Chapter 3 - THE GOLD WATCH
Tristan didn’t wait for my permission. He dropped the bug, grabbed my hand, and pulled me toward the connecting door.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered.
He didn’t bother with the handle. He stepped back and drove his heel directly into the locking mechanism. The wood splintered with a deafening crack. He kicked it again, and the door flew open, hitting the adjoining wall with a violent thud.
The room was dark. The curtains were drawn tightly shut, just like ours.
“Don’t move,” Tristan warned, stepping into the gloom.
I stood frozen in the doorway, the frantic beating of my heart drowning out the silence. The air in the room was stale, thick with the lingering, sharp scent of unlit tobacco and something metallic.
Tristan reached the lamp and switched it on.
The room was empty.
But it hadn’t been empty long. The bed was unslept in, but a heavy leather chair had been dragged to the center of the room, facing the wall shared with Tristan’s suite. On the small table next to it sat a sophisticated audio receiver, its red recording light still glowing.
They had just left.
“The stairwell,” Tristan said, spinning around. “I ordered a lockdown. If they didn’t get past my men, they’re trapped on this floor.”
He moved toward the hallway door, but my eyes caught a gleam of metal on the carpet beside the leather chair.
“Wait.” I stepped into the room and crouched down.
Half-buried in the thick rug was a gold pocket watch. It was heavy, antique, and engraved with a sprawling, intricate crest. I picked it up. The metal was still warm.
When I turned it over, the breath left my lungs.
“Tristan.”
He turned back from the door. “Don’t touch anything—”
“I know this watch.” My voice trembled. I held it out to him. “My mother had a photograph on her nightstand. A picture of her and a man taken thirty years ago. He was wearing this exact watch on a chain.”
Tristan stepped closer. He took the watch from my shaking hand. As his eyes fell on the engraved crest, the color drained from his face.
“Where did you say the hit-and-run happened?” he asked, his voice suddenly hollow.
“On 54th and Lexington. Why?”
“Because this crest belongs to my family.” Tristan thumbed the latch, opening the watch face. Inside, an inscription read: To Marcus. Loyalty above all.
Marcus. The VP of Operations. The man who had hired me.
“He didn’t just hire you to keep an eye on you,” Tristan said, looking up at me. “He hired you to keep you away from the hospital.”
The realization hit me like physical blow.
Tristan’s phone began to vibrate violently in his pocket. He pulled it out, answering on the first ring.
“Speak.”
I watched his face tighten. The terrifying calm returned, freezing his features into a mask of pure violence.
“When?” Tristan asked.
He listened for three seconds. Then he hung up.
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“What is it?” I demanded, grabbing his arm. “Tristan, what happened?”
“My security team at the hospital,” he said, his eyes burning into mine. “Someone just bypassed the IC ward. They’re in your mother’s room.”
