Chapter 5
Ethan said, "Miss, please let Derek know I'll be back tomorrow. And the day after that. I promised Luna I'd see this through for her."
The receptionist opened her mouth, but couldn't find the words.
Mia helped Ethan out of the building.
Eleanor stood in the corner, watching as Ethan's young figure disappeared through the revolving doors.
She leaned her broom against the wall and walked over to the front desk, lowering her voice.
She said, "You know, Luna used to come by every month, not to cause trouble for Derek, but just to drop off his seasonal clothes.
"She always slipped in through the back door, left the stuff, and left without even seeing him.
"After Derek told her not to come anymore, she started mailing the clothes, and put your name as the recipient."
The receptionist was stunned.
She said, "She always tucked in a note that said, 'Please pass this to Mr. Smith.' I took it up to him twice.
"The second time, Vivian caught me and gave me hell, said anything from Luna should be trashed, and I was never allowed to deliver it again."
Eleanor picked up her broom and turned to leave.
The receptionist stood behind the counter, staring at the spot on the floor where Ethan had knelt.
There was a small bloodstain on the marble.
On the thirty-second floor, Oliver stood by the window, phone in hand, watching the two figures below slowly walk away across the plaza.
One was supporting the other, their steps slow and unsteady.
He turned off his phone and sat back down at his desk.
On his computer screen, the divorce papers Derek had asked him to draft were still open. The compensation section read twenty thousand dollars.
Oliver's fingers rested on the keyboard, but he didn't type for a long time.
The office door opened. Derek came out, holding a cup of coffee.
"Everything sorted out over there?" he asked.
Oliver replied, "Yeah, it's handled. They're gone."
Derek nodded and walked over to Oliver's desk, glancing at the screen.
He said, "Send this agreement to Luna today. Tell her to sign it. If she does, transfer twenty thousand dollars to her.
"If she doesn't, stall. She doesn't really have any other way out."
Oliver didn't answer right away.
Derek glanced at him and asked, "Got a problem?"
"Mr. Smith," Oliver said, choosing his words carefully, "I went down to check on that kid earlier.
"He really can't see. It doesn't look like he's faking it. Luna's name was written right on the urn."
Derek set his coffee down.
He said, "Oliver, you've been working with me for six years. You know how things are.
"Luna's been a headache since the day we got married. She kept coming to the office, making a fuss, saying I was ignoring her.
"Then she made a scene at home, pretending to cut her wrists. At the hospital, not even a scratch. After that, she claimed she was pregnant and forced me to take her to dinner with my family.
"Turns out? All fake. She's been acting from day one."
Then he picked up his coffee and took a sip.
He continued, "And now, she's dead. Can you believe it? Her brother comes all the way here, asking me for funeral money?
"Doesn't go to the government, doesn't go to the community, doesn't use any official channels.
"Just comes straight to me, carrying her urn. Is that what a normal person would do?"
Oliver didn't argue.
Everything Derek said was true. I really did make a scene.
I faked cutting my wrists, and I lied about being pregnant. Oliver had handled all of it himself.
But what he saw in the lobby today, the kid, the urn, those bloodstains and wounds, this felt nothing like my old tricks. He couldn't see it as another one of my dramas.
"Alright, keep an eye on the divorce papers," Derek said, turning to head back to his office. He paused after a couple of steps.
He added, "Grace's birthday party is set for Saturday. Double-check the venue, flowers, lighting, and cake. The invitations have gone out, right?"
Oliver replied, "Yeah, all one hundred and twenty of them."
"Good. This is the most important thing this year," Derek said.
Derek walked back into his office and closed the door.
Oliver stayed in his chair, unmoving.
He pulled out his phone and typed two words into the search bar.
It was my name. He didn't even know why he was searching for me.
He found nothing. I had no social media, no news, no public records, like I was a ghost, erased from the world.
He typed in "Ethan," hoping for something, anything. Still nothing.
Oliver put his phone away. He saved the divorce papers and emailed them to me.
But as soon as he hit send, the system bounced back with a notification.
It read, "Send failed. The recipient's email has been deactivated."
Oliver sat there, staring at the red error message.
He picked up the landline on his desk and dialed the number I had left in the company directory.
It rang once, twice, but no one picked up.