped with transfers.”
“And you let him use me.”
Her face crumpled.
“He told me the business in your name was temporary.”
“You believed that?”
“I wanted to.”
“You helped him.”
“Yes.”
Finally.
No excuse.
No pretty wording.
“Yes.”
Tears ran down her cheeks.
“I did.”
I stared at her.
“And the six hundred thousand?”
Her face changed.
“It’s gone.”
Mariana leaned forward.
“What?”
“I checked three months ago.”
“Where was it?”
“A private account.”
“And it disappeared?”
“Transferred.”
“To whom?”
“I don’t know.”
“When?”
Teresa swallowed.
“The same week Camila became pregnant.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
The timing again.
My pregnancy.
Always my pregnancy.
“Why does everything happen when I become pregnant?”
Teresa started crying harder.
“I don’t know.”
Then my phone rang.
Adrian.
I looked at the detective.
He nodded.
“Answer.”
I put it on speaker.
“Hello?”
For several seconds there was only breathing.
Then Adrian spoke.
“You’re with my mother.”
Not a question.
“How do you know?”
“Because they told me.”
My blood turned cold.
“Who?”
“North.”
Teresa went pale.
“Adrian,” she whispered.
He heard her.
“Mom.”
His voice broke.
“You should have burned Dad’s files.”
Teresa covered her mouth.
I leaned toward the phone.
“Where are you?”
“Camila, listen to me.”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re watching.”
“Who is they?”
“I don’t know anymore.”
That answer sounded genuine.
“Did you send the threats?”
“No.”
“Did you write that you would handle me?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
“What did you mean?”
“I was going to convince you to sign documents after Lucy was born.”
My knees nearly gave out.
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
“You swear?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Relief shouldn’t have been what I felt.
But after imagining worse, financial manipulation almost sounded merciful.
“What documents?”
“Loan consolidation. Transfers. Things North needed.”
“Why after the baby?”
“Because they said you’d be easier to convince while you were home.”
I wanted to vomit.
“They planned around my postpartum recovery?”
“Yes.”
Teresa sobbed.
I looked at her.
She seemed horrified.
Maybe this part truly was new to her.
“Adrian, come to the police.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I tried.”
The detective leaned closer.
“What happened?”
Adrian’s breathing became uneven.
“I went to meet someone.”
“Who?”
“I thought it was North.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Where?”
“A parking garage near the office.”
“What happened?”
“Nobody came.”
“Then why are you hiding?”
“Because when I got back to my car, there was a photograph on the windshield.”
My skin prickled.
“A photograph of what?”
He began crying.
“You.”
My mother grabbed my hand.
“What kind of photograph?”
“You leaving the hospital.”
The room went completely still.
They had been there.
Someone had watched me leave.
“Adrian,” the detective said, “you need to tell us your location.”
“I can’t.”
“We can protect you.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Help us understand.”
Adrian took a shaky breath.
“They sent another picture twenty minutes ago.”
“Of who?”
Silence.
“Adrian?”
“My daughter’s nursery.”
My entire body went numb.
The nursery.
Inside our house.
Someone had been inside.
“What?”
“The picture was taken today.”
My mother whispered:
“Jesus.”
I could barely speak.
“How do you know?”
“Because the crib wasn’t assembled yesterday.”
I froze.
He was right.
My brother had finished assembling it while I was at the baby shower.
Someone had entered my home after that.
Someone had stood inside Lucy’s room.
“What did the message say?”
Adrian began sobbing.
“Tell Camila to return what belongs to us.”
I looked at Teresa.
She stopped breathing.
“What belongs to them?”
“I don’t know,” Adrian said.
But Teresa did.
I saw it instantly.
Her eyes dropped.
Her hands clenched.
“Teresa.”
She said nothing.
I stood.
“What do they want?”
“Camila—”
“What do they want back?”
Her entire body started shaking.
“I thought it was gone.”
“What?”
“The six hundred thousand.”
“You said it disappeared.”
“It did.”
“Then what are they asking for?”
She stared at me with terror in her eyes.
“Not the money.”
My heart hammered.
“What, then?”
Teresa slowly reached beneath her blouse.
She pulled out a thin gold chain.
Hanging from it was a tiny brass key.
I stared at it.
“What is that?”
“My husband gave it to me three days before he died.”
“A key to what?”
“I never knew.”
Mariana stood.
“Then why would anyone want it?”
Teresa looked at Adrian’s voice still coming faintly through the phone.
Then she looked back at me.
“Because my husband told me that if Northstar ever came back…”
Her voice cracked.
“…this key was the only thing that could destroy them.”………….
TO BE CONTINUED IN LAST PART…
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